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I reach out my free hand, running my thumb over the tan stone strips glued to the paper. “Backsplash?”
“You’re in construction,” she snips, giving me a chastising look. “Don’t you ever watch HGTV? Backsplash is everything in home décor.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen it,” I assure her, dropping my hand. “I just…I don’t know. Seems like a frill.”
She rolls her eyes, her gaze resting on the stones again. “It’s the little things that add personality to a house,” she tells me. “An artsy chandelier, the right rug, and backsplash.” She turns the sheet around, facing me and showing me. “This is you. It would look great with what you’ve done in the kitchen.”
“Me, huh?” I let out a chuckle, meeting her eyes. “And what am I?”
Her smile falls and a look of surprise crosses her eyes.
I blink. “I didn’t mean it…like that,” I tell her.
It’s not what I said but how I said it. Way too insinuating.
She seems to brush it off, though, turning the sheet around and staring down at it again with appreciation. “It reminds me of a cave,” she finally says. “You’re like a cave. You don’t give up all your secrets at once. Who knows how deep you go, right?”
My eyebrows shoot up. What?
How deep do I go? Did she just…
Her eyes suddenly go round, and she jerks her gaze to me, looking mortified. “I mean,” she rushes out, “like…on the…on the inside. Your personality.” A blush rises to her cheeks. “I didn’t mean it like…ugh.” Her shoulders sink, and she stuffs the sheet back into the box, giving up. “I’m going to drool over bathroom fixtures now. Bye.”
And she walks away from me quickly, disappearing down an aisle.
My mouth quirks into a smile, and I break into a quiet laugh, staring after her.
“So, what do you think?” A young man in an orange apron steps up out of the corner of my eye.
I don’t look at him, though, still staring at the aisle she just disappeared down. “We’ll start off with three boxes of this.” I gesture to the tiles on the shelf. “See how it looks...”
He moves over and starts unloading the boxes. “Wise choice. Happy wife, happy life, right?”
Happy wife, happy…
I watch him pull out a box and carry it away, the pulse in my neck suddenly throbbing.
He thinks she’s my wife?
A smile pulls at the corner of my mouth, and I’m not exactly sure which emotion is filling my chest right now, but it feels good and there’s a lot of it.
Later that evening, I slouch back into the couch with my arm tucked behind my head and a beer in my hand, watching TV I’ve been in a lucid daze for a while now as one show has turned into five.
I set down my beer and pick up the remote, finally turning off HGTV and blinking, I think, for the first time in three hours. “She’s right,” I mumble. “They’re fucking obsessed with backsplash.”
In a moment of curiosity, I had clicked on the channel after we got home from Home Depot, and it’s like I blacked out after that, only momentarily zoning back in to make a sandwich and try to talk to Cole.
He’s out again now, though, grabbing a quick shower and another quick exit after he came home from work and realized Jordan wasn’t here. I thought we could go grab a late dinner or something, but apparently, his plans couldn’t be broken again.
Or he’s afraid to be alone with me. It’s not like I want to fight, either. Even just watching a show together would be fine. I mean, we had managed not to kill each other in the past. He used to like me.
And where does he get all this money to party? He has to be spending everything he’s making.
Not that I’m in a rush to have him save money and leave, but I guess I can now judge myself as harshly as I’d judged Jordan. The more you do for someone, the less they do for themselves. I’m as much to blame as she is. Cole won’t grow up until he’s forced to.
I down the rest of my beer and stand up, carrying the empty bottle into the kitchen.
My phone rings in my pocket, and I dig it out.
