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No more than thirty minutes later, Hillary and Parker slug their overnight bags over their shoulders and are exiting Foster’s apartment for a long three-hour drive north to the bride-to-be’s hometown. They say their cordial good-byes to Foster, and once again, Parker adds a comment about seeing Foster next weekend for the wedding.
When the couple is finally gone and the door is shut, only Foster, silence, and I remain.
He joins me next to the small kitchen island, gazing at the intricate granite details—specks of gold, black, blue, and green spattered across the surface like droplets of paint.
“Your friends are really nice,” I comment while creating an imaginary figure eight on the cool stone.
“They’re good people.” He rests his palms on the counter. “Parker’s like my brother in a lot of ways.”
“I bet that must be hard with everything that happened between you and Sasha.”
“It’s had its ups and downs, but we’re still close—well, as close as we can be now that he’s living in another state.”
“And about to get married,” I remind him.
“Yes, well, that was a foregone conclusion. Everyone knew they would eventually tie the knot. They’ve been together for so long. It was a matter of time.”
“Ah, you must be happy for them.”
“Sure I am. Who wouldn’t be?”
“Fools. Only fools.” I tap my nail against the hard surface. I came here for a reason, and the idle chitchat isn’t it. “So, where have you been lately?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play dumb guy with me, Foster. It doesn’t suit you.”
I cross my arms over my chest, and he straightens, mirroring my stance.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to say,” he adds.
“Really? Do I need to spell it out?”
“Apparently.”
I huff, “You haven’t returned my phone calls in almost a week. I’m lucky to get an answer to my texts. It’s like I don’t even exist to you anymore, like you’ve cut me off.”
Foster blinks. He holds my gaze.
“Are you mad at me?” I ask, probing. “’Cause if you are, you should just tell me rather than play this hide-and-seek game. I thought…” I shake my head, unable to continue. “I thought…” I groan.
Foster holds his position, stiff as a board. He removes the dark frames and sets them upside down on the counter between us. Then, he presses two fingers to the center of his forehead.
“Are you going all possessive girlfriend on me right now?” he finally says, not even looking at me. “Because I’m not interested in that kind of conversation.”
My heart stops.
Breathing ceases.
Did he say girlfriend?
“No,” I stress. “I’m asking you straight up if there’s a reason you’re ignoring me. And don’t say that you haven’t been. Something’s wrong.”
He doesn’t reply.
Releasing his fingers from his head, he lifts his deep blue eyes to reach my clear ones.
He remains speechless.
