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Caleb casually makes his way back from the freezer with ice cream and bowls.
‘No grosser than you sharing bodily fluids with ol’ Jasper. Unless you showered immediately it was over with.’ He chuckles.
I look away.
‘No!’ Caleb exclaims, catching my expression.
‘I don’t like to go to sleep dirty…’
‘Ariella Mason! Every time? Before and after?’
Embarrassment overwhelms me.
‘I don’t want to discuss this with you,’ I state firmly, irritated. The laugh that bubbles from him is explosive. It really hurts my feelings.
‘No wonder you’re…’ He lets the sentence tail off.
‘I’m what?’
‘Uptight. You need a re-education from someone and that poor bloke’s going to have a job on his hands!’
I’ve had enough. Caleb is having too good a time being cruel.
‘I’m going to bed.’ I leave my ice cream.
‘NoSopranos? I suppose not. You might need a shower after Bobby comes on screen!’
He starts laughing all over again. I blink away the tears forming.
‘You’re the worst.’ I point at him and narrow my eyes. I’m looking forward to a break from him.
EIGHTEEN
CALEB
Angry Ariella is fascinating. She makes passive-aggressiveness feel like warm cuddles. It was surprising to see that this, of all the things I had done, was what set her off. Dahlia had warned me about the showering thing, but I didn’t expect Ariella to bethatsensitive about it.
The next day, she seemed to be giving me the silent treatment. She was as pleasant as ever, but she wasn’t herself. She moved stiffly, avoided my eyes and refused to share a space with me. We often manoeuvred easily around each other at breakfast, but the next morning she sat at the bar, waiting patiently until I finished and left the kitchen before she entered the space.
We communicated easily, but matter-of-factly, and she stopped laughing. She still cooked for us, but would intentionally eat at a different time. There were noSopranosepisodes that week. She declined politely every time I asked. It was a truly odd experience. She was the same. She spoke the same, behaved the same, kept to our normal routine; but she was absent somehow.
She even went on a date with some dude, told me about it like she was reading from an instruction manual, and went to bed. I made a terrible joke about the barista wanting to roast her, and she just smiled and shook her head like she felt sorry for me. On day one, I thought she’d need the day to get over it. On day two, I decided to let her be; that maybe it was better this way. By day three, it was driving me absolutely mental.
‘Mate. You’ve obviously pissed her off. Apologise,’ Jack scolds as we come to the end of our sprint in front of the pub the following Sunday.
‘Hello, lads. What took you so long?’ Tim shows off, looking at his watch. For a big bloke, he’s fast.
‘Fuck off, Tim. We’re not all Jonah Lomu.’ Jack coughs.
‘I don’t know about you guys, but I’m getting the fry-up.’ I walk into the pub and the guys follow.
‘Why did you have to piss her off? We could be round yours having something awesome. I hate eating here now. Tim and I can go round. She’s not refusing to cook for us; just you,’ Jack complains.
‘She’s not refusing to cook for me. Last night I told her we were coming here instead. She didn’t seem bothered.’
‘Why on earth would you do that?’ Tim asks, exasperated.
‘He pissed her off and instead of saying sorry, he’s being a dick. As usual,’ Jack chips in.
