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“How would I know? You’re acting a little nuts.”
“Well, isn’t that the pot calling the kettle blackity black-black.”
Laughing, he lays his suit jacket on the armrest of the sofa. I head to the kitchen to warm up a plate of fried rice and veggies and pour him a glass of wine. I take it over to him and say, “The plate is hot, so be careful.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I decide to forego the second glass of wine since I have unexpected company now. I’m already calm enough to deal with him, so I’d say the first glass did the trick. Another glass and he may have the upper hand.
He says, “This is really good.”
I watch him chew, thinking how I shouldn’t be watching him. His bone structure is pleasing and those lips – I remember how he attacked me with them in his office on Thursday. My body shivers every time I see him slide the fork out of his mouth. He’s eating like he’s had nothing to eat all day.
I look away, glance at the TV, and consider asking him about the funeral service for his mother, but I’m not sure if he’s in the headspace to talk about it. He’s not necessarily forthcoming with his private matters since he wants people to think he’s perfect. But he came here for some reason, didn’t he? If he didn’t want me to ask, maybe he should’ve gone elsewhere.
“How was the service?”
“It was good,” he says impassively.
“That’s it?”
“Yeah. What more do you want me to say?”
“I want you to be a human and tell me what you’re feeling.”
He lifts his mouth in the corner. “Feelings. I have no feelings. I’m screwed up that way.”
“No, you’re not. Everybody has feelings.”
Shaking his head, he says, “Try telling that to my father. He hasn’t said a word to me since Thursday. He says I haven’t shown my mother any respect by returning to work.”
“I’m not trying to take sides here, but I think your father has a point.”
“How’s that?” he asks, turning toward me, his dark eyes darkening even more.
“Everyone at the office was shocked to learn you were back.”
Essex takes another sip of wine, then says, “I think I need help.”
Did he just say what I think he said?
“What?”
“You heard me. I don’t want to repeat it.”
“I tried to help you once. I think you need someprofessionalhelp. I can’t fix crazy.”
He looks at me and laughs. I was hoping he would.
He asks, “You think I’m crazy?”
“As crazy as a one-eyed bedbug.”
He grins. “I promise I will be better, especially to you.”
“That remains to be seen.”
