My hand stays on the counter edge.
“You didn't answer my calls.”
“No.”
He taps again. Twice.
“Eleven texts. Three calls.”
“I saw.”
His jaw goes.
I've never saidI sawto him before in my life. I've always saidI'm sorryorI didn't hear itormy phone was on silent. I saidI saw. That's new. He knows it's new. The kitchen gets quiet how a room gets quiet when both people have noticed the same thing at the same time.
“Theo.”
“Yeah.”
His eyes pin me.
“Sit down.”
“I'd rather not.”
His hand goes flat on the counter. I watch the knuckles whiten.
“Sit. Down.”
I sit down.
I sit on the stool across from him with the island between us and I put my hands on my thighs under the counter so he can't see they're shaking and I wait.
He doesn't ask me if I was with a girl. He doesn't ask me if I was drinking. He doesn't ask me what time I got there. He doesn't ask me any of the questions a father who wasn't sure would ask. He asks the question of a father who already knows and wants to hear me say it out loud so he can be angry at the shape of the words.
“Who were you with?”
“A friend.”
He pushes the mug an inch to the side.
“Which one?”
“You don't?—”
“Theo.”
His voice is low now. Low is worse than loud. Low is where Paul lives when he's going to do something he's already decided to do.
“Which one?”
“You'll be angry.”
“I'm already angry. Tell me.”
I swallow.
I breathe in through my nose. Maddox's face in the gray light on my chest. His voice sayingyou're allowed to be a person. The bruise on my neck. The boxers under my jeans.
