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***
As I placed a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table, the doorbell rang.
Sitting in his leather recliner, Peter glanced up from his phone and asked, “Are you going to answer that?”
“I can’t see who it is,” I told him, situating the bowl between two bottles of water and taking pride in my domestic handiwork.
“You know who it is,” he said in a wry grumble as the doorbell rang again.
“Tarryn isn’t supposed to be here for another ten minutes or so,” I said, glancing at the door. “Can you just please get it? The sun will be right in my face, and I won’t be able to see if it’s even her or not.”
With a begrudged huff, Peter hoisted himself out of the chair and shuffled across the living room floor. “The sun,” he mocked under his breath while shaking his head.
I glared as he threw the door open and gestured his hand toward the light now streaming inside.
“Oh, look. It’s Tarryn,” he said with false exuberance. “She must be ten minutes early.”
The jab instantly brought with it an insurmountable amount of shame and embarrassment, making me feel stupid, small, and weak. Peter didn't realize it—he couldn't have. If he had, he would've gathered me in his arms and apologized—I hoped so anyway. But instead, he greeted Tarryn with an air kiss to the cheek and a welcoming sweep of his arm inside while I dropped my gaze to the floor and wished I could disappear.
“Hey, baby!” Tarryn exclaimed, walking inside with arms outstretched toward me like she hadn’t just seen me the day before.
Even in leggings and an oversize sweatshirt, she looked like she'd just come from New York Fashion Week, her long legs emphasized with high-heeled booties and one delicate shoulder on display. With the exception of my squinting, I was never self-conscious of the way I looked. I was confident in my appearance, and there wasn't much I could find to change. But everything about Tarryn screamed expensive, especially since I knew damn well how much her hair and clothes cost, and my Old Navy sweatpants paled in comparison.
Peter waited by the open door as she and I hugged. Then, as we got comfortable on the couch, he announced that he was going to head out for dinner with a couple of buddies and he'd be back later.
“Okay, drive safe,” I said as he leaned over the back of the couch and kissed my cheek.
“Don't burn the place down,” he teased, then left, closing the door behind him.
Tarryn was already noshing on the bowl of popcorn while I reached for the remote and turned on the TV.
“You want me to put something on?” she asked, offering an open palm.
“Better you than me,” I replied, dropping the remote into her hand.
She flipped through the channels before finding nothing worth watching on cable and navigated to Netflix. We decided a bad horror movie was in order, and settled onTusk—an old favorite of ours. Then, as the opening scene rolled out on the screen, Tarryn kicked off her shoes, and our feet replaced the bottles of water on the coffee table.
“So, it's okay for a bachelor pad,” she commented, casting her gaze around the small living room.
“Yeah, it's not bad, right?” I agreed between bites of popcorn.
“Not at all. I mean, it needs some decorating. The walls are naked as hell, and you could use maybe a few more pillows and throw blankets. But I've definitely seen worse.” Then, she laughed as she opened her water bottle. “And I mean,wayworse. Remember the guy who had a pile of dirty socks and underwear just chilling in the middle of his living room?”
A piece of popcorn nearly choked me to death as I laughed. “Yes,” I croaked after downing two gulps of water. “Oh myGod, so friggin' gross.”
“The smell was horrific.”
“And still, you stayed,” I reminded her, on the verge of another giggle fit.
She tried to fight her grin but lost. “I'm such a fuckingidiotwhen hot men are involved,” she admitted, laughing at her biggest weakness.
Then, her hand reached out and nudged my thigh. “Look at you though,” she said. “Little Miss Domestic Goddess over here.”
This was how our movie nights typically went. A movie we'd already seen was put on to add ambience while we chatted until our voices were hoarse and our stomachs hurt from the endless laughter.
“Oh, please, I have no idea what I’m doing half the time,” I said, already wishing for a change in subject. “I don't even know for sure that I'm moving in. It's not, like, a done deal or anything.”
“No, I know. But things are going really good, right?”
