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“I’m glad your husband brought you another pair,” she sweetly exclaims. “That other pair was-”
“He’s not her husband,” Harv interrupts on a small huff.
“Closer than you are,” Slater absentmindedly mumbles.
Or…at least I think it’s absentminded.
Andis hecloser than Harv is?!
Isanyonethat close to marrying me?!
“Oh!” Ali squeaks, pink words bouncing about. “When he said he was family, I just assumed-”
“He’s not even really that,” our boss needlessly clarifies. “They’rejustfriends.”
The other male in the room growls. “Best. Friends.”
“Don’t be childish, Wahl.”
“Rich comin’ from the man who can barely even admit the status of my relationship with Arlette.”
“Could you pleasestopcalling me Arlette?” I less than warmly throw his way. “It’s giving me caught falling asleep in The Business History of Popular Culture vibes Isodon’t need at thirty-five.”
Slater’s amused smirking is cut short by Harv asking, “Since when do you not like to be called Arlette?”
“You didn’t even know she doesn’t like to be called Arlette?” my best friend grunts a laugh. “How long did you two exactly date? A week?”
“Almost a year,” my ex snarls before I can push for us to discuss this later.
“A fuckin’ year?!”
“Blink twice if you’d like me to have them wait outside,” Ali whispers at a much lower volume. “It’ll be no problem.”
Maybe not forher.
I have the sneaking suspicion that kicking them out would just multiply my problems.
And my headache.
Let’s not forget the splitting headache.
“How about we get back to the symptoms questions,” my suggestion is purposefully louder.
Forceful.
Attention grabbing as well as argument ending.
Or so I hope.
“Right,” the CNA promptly concurs. “Have you had any trouble hearing?”
“Unfortunately not,” is rather clearly reported.
“Any trouble speaking?”
Oh, lots of that in these past twenty minutes.
Sensing what I’m thinking prompts the man I adore to say, “She’s talkin’ about slurs or stutters or trouble recallin’ words not why you’ve keptsecrets.”
