“Sure thing, big bro.”
“Never call me that again,” James hisses, his complexion turning a little green.
“Yes, sir!”
“Fuck my life…” James’ phone rings, breaking our conversation and saving him from me.
He walks away to answer it and his posture changes in an instant. His spine goes rigid and his tone becomes clipped. Even if I can’t make out any of the words on the other end, I can tell that he is massively pissed about something. I move down the couch closer to him, not being at all subtle about eavesdropping.
“… of course, I’ll call him later. No, I’m not driving out right now. Have you looked outside?—Well, in Toronto we’re getting dumped on. It’s not safe.—I’m not exaggerating.—I will come outas soon as I can.—Yes.—I know.” Someone on the other end is shouting at him, the voice high and prim.
Does he have a girlfriend? No wonder he didn’t want to talk about what happened. I’m a homewrecker! This can’t get any worse. Maybe I can leave before he notices. Wait, I can’t leave, there’s the freaking apocalypse outside! Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it!
I’m doing my best to plot my escape, which involves breaking into Maria’s apartment and barricading myself in there until the snow stops or I’m assumed dead. Whichever comes first.
Before I can enact my plan, James abruptly ends his call and is in a significantly worse mood than a few minutes ago where he was just pissed off at my annoying questions. I do my best impersonation of a nonchalant person while trying to figure out how to suss out who was on the phone.
“My mother,” James offers, saving me the headache. He tosses the phone on the couch and picks up his pencil and notebook, seemingly done with this conversation.
“Oh! I didn’t… I mean,” I try to stutter out an excuse right as he cuts me off.
“You had a look. You thought it was a girlfriend.” He looks at me astutely.
Freaking mind reader.I try to save it.
“What look? I don’t have a look. I am lookless.” I would be so proud of myself if I could shut the heck up right now.
“Uh huh.”
I do my best to not be nosey and continue my observations of the shaken snow globe outside, holding all of my questions inside. I’m convinced I’m doing a phenomenal job masking my curiosity until I peek over at James and discover I’m getting a glare from my unwilling host. My leg is bouncing, I realize when I look down at it, and he can feel it on the other side of our shared couch. I smile widely, but he isn’t buying it.
I cave.
“So, if that was your mom, why are you so upset?”
“No reason.”
“So, I don’t want to call you a liar...”
“I have no reason to lie to you,” he says, eyes determinedly fixed on his drawing.
“Right, which makes it weird that you are.”
“Are what?”
“Lying to me.”
“Stop playing detective. It’s nothing.” His jaw flexes and he turns his body away from me. Deep down, my gut is telling me that I should disengage, but it’s like a pimple that’s about to pop, I just need to keep pushing…
“Was it something she said?”
“The situation in general,” he admits.
“Ah, Nessa’s mentioned that she has her… issues with them. Is it about that?”
“No.”
“Then what’s it about?”
