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I grabbed two plates from the cupboard and two forks. “How do you know about my Christmas movies?” I asked.
Claus shrugged. “Ever since I have known you, as soon as November hit, you always watched Christmas movies or listened to Christmas music. I can see that hasn’t changed.” He nodded to the TV, where a scene fromChristmas Vacationplayed. “I am surprised you don’t have your tree up, though.”
I pushed the plates into his hands and grabbed the bag of food. “Sit,” I grunted.
He plopped down on the couch, and I set the bag of food on the coffee table.
“Though it does look like you’re going to put it up.”
I sat next to him and pulled all of the containers out of the bag. “I was thinking about it. I just…” I just thought I would be putting my tree up at Paul’s place with a wedding ring on my finger. “Just trying to get in the mood,” I finished simply.
Claus had been at my non-wedding. He had been in the back of the church watching as Tony announced to the guests that Paul had a change of heart and there wouldn’t be a wedding. Claus watched along with everyone as I pasted a smile on my face and acted as if my heart hadn’t been ripped out of my chest without a thought.
Tears threatened to fall, and I swiftly shook my head. “I’m glad you don’t like egg rolls because I only ordered a dozen, and they are all mine,” I repeated and hurriedly filled each of our plates. I slid Claus’ in front of him and wanted desperately to change the subject.
“You don’t need to make a plate for me, sweets. I appreciate it, but you should just worry about yourself.”
His words penetrated my brain, and something broke.
I always made Paul’s plate for him. It was something he expected. Something that I did because if I didn’t, he was upset. I tipped my head to the side and frowned. “I always needed to have Paul’s plate made before I could eat.” It came out more of a question than a statement, but that was because I realized how ridiculous it was that I needed to feed Paul before myself. Before I could take care of myself, I had to take care of Paul.
Jesus Christ.
Claus grabbed his fork and stabbed a piece of chicken. “Any other bullshit that guy did?” he asked. “Maybe make you do his laundry while he played video games?”
My eyes dropped to my plate.
“Fucking hell, Stevie,” he grunted.
“He said he liked how nice my clothes always smelled, so I just did his laundry.” I thought I was doing something nice for him, but it was bullshit that even when I was dog-tired from work and just wanted to relax, I would have to do Paul’s laundry. If I didn’t, he would throw a fit like a five-year-old. I just got to the point where I did his laundry to keep him from complaining.
“You add some sort of fucking magic potion to that laundry, sweets? Because if you just used fucking soap off the damn shelf, the douchebag was just fucking dicking with you.” Claus tossed his fork down and stood.
I closed my eyes. Didn’t I look like an idiot?
“Fucker wasn’t good enough for you, Stevie, and I thank god he ran.” He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and stalked to the door. “I’ll be right back. Eat.” He stormed out the door and slammed it behind him.
I flopped back on the couch and couldn’t hold back the tears.
*
Chapter Three
Claus
My anger rolled off of me.
She had to make his plate before she could eat?
She did his fucking laundry while he did jack shit?
I took a deep drag off my cigarette and gazed down the street. Taillights faded in the distance, and a dog barked next door.
From the day I had met Paul, I knew he was a piece of shit.
I could just feel it when I was around him.
Now Stevie had cemented everything.
