“I find that hard to believe,” I say, leaning over and kissing his forehead. “You seem very … unproblematic to me.”
Vincent steps to the sink and faces out the large window. Bathed in the moonlight, he talks into the darkness, his words hanging in the air.
“We were on schedule at the last school in New Hampshire. Geoff had the system tuned and ready for launch. I was working on outlining the needs assessments with teachers, and he called a meeting to look at the summarized data to make some critical decisions.”
I turn to face him, but Vincent continues talking to the window. He rubs the back of his neck, occasionally moving up to take a glide over his head, momentarily blocking the reflection from the moon.
“Even though the data suggested having teachers use their laptops would be more cost-efficient, the anecdotal interviews told me tablets would be more efficient and offset the difference.”
“What happened?” I ask, wanting to go to him. Wrap him in my arms from behind, hold him close, smell his neck, and comfort him through this story. But I sit. Waiting. Listening.
“I did a quick workout the morning of the meeting, and afterward, in the shower, I got stuck.”
I purse my lips. Stuck. Like with the data in my office. Washing his hands in Gillian’s bathroom.
“I started with my head, like I always do, and things were fine. When I got to my arms, I couldn’t stop scrubbing”—Vincent holds out his arms, flexing until the veins in his forearms pop—“In hindsight, I realize the stress of the implementation, the meeting, knowing I had to convince Geoff and the team to do something more costly, it all triggered me.”
“Oh, Vincent.”
“I was late. Really late. By the time I got there, the meeting was over. They decided without me. The school saved money using existing laptops, but the launch failed. The software usage didn’t meet benchmarks. Just as I predicted. Geoff made it clear that if I had been there, maybe they would have made a different decision.”
“But you weren’t there.” I work my throat through a sandy swallow. “They decided without you.”
“But I’m the specialist. I should’ve been present. And I wasn’t. That’s all Geoff cares about. My fault. Not his. He was adamant about that.”
Unsure what to say, I stand to join him at the sink, and my hand smacks my resting chopsticks, sending them flying across the room, catapulting a few bits of my Seoul Bowl with them. Even facing away, Vincent knows. He winces at the sound of tiny flying wood.
“I’ll get it.” I scramble for the extra napkins.
I’m on the floor, searching, cleaning, trying to erase the mess before Vincent reacts. If I can clean it up quickly, it won’t upset him further. With a handful of napkins, I rush forward. Suddenly sensing Vincent’s presence, I snap my head and accidentally crash into his chin.
“Fuck!” he shouts.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” I blather, pivoting my attention toward him.
Vincent closes his eyes and winces. He takes a deep inhale through his nose and pushes the breath through pursed lips.
“Are you okay?” I ask, grabbing at his face.
“I’m fine.” He rubs his chin and says, “Kent Lester, has anyone ever mentioned you have Tasmanian Devil energy?”
A broad smile overtakes my face, and I laugh. “Not that specific reference, but I mean, yeah, I can see that.” A flush creeps across my cheeks. “I’m sorry.”
“Why? He’s kind of cute. In a chaotic way.”
We finish cleaning, and seeing it’s almost midnight, I pull my phone out.
“I’m going to call a car,” I say.
“Why don’t you stay?” Vincent’s eyes grow large.
“I don’t want to impose. And I’d have to get up early tomorrow,” I say.
“But it’s Saturday.”
“It’s my day to take Lia. Plus, Sweetums couldn’t care less about the weekend. He’ll be looking for me. For his food.”
“Stay and go home early,” he says, and I’m not sure I can say no to those batting eyelashes. The thought of another night cuddled up next to Vincent. Holding him. Being held. My heart yearns to be close to him.
