“If you just wait here, I’ll grab the box for you and you can?—”
“I’ll come in. I have a few,” he says.
It’s tempting to concede, to shrink for him, but I don’t want him to come inside and what I want matters. I hold my ground.
“It’s probably just as easy if I?—”
“Abby, I’d like to chat with you for a few minutes, if that’s okay.”
He hasn’t wanted to chat with me since he broke up with me six months ago, but now he wants a few words? Before I can protest again, he’s reaching around me and opening my front door, holding it so I can walk through.
I let out a frustrated sigh and walk into my home.
Fine. I’ll just kick him out quickly.
Todd follows, shutting the door behind me and climbing the stairs up to my apartment.
“Here is your box.” I gesture to the box of his things that I accidentally took when I moved out.
“Your space is really…interesting.” he says, taking it all in, ignoring his box completely.
I grind my teeth. Of course he would come in and put his judgmental eyes on my space. He’s looking at everything I have here and hating it.
Todd is a minimalist. He hates stuff and I have a lot of stuff. Eclectic art pieces hang all over the walls, mostly things I found in thrift stores, and shelves are cluttered with art pieces my students gave to me and plants I’ve acquired. The space is clean, but full. I’ve loved building this nest for myself filled with things that bring me joy. It’s taken time, but I’m proud of my home.
I straighten. “Thank you. I quite like living on my own,” I say, but he doesn’t seem to catch the dig.
“Why do you have a box of things from your desk at school?” he asks, abruptly changing the subject again.
None of your business.
“I put in my notice today.”
“You’re leaving teaching?”
“I am.”
“To do what?” His shock is palpable.
“I’m going back to school to pursue graphic design,” I say.
“Why? I assume that means you’re losing your health insurance. And you’ll be out a steady paycheck for a few years probably.”
He says these things as if I haven’t thought of them. As if I’m a child who hasn’t belabored her own decisions. Did I really never notice the way he talks to me?
Thank god he left.
“Because I want to. I’m doing it because I want to. Do you want this box of things, Todd?”
Todd’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. It’s the strongest pushback I’ve ever given him, and I didn’t even use a harsh tone.
He scans me then, head to toe. It’s intrusive the way he’s looking at me, like he’s finally seeing me for the first time today, and maybe ever.
“You seem different,” he says, eyes narrowed.
“Oh, is it my tan?” I say, feigning ignorance. “I was just in Mexico.”
“Mexico? Who’d you go with?”
