Why had I thought to ask a woman who’s never in a country long enough to commit to a phone carrier, let alone a relationship? My mother always chose herself first, it worked great for her career, but Rose Dubois wasn’t exactly a stellar example of #RelationshipGoals.
“Yeah.” I pretended to agree and swiftly changed the topic back to her career. A safe topic for both of us.
Talking about my love life with my mother was as helpful as googling symptoms when feeling sick. I’d only end up feeling worse. If I had thought she would be pleased just to see me committed to someone, I was so wrong. But it wasn’t about her. It was about me and my idealistic version of what I thought love would feel like. Just because Pete wasn’t living up to that fantasy, it wasn’t his fault. Pete was kind and particular and, yes, maybe a little overly involved (I would not think smothering), but wasn’t that better than the opposite? Wasn’t it good that he wanted to know where I was all the time and what I was doing? It meant he cared. He was here.
And he showed me his face.
I quickly pushed the doubt aside.
I had enough one-sided relationships. Talking with my mother reaffirmed that I needed to calm down. This was just normal relationship stuff that I would adjust to.
After wrapping up the call, I went out to the living room to find Pete with his feet on the coffee table and a beer in his hand. When I walked into the room, he held up the empty bottle.
“How was the call with Mom?” he asked.
I was glad I had my back to him as I headed to the kitchen because there was no hiding the wince. Were we to the point where he could call her that? It felt a little too soon.
I let out a breath. I was doing the thing again, looking for problems.
“It was good. Same as always,” I called through the opening between the kitchen and the living room.
I grabbed chips, anticipating his next need, and dumped them in a bowl. I brought his beer and snack and joined him on the couch. I rested my head on his shoulder and took simple pleasure in his presence.
Pete washere. I didn’t have to get all in my own head about it. I was done overromanticizing things. I was committed to this.
I munched away, thinking about my book as he yelled at the people on the screen.
“Not too many,” he said after I took another handful of the chips.
I sat up and frowned at him.
“What? Don’t want to spoil your appetite, right?” He kissed my nose.
This wasn’t the first time he’d made a comment about what I was eating, but he was right, I would fill up on junk food if I wasn’t paying attention. I put the chips back.
My phone swooshed with an incoming email notification. My heart raced. There was a chance that it was just junk mail, but the anticipation of hearing from RC never diminished. That sound was the electronic equivalent of unwrapping a piece of chocolate. Instead of my mouth watering, a small smile formed before I even opened the message.
The subject read “COCK PIC” and attached was a file namedRoosterontheRun.jpeg.
I snorted so loudly Pete looked up.
“Something funny?” Pete asked, glancing at me with a frown.
“It’s just RC,” I said, reading the message. “I guess the rooster snuck into the house and is wreaking havoc.” I cackled loudly reading RC’s account of Agata chasing Nugget around with a broom. “Oh no. Agata—” I couldn’t even talk I was laughing so hard. The picture was of the rooster standing proudly on what looked like a dining room table and a tiny woman waving her arms wildly at it.
Pete looked over my shoulder. “Cock pic?”
“It’s a joke, it’s his rooster,” I explained, wiping away tears.
He brought the beer to his lips and shrugged. “Doesn’t seem funny to me.”
I turned fully toward him, tucking my phone away. “Wait, are you mad?”
He didn’t take his eyes from the screen, but his jaw was tight with tension. “How would you feel if I got an email from some chick saying, ‘tit pic’?”
“I—It’s hardly the same. It’s just RC. He’s … harmless.”
“Yeah. Yeah. You’re just friends. I’m sure he doesn’t want to sleep with you.”
