Liz shuts and locks the door behind her, then follows me to the crates where Skip and Lou are pawing excitedly at the ground. I let them out and Liz and I endure the usual marathon of exuberance.
She doesn’t say anything more as I let the dogs out back to do their business and tend to the other animals, first checking Iago’s water and food while he mutters the occasional curse, then on to Tinky, my rabbit, to give him fresh hay.
Liz is quiet through it all. Suspiciously quiet. Liz, who has never had an opinion she didn’t share, doesn’t say anything.
I leave her to stew in silence while I let the dogs back in and pour us both wine.
Finally, as we settle into the living room, I break.
“Okay, hit me.”
She blinks innocently as Lou settles at her feet. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You’re never this quiet. You’ve never had a thought in your life that you haven’t said out loud.”
She presses a hand to her chest in mock indignation. “Well, that’s a little mean-spirited.”
“Come on, you know what I mean. You’re better at digging out secrets than a CIA interrogator. If you’re keeping your opinions to yourself on this, there is something seriously wrong.”
She shrugs, taking a sip of wine. “Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?”
“What’s obvious?” I nearly take a sip of my own wine, but I’m a little afraid I might guzzle it out of pure frustration, so instead, I set it on the side table.
The second it’s out of my hand, Skip hops into my lap. Or rather, he tries to. His three tiny feet scramble for traction on the edge of the sofa and I have to hoist him up.
When she still says nothing, I ask again, “What’s obvious?”
She leans forward and helps herself to my TV remote. In the moments it takes the TV to turn on and my landing page to load, she says casually, “It’s obvious you’ve met someone.”
I suck in a breath, then press my lips together, hoping she didn’t hear me.
She glances at me only briefly before flipping through the navigation screen to the app she wants. “You’ve met someone. Someone you’re interested in. But you’re not ready to talk about it.” She gives a little shrug. “That’s okay. You’ll talk about him when you’re ready.”
She reaches the screen she wants and clicks away until the movie starts.
Like this is the least interesting thing that has ever happened in the history of uninteresting things.
Which is perfect. Because thisisthe least interesting thing.
And it’s not even a thing.
Not. Even.
And I haven’t met someone.
So there.
I glare at her for several moments as music sweeps through the room.
She ignores me.
I stroke Skip’s ears. He drools.
I reach over, calmly pick up my wine and take a sip. I set my glass down. I stroke Skip’s ears some more. My eye twitches.
I lunge for the remote, knocking Skip off my lap, and pause the movie.
“I haven’t met someone.”
