She gives me a look. "Argue with me if you want. You're wrong." She turns and heads for the exit. "Come on. I need to get home."
I follow her. What else am I going to do?
The drive back is fine at first. She's got her window down a little, her hair moving, scrolling through her phone with the relaxed energy of someone who got a full night's sleep and didn't spend it standing on a chair with their ear against a vent. I keep both hands on the wheel, and keep my eyes on the road, and I think about what Jimbo said and what he didn't say and I tell myself very firmly to build those walls twice as thick.
She says something about the footage from the Sammy interaction, how she wants to cut it a specific way, and I say "mmm" because I'm only half listening.
"Did you hear me?" she asks.
"Yeah. Sounds good."
"I said I want to post it tomorrow morning during peak engagement hours. Is that okay with you, or do you want to review it first?"
"Do whatever you want, Mollie." It comes out flatter than I mean it to. More dismissive.
She goes quiet. I can feel her looking at me.
"Okay," she says carefully. "What about the scheduling for next week? I was thinking?—"
"Can we not do this right now?"
Another silence. Longer this time.
"Sure," she says. Her voice has gone very even. "We don't have to do anything."
Three blocks pass. I wait for the light change at an intersection, then pull through, and I tell myself I handled that fine. That she'll drop it, that we'll get home and order food and this will all reset by morning.
"What is going on with you?" she asks.
"Nothing."
"It's not nothing. You've been like this for weeks and I've been ignoring it but your series of dismissive grunts just now proves you’re off about something. Is it the Grayson thing? Because if you're scared about the trade rumors, that's valid. But taking it out on me isn't."
"I'm not taking anything out on you."
"You just told me to do whatever I want, like I was bothering you."
"You were bothering me."
She makes a sound that's somewhere between a laugh and something less amused. "Got it." She turns back to her window. "Fine. I’m looking for new apartments. If having me around is this much of a problem, I'll just?—"
"You're not moving out."
"Of course I am." She looks at me like I’m speaking gibberish.
"Mollie." I pull up to a red light and I turn and look at her and she looks back at me, chin up, eyes steady, doing that thing she does where she holds her ground even when the other person is bigger, louder, and has a better argument. "You're not moving out."
"What?” Her eyes bug out slightly. “You’re crazy. Why would our arrangement change suddenly? This is supposed to be a temporary arrangement."
She says it likeshe’sthe temporary arrangement, and it drives me crazy. The truth is that I love having her in my space, more than I ever thought I would. And hearing her talk about her plans to move pokes me in a soft spot that I can’t bear right now.
Not today. Not with sudden uncertainty over the team’s roster.
I need one good, stable thing. And I need it to be Mollie.
"Because I don't want you to." The light turns green. I face forward. "I've been a dick. I know I've been a dick. It has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with me, and I'll stop. But I need you to stay. Just for a little while."
She doesn't say anything for long enough that I glance over. She's watching me with an expression I can't fully read.
