Instead of answering him, I reach for the door handle, rushing out of the car. When my feet hit the pavement of my driveway, my entire body starts to sway.
“Whoa,” Everett says quietly, rushing to my side. He has my bag gripped in one large hand while the other reaches for my waist. I start to claw at him but realize it’s no use. With the entire world spinning and my house looking like it’s stuck in a distorted funhouse mirror, I wouldn’t be able to fight off a ladybug.
Everett wraps his arm around me and guides me to my door. Once there, I feel him fumble with his other hand before I hear a set of jangly keys and the front door open. Everett finds the light switch quickly and helps me to my couch before crouching in front of me.
“You feel like you might throw up again?”
I shake my head. My eyes are closed in an attempt to make everything stop spinning, but I feel Everett stand. He returns a few seconds later—it could’ve been minutes—and he places his hand on my knee.
“Take this,” he instructs.
I pry my stubborn eyes open and see a blurry sight of Everett’s large hands with two blueish pills in his palm.
“There’s no red pill? What if I want to know all about the Matrix?” I mumble through the discomfort.
“It’s Advil,” he explains through a laugh. “These gel ones were all you had.”
I sloppily take them from him and chug the water he hands me. Once I drink almost half of it, I feel a little less disoriented and my nausea dulls. My eyes clear through my drunken stupor, and I take in the whole image in front of me. Everett’s sitting on my couch, the same cream-colored one Leo and I picked at Croft House six years ago, with his long legs tucked underneath my coffee table—that one from Crate and Barrel—with a box of Premium saltine crackers sitting on top.
“I found these in your pantry,” he explains, reaching for the box and angling it in my direction. “You should get some food in your stomach.”
I look at him, the look on my face somewhere between a scowl and surrender. The long pause between us is drawn out, and he doesn’t back down from his offer. “I’m not going to think you hate me any less because you take the crackers.”
That draws an eye roll and a peaked shake of my head. I rip open a bag and shove an entire square cracker in my mouth, and like magic, I instantly feel less nauseous. “Thank you,” I whisper reluctantly.
“You’re welcome.”
I eat in silence, taking the occasional sip of water, and Everett waits patiently. Whatever swell of embarrassment mixed with my smothered animosity toward Everett gets tucked away. Somewhere I can ignore it and focus on the fact that he’s here sitting next to me. Everett’s here, in my home. And the sudden realization makes a wave of melancholy sweep through me.
“This is why I don’t drink,” I say, cutting into the silence. “Apparently, I can’t hold my liquor.”
“You couldn’t in high school. I doubt much has changed in that department.”
I roll my eyes again, this time with less irritation and a pinch of nostalgia instead. “Remember I’d get drunk off two Smirnoff Ices?”
He chuckles.
“I was so lame.”
Everett looks around the house, peering into the empty hallway. “So, where’s your husband?”
I stiffen at the mention of Leo. A knot forms in my throat, and I push it down while my fingers toy with the ragged edges of a chipped cracker. “He’s…he’s busy.”
I look over at him, hoping my omission is believable. I see his jaw tic and his brow furrow. “He’s been busy all day,” he comments. “He can’t be here at night when his wife gets home so she’s not alone in this big empty house?”
“I’m fine.”
“Don’t tell me he leaves you at home by yourself all the time, Teeny.”
I shoot him a disappointed scowl. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
He keeps his eyes on me, and we hold this silent staring contest. One he doesn’t budge from. As if he’s telling me he’ll decide what’s his business or not. The tiredness from earlier when I stumbled out of the bathroom returns, and I realize how little fight I have left in me.
“Things are…complicated,” I finally say.
“How?”
“I don’t know…it just is.” My lips twist to the side as soon as I feel my chin quiver, and I look away, hoping the ground will do me a favor and swallow me whole. Anything to get Everett to stop looking at me like he’s looking at me right now. “Don’t look at me like that,” I finally say when I can still feel his gaze on me.
