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“No?” I repeat like an idiot.
“No,” she looks at me. “I don’t want charity.”
“It’s not charity.”
“What would you call it then?” Her tone is flat, almost angry. The bomb’s about to go off.
“I’d call it…”I don’t know what to call it,I think. I say, “I just want you around.”
“You want me ‘around’?”Tick. Tick. Tick.
“Yeah.” I take a step toward the couch.
She swings her legs down, sitting up straight. The movement stops me. She sets the wine glass down. Now I know we’re getting into things. I brace myself.
“What does that mean?” she asks.
“It’s pretty clear, I thought.”
“Then explain it to me.”
“I want you around. It’s nice having you around. This — this has been nice.”
“What’re we doing here, Roger?”
“I thought we were enjoying ourselves,” I tell her honestly.
“Sure. Roger Zane loves to enjoy himself; everyone knows that.”
You’re in deep shit when someone you’ve been intimate with uses your full name. Even I know that.
“But what happens,” Natalie says, “when he stops enjoying himself?”
That one goes over my head. “Natalie… I don’t know what you want from me.”
“What are we? What is this?”
“Are you asking me if this is a…”
“A…?”
“A…”
“Go on, Roger, say the word.”
“If this is arelationship?”
“Is it?”
Boom.There’s the bomb. This is going to be a fight.Whyshould it be? I hate fights. I don’t mind it in business. Business is a battle. But, personally… I’ve never been good at it. It’s why I usually leave. That way, a fight can’t rear its ugly head.
“I don’t know if it’s a relationship,” I backtrack.
“Great, what would you call it?”
“I’m – I don’t – I wouldn’t call it anything right now,” I blather.
“So, it’s nothing?” she digs.
