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“With good reason.” I made a pretense of sorting receipts on the counter.
“I have to explain.” He took a step forward.
“What’s there to explain? You cheated on me.” I couldn’t look at his face. “I suggest you go.”
He traced a finger along the worktop. “I came here for a bouquet. Something special.”
“Oh. What kind of bouquet?”
He had a game plan, and for some reason, I went along with it. Curiosity or magnanimous benevolence?
“Something suitable for an apology.”
“Saying sorry with a bunch of flowers?” I tried to laugh, to mock him.
“Deeply. Profoundly. Sorry.” He breathed in with each word and spoke with increasing clarity of tone.
“Well, you need red roses.” I walked to the display racks and collected half a dozen roses. “Blood red for the broken, bleeding heart.” I snipped the stems down and put them in a plastic vase I used for arranging. “I’d normally trim off the thorns, but being in pain seems to be an essential part of rejection.”
“Please, take the thorns off. I don’t want to cause any more pain.”
I ignored his request.
“Then, lilies. Used quite a bit at funerals, reflecting sadness. Loss.” I picked a few and added them to the roses, moving them around to create a spray of red and white petals.
“Please, Callie,” he said softly. “Let me explain.”
“Were my eyes deceiving me? Was there not a naked woman in your house?” I stared right into his eyes, holding back my anger, my despair. I will not cry.
“She’s…not important to me.”
I guffawed in a mocking fashion. “Oh, that makes me feel so much better.” I slammed the scissors down and crossed my arms. “Because being replaced by an inconsequential nobody makes me… What? More valuable to you?”
“Magda. She’s called Magda and she’s not a nobody.” His tone had sharpened.
I gaped in disbelief. His hairdressing buddy? “You took me to her salon,” I said fiercely.
“You left on Sunday and… I have a situation with my family. It is spiraling out of control.”
Nothing he said made sense. “You wouldn’t speak to me. I gave you space. I thought that was what you needed. I could see you were frustrated, so I hung back.”
“I realize that now,” he sighed. “At the time, I assumed you wanted space too. You said the sex was great, and I concluded, obviously wrongly, that all you desired from me was sex, not companionship, so I took you home.” He ducked his head down.
I didn’t know what to say. If he expected me to feel remorse, he could forget it.
“Sorry,” he whispered.
“So you went running to Magda, or did she come running to you after you summoned her for a fuck. Do you fuck her regularly? I mean, is this a Monday thing? Who do you fuck on Tuesdays?” I steamrollered into him. The cookie jar suddenly made a great deal of sense, with its ready supply of condoms.
“No. We meet occasionally. Very occasionally.”
“While you’ve been with me?”
“Just this time.” He screwed his hands into fists. “Look, I’m not good at this. I fuck, a lot, but I don’t do attachment. I like to be in control—you know that—and when I lose it, I seek it out. Sex, I mean. Irrational maybe, and Magda serves that need. Her needs too.” He pressed a fist to his chest. “This, in here, I’ve never had to deal with this raw emotion before. I’ve shunned it, kept it at bay, but you have broken barricades. I did not fuck Magda. You came at precisely the moment I backed off.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, brilliant. What a relief,” I said sarcastically. “That is exactly what I witnessed.”
“Did I look happy?”
