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As soon as my door is closed, I pull off the stupid dress. My body breathes as I discard the dress on the bed. I grab the travel bag that houses all my latest clothes. I’ve been at my parents’ house for several weeks, ever since the thought of Cora hunting me down entered my head. I wonder if it’s only Cora I’m hiding from. I pull clothes from the bag, trying to remember what I’d packed the last time I’d been at my apartment. My pajamas are tempting, but I’m not sitting with Gianni, eating Chinese in llama pajamas. I opt for black leggings and a plain black T-shirt. I need to dress as conservatively as possible—no heels, no jewels, nothing fancy, just plain old me.
I make my way back downstairs. I half expect to find the kitchen empty, this whole thing some kind of strange waking dream, but he’s still here, perched on a barstool, scrolling through his phone.
“I was going to tape the window up, but I guess the police won’t want it tampered with.” His eyes remain on the screen. I’m by the door, mouth open, an unfathomable feeling scratching at my legs and working its way up my body. I want to shout at him. I want to ask him what the fuck he’s doing in my kitchen when he can’t even be bothered to acknowledge me at work. A few weeks ago, he wanted to be rid of me, and now he won’t leave.
“Can I get you a coffee?” I snap as I pad over to the coffee machine.
“No, I’ve had your coffee before,” Gianni replies without a trace of humor.
I slam the cup down and glare at him. This will not work. I’m about to tell him to leave, but Gianni speaks first.
“That was a joke.” I don’t know how to respond. My head is a mess. I continue to make myself a drink. I want to bypass the coffee and head straight to the liquor cabinet.
“You seem upset,” Gianni says after several seconds of me shoving drawers and flicking switches like I’m detonating a bomb.
“Upset?” I manage as I ram the coffee pod into the machine.
“Is it the window?”
I want to scream at him.No, it isn’t the fucking window. It’s you!But instead, I take my rage out on the refrigerator door, trying to locate the skimmed milk.
“No, it isn’t the window,” I snarl.
“Then what is it?” I ignore him. I don’t know what to say. I don’t trust myself. “Chloe.” His command is curt, and I see that he has risen from the stool in my peripheral vision. I don’t want him near me. “Chloe, stop.” He edges closer as I lean further into the refrigerator, the cool air refreshing my hot cheeks. I swap cheese and margarine onto different shelves as a sudden urge to rearrange the perfectly ordered refrigerator crosses me.
He’s next to me, his hand on my wrist, his voice in my ear.
“Chloe, stop.” I obey. “Look at me.” He is calm while I’m raging, and the fact he’s calm annoys me further. I blink into the cold. He pulls me away from the refrigerator, and the cold reaches my arms. I give in and look at him.
“Why are you so angry?” I want to ask him the same thing, but then I remember his dead wife, and the guilt returns.
“I don’t want to lose another job.”
“Why would you lose your job?” His hand remains on my arm, and one reason I think I might lose my job is now working its way down my arm and into my stomach. I need him to let go of me. I can’t admit to eavesdropping. That will only hammer another nail into my coffin.
“You think I’m incapable of doing my job, remember? I can’t even make a cup of coffee right. I can’t check an order on an invoice, and I’m not even worth a good morning when you see me.” Gianni opens his mouth, but I am not done yet. “Your mother thinks I’m some sort of devil in an apron, and sometimes it’s like you can’t even bear to look at me, yet here you are standing in my kitchen, ordering Chinese.” He drops my arm and inhales as if I’ve presented him with a little puzzle. “I am totally confused by your actions because, as far as I’m aware, you can’t stand me.” I feel justified by the silence that follows my outburst.
My coffee is ready, but I don’t want to pick it up as I might throw it at him.
“You’re very perceptive,” he says as he leans against the refrigerator. I want to step away from him, I can’t think with him in proximity, and part of me thinks he knows this.
“So, you admit I’m right.”
“I admit I can be hostile in the shop.” I roll my eyes. “I have a business to run. I’m not good at people management. No one can run my business properly except me, and it annoys me when I have to delegate. As for tonight, I saw you needed help, so I helped you. You’re here alone after an attempted break-in, something I’d feel uncomfortable with. Believe it or not, I am not made of stone.” Gianni growls.
“Then why do you act like you are?” My voice is a whisper as I slip under his gaze.
“Because it is easier that way.”
We stand facing each other, illuminated by the light from the refrigerator. I want to touch his face. It is so sad, the hardness defined by a feeling of sorrow that only seems visible against the glow. His eyes narrow. He’s scanning me. I wonder what he sees. Then he steps back as if my appearance has changed somehow.
We’re rescued by the doorbell.
“The food is here.” Gianni walks away. His head is down as if he’s trying to erase the image of me. I stand, swaying slightly under his magnetism. I close the refrigerator and am immediately swamped by the stifling air in the kitchen.
I retrieve plates and cutlery and set them down on the island. My movements feel robotic as if I’m functioning on autopilot. I’m not here in this room. My body may be, but my head is swimming in a large lake condemned as too dangerous for swimmers.
Gianni returns with a little white bag stacked with containers. The food smells delicious, but there’s now a rolling inside me. It’s hunger, but I’m not convinced it is purely food-related.
