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"Dea?" Crosby asked, brows knitted, when he answered the door. "What are you doing here?"
"I am being the good friend for a change!" I declared, giving him a big smile as I pushed past him, and moved inside. "Lock and I noticed you seemed a little sad today, so we got some Chinese and some coffee and a big, fluffy blanket to curl under, and, of course, the best distraction movie," I told him, putting the food and coffee tray on the kitchen counter.
"What do you mean 'for a change'?" he asked, locking the door, then turning to walk toward me.
"Well, while I was walking, I was thinking about how you've always been such a good friend. Whenever I haven't been feeling well, or just wasn't having a good day, you know, and you always show up and make it infinitely better. And I just... I haven't been good like that. I know you seemed a little off earlier, so I figured I had the chance to be the good friend for a change. Come on, have some coffee. You know you wanna," I said, picking it up, and wiggling it in his face.
"Dea..." he said, shaking his head, that sad look on his face again.
"Come on, Crosby. Cheer up! It's almost Christmas! And we have yummy food to eat and a movie to watch. Come on, let me be the good friend. Even if I don't actually make you feel better," I demanded, giving him a pout.
"You always make me feel better, Dea," he told me, taking the coffee, but there was that sad edge to his words still. And a small part of me was starting to wonder if maybe his sadness actually had something to do with me.
As I pulled out the cartons, arranged them on the coffee table, then took the DVD over to the player since I couldn't find it to buy digitally anywhere, and put the disc in, I racked my brain, trying to figure out if there was anything I had said or done that had set him off, but I came up with nothing.
"Ugh, I can't get it," I grumbled, trying to rip the plastic wrap off the blanket. "Use our big, strong, manly muscles please," I demanded, handing it to Crosby as I offered the dogs their treats, then dropped down on the sofa.
"Alright. Arms up, weakling," he said, words light, even if the tone was still strangely heavy. As soon as my arms were up, he whipped the blanket over me, handed me my Lo Mein, grabbed his own food, then sat on top of the other side of the blanket.
On top of it.
He didn't even want to get inside the blanket with me.
What the hell was going on?
"Alright, so tell me about this movie. Sell it to me," he demanded as the home screen popped up.
"Okay. So, it is a movie about a prep school that gets overtaken by terrorists and a group of kids trying to survive. It is all the right level of cheesy and amazing. The perfect way to escape the real world for a bit."
"Is it romantic?"
"It's an all-boys prep school and, you know, back before they were really doing male-male romances. So, not one drop of it actually," I told him, starting to regret my decision, knowing Crosby did actually like romance subplots in movies.
"Sounds perfect. Let's give it a go," he said, hitting the play button before I could ask again if he was alright.
I couldn't focus on the movie.
I couldn't even focus on watching Crosby watch the movie like I sometimes did with favorites I really hoped he enjoyed as well.
I just sat there zoned out with my gaze on the TV, but not actually watching it, trying to figure out how I had screwed up. And, normally, I would be able to pinpoint some minor thing I said or did that could be a trigger for the upset. But that was with other people. Crosby never took offense to little things. Or, at least, he never had before.
So did that mean I had somehow done or said something big without realizing? Had I hurt his feelings or offended him in some way?
Just the idea of that made my stomach tighten so much that I had to put down my food, all thoughts of binge-eating forgotten. Crosby, too, seemed to just be pushing his food around for a long while before discarding it entirely.
Seeming to sense my mood, Lock moved across the floor to sit down on my feet, keeping me warm, keeping me company.
By the time the credits rolled, I was no closer to any conclusions about what had led to Crosby's strange mood than I had been when the movie started.
"That was good," he declared, hopping out of his seat, immediately starting to clean up the food we'd barely touched. "Are you crashing in the guest room?" he asked with the same enthusiasm he might express when making a dental appointment.
