Page 51 of Grouch-ish

“I trained him,” I snap at her, lifting my head and glaring at her before lowering my gaze once more.

Pear goes quiet and I turn the phone over and over in my hands. Her hand slips from my forearm, my skin suddenly cold without her touch.

“Have you spoken with someone about this? About how you feel?”

On the tip of my tongue is a retort. Telling her once again I don’t need a shrink. But I remember what she said. She wanted to grow bigger.

“Had mandatory sessions. Ten of them. There was nothing to discuss.” The therapist didn’t think I was making progress, and she could have kept me from returning to work, but I explained to Cap that I was fine. Risks came with the job. I understood that I had nothing to do with Nat’s misstep or the hidden shaft. Still, guilt ate at me.

“But . . .” I draw out a heavy breath. “It’s one reason I don’t want Nick joining the department.”

I don’t want to lose my son like Nat’s parents lost him. I’d never be able to forgive myself. I wouldn’t know how to go on without my boy.

Eventually, Pear asks. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I didn’t. I really didn’t, so I shake my head. “I just want to shower.”

Pear’s voice remains quiet. “All yours.”

I shouldn’t have snapped at her. And I should have told her more. Maybe I should talk to someone. Just not today.

I stand instead, and head to the bathroom needing a few minutes to be alone and clear my head.

+ + +

“What’s all this?” A chuckle fills my voice. I feel better after my shower. I feel even lighter because Nat’s parents responded to my text with wishes for a happy new year. In my heart, I know they never blamed me. I’d put the fault on myself.

However, I didn’t want to think about Nat right now. Not with the spread set up on the kitchen table. While I’d asked my question, I can see for myself that Pear has been busy. Chili in a slow cooker. Chips and topping options in small bowls around the cooker. Cheese and crackers on a fancy board; pear slices among them. The timer on the oven beeps and Pear removes a baking sheet of cookies.

“How did you do all this?” I didn’t think I’d been in the shower that long, but apparently, she’s a kitchen wizard.

“The chili won’t be ready for a bit, but the other stuff was in the fridge. The cookie dough is the pre-made kind I found in the freezer. Not my best cookies, but they work.”

I glance up at her and notice she’s wearing a bright red sweater and hip-hugging jeans. I haven’t seen her in such an outfit yet.

“You’re dressed in color.”

Pear glances down at herself.

“I’ve only seen you in a variety of whites.” And a red bathing suit earlier today.

I’ve killed the vibe with my memories of Nat.

“Oh.” Pear swipes a hand self-consciously over her stomach. “I used to wear a lot of black. Like a lot. And when I finally moved on from Reggie, I made a major wardrobe change. White is so much brighter. But . . .” She laughs. “I do own other colors. Like red.” She plucks at her sweater.

I smile but her smile in return is weak.

“This is quite a spread for lunch.”

Pear shrugs. “Well, it’s game day.”

Right, college football. I glance back at her sweater. “Please tell me you are not—”

“Go Bulldogs.” She timidly raises a fist in solidarity with University of Georgia.

I want to punch myself in the face for her sudden cautious actions. This is my fault, and I step closer to her.

“You know, you and me cannot be an us if you root for red. I’m a blue and gold man. Go Wolverines.” Lifting my hand, I brush back a long, dark strand of her hair which is so soft and shiny. Her vanilla scent tickles my nose, and I want to restore us to how we were earlier.