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Claude laughed.
“What about it?”
“Say more.”
He chuckled.
“Like what?”
“Anything,” I told him.
Claude relaxed, took my hands in his, and looked up in thought.
“Well, I like delicate hands.”
“I don’t have delicate hands,” I said self-consciously.
“And I like your petite frame,” he said, smiling at me.
“I’m not ‘petite’,” I objected.
“And I like how even when I try to give you a compliment, you reject it, making me feel like I haven’t.”
I caught myself.
“I guess I’m as good at receiving them as you are at giving them. But couldn’t you like my manly demeanor?”
“If you had one, sure,” he said with a smirk.
“Okay, now you’re just being mean.”
Claude joyfully transferred his hands from mine to my waist.
“I just like you for who you are, Merri. Can’t you accept that?”
“You’re right, Claude. Thank you. I should just accept myself for who I am.”
“You should. Because what you are is wonderful. And it doesn’t matter if you have hands like a marionette or a bird-like feminine frame, I still like you.”
I stared at his grinning face with daggers in my eyes. Pulling away and walking off, I said,
“You know what, go back to Tennessee. No one wants you here. Goodbye.”
Beside himself with amusement, he followed, asking, “What? Was it something I said?”
“Bye.”
“No. Tell me. Did I say something wrong?”
“Goodbye,” I repeated, secretly elated to hear him follow me.
As annoying as he could be, maybe he wasn’t actually going to leave me again. And although it was my greatest fear, maybe I could trust him to be there for me after all.
Arriving back at my place unsure if I should forgive him for the horribly true things he had said, I was about to when my phone rang. Seeing me staring at the caller ID strangely, Claude asked,
“Who is it?”
“My ex, Jason.”
