Darlene does not hug me immediately. She sets the tea down, drapes the blanket over my shoulders, and sits beside me on the couch with the stiff dignity of a woman entering battle against feelings she did not authorize.
“What did he say?” she asks.
“I asked him to move in.”
Her eyebrows climb. “Well.”
“He said it was a big step.”
Darlene winces.
“Yeah.”
“That enormous idiot.”
“He tried to explain. I think. Maybe. I don’t know.” I press the heels of my hands against my eyes. “I heard no, Darlene. All I heard was no.”
“And did he say no?”
“No.”
“But you heard it.”
“Yes.”
She sighs, long and weary. “Old wounds have excellent hearing.”
I hate how much that sounds like truth. “I told him I loved him.”
Darlene goes still.
“He didn’t say it back.”
“Did he look like he didn’t feel it?”
I glare at her through wet eyes. “That is an evil question.”
“It’s an important one.”
“He looked like I’d handed him something fragile and he didn’t know if he was allowed to touch it.”
“Then he probably loves you.”
“Don’t.”
“I said probably.”
“That’s worse.”
Darlene leans back against the couch. “Kauss is a man made of locked rooms. You handed him a whole house and asked if he wanted his name on the door.”
“He could have said yes.”
“He could have.”
“He didn’t.”
“No.”
