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One quick password type later I’m revealing an unexpected message.
Harv: Got your email.
Of course, he did.
He’s married to his phone.
Harv: I’ll review it after this conference call.
Seeing no need to respond has me resuming my packing yet before the phone can dim itself, I receive another text.
Harv: Headed home?
Me: You frown upon me sleeping here.
I picture the smirk he’s probably making.
Unlike Slater wholivesto flash a toothy grin, Harv has always been more a smirker.
Which fits his personality to a tee.
Man is a control freak.
Onlyhegets to decide how many of his teeth you do or do not see.
Or whether those teeth get used on a begging woman’s neck during foreplay.
Harv: Can I walk you down?
Caught slightly off guard by the request has me hesitating to reply.
Um…well that’s…new.
He’s always been one of those “independence is why I like you” people. From opening my own car door to picking up takeout tabs. “Taking care of me” wasn’t something he seemed interested in doing, which was fine. I mean…Icananddoknow how to handle myself.
I’ve had to do it in some capacity for most of my life.
It’s just nice when someone you love wants to do it too.
Harv: I just need five minutes to wrap this up.
Giving my bright red painted lip the tiniest bite is done in contemplation.
Maybe this is a sign?
Maybe just him making the effort to show he’s changed or willing to change is a good motive to give us another go?
Or maybe I’m just being uncharacteristically hopeful because it beats the alternative of being predictively bitter?
Predictively bitterand soberare a terrible combination.
On a small shrug to myself, I swiftly reply.
Me: Five minutes it is.
Unfortunately for me – as I should’ve anticipated given what I’ve come to know about the man – five minutes easily turns into ten. And ten minutes quickly turns into twelve. And twelve becomes twenty-two before I realize Idefinitelymade a mistake.
An all too familiar mistake.
