it and call the number on the back, trying to not get pissed off as the phone rings.
“Hello?”
“Hello? Is that all you can say? How did you get in here and what the hell are these doing here?” I ask, my resolve to stay calm slipping.
He chuckles and says, “They’re yours. And I got in with a key, it’s usually how people get from one side to the other of a locked door.”
“Don’t be smart ass. I know how doors work, it’s just the fact that only I have a key and at no point today did I give it to you.”
He blows out a breath. I’m assuming he wasn’t expecting me to get so irked about it. “I got a key cut the other day. You needed couches and I wanted to say sorry for whatever I’ve done to upset you.”
“I’m not upset with you. And that was after you had my key so don’t start lying to me.”
“I know, I got it done because I felt better knowing I could get to you if I needed to. If you collapsed or something and couldn’t get to the door… I could still get to you.”
I don’t know why it makes me laugh. It could be the fact he’s thought of that possibility or that his bottom lip sounds like it sticking out like a scolded little boy. “You have a wild imagination, you know that?”
“I like to think of it as thinking of every possibility. Are you sure I haven’t upset you? You looked hurt when you left and you haven’t called, it wasn’t because of the Penelope thing, was it?”
“No. I said I wasn’t going so you might as well make your Mom and Penelope happy. I think I was just tired and needed to sleep. Honestly, it wasn’t anything you did.”
He laughs a little and then sighs. It’s moments like this when I wish I could just spill my guts to him and explain everything, but it’s not fair over the phone. But we’re both…normal. No emotions, not really. “Will you get these couches picked up though? I don’t want your money or hand outs, that’s the last thing I’d want from you. Thank you for the flowers, too.”
“You’re welcome and no. Can’t you think of it as a birthday and Christmas present for every one missed since you left? Or you could owe me a dance this weekend?”
Is it the world’s mission? “I’m still not going, so no. I’ll think of some way to pay you back. I wouldn’t take these as gifts, you’ve spent a fortune.”
“You’re worth it.” He sighs and my hearts gone…mush, like a marshmallow. “I take it you haven’t been in to the bedroom yet though?”
New bed? New bathroom? New wardrobe? “No, why?”
“Go look.”
I don’t want to, I could just sleep on my new couches. I take my time checking that the door is locked and collecting my purse and shoes before I even step in there. Even throwing everything down with my eyes closed and going back to turn the lights off before I find out what he wants me to see. It annoys him too, because he starts nagging down the phone at me.
With a flick of the switch my eyes zone in on what he wanted me to see. In the middle of the bed is a basket full of Butterfingers. I screech and throw him a few thank you’s.
“Oh, I buy you furniture and I’m the devil, but candy and everything is okay?”
“Pretty much,” I laugh. “You know I love these and they were always your apology sweetener. No matter what you did as a kid, you got me one before you faced me.”
One of the good things about England was they didn’t have them. I’d have probably crumbled going down the candy isle every time. It’s not so much what it was, even though I do love them; it was the fact that it was his way of sweetening me. A joke that went on and on. It started one day while we were in a store and he mentioned that he was hanging with the guys that weekend. I wasn’t bothered but I pretended I was and said I’d only let him if he got me one. So he did. It happened a couple more times before he started handing me the Butterfinger and then asked. I would never have stopped him doing what he wanted
“Hello?”
“Hello? Is that all you can say? How did you get in here and what the hell are these doing here?” I ask, my resolve to stay calm slipping.
He chuckles and says, “They’re yours. And I got in with a key, it’s usually how people get from one side to the other of a locked door.”
“Don’t be smart ass. I know how doors work, it’s just the fact that only I have a key and at no point today did I give it to you.”
He blows out a breath. I’m assuming he wasn’t expecting me to get so irked about it. “I got a key cut the other day. You needed couches and I wanted to say sorry for whatever I’ve done to upset you.”
“I’m not upset with you. And that was after you had my key so don’t start lying to me.”
“I know, I got it done because I felt better knowing I could get to you if I needed to. If you collapsed or something and couldn’t get to the door… I could still get to you.”
I don’t know why it makes me laugh. It could be the fact he’s thought of that possibility or that his bottom lip sounds like it sticking out like a scolded little boy. “You have a wild imagination, you know that?”
“I like to think of it as thinking of every possibility. Are you sure I haven’t upset you? You looked hurt when you left and you haven’t called, it wasn’t because of the Penelope thing, was it?”
“No. I said I wasn’t going so you might as well make your Mom and Penelope happy. I think I was just tired and needed to sleep. Honestly, it wasn’t anything you did.”
He laughs a little and then sighs. It’s moments like this when I wish I could just spill my guts to him and explain everything, but it’s not fair over the phone. But we’re both…normal. No emotions, not really. “Will you get these couches picked up though? I don’t want your money or hand outs, that’s the last thing I’d want from you. Thank you for the flowers, too.”
“You’re welcome and no. Can’t you think of it as a birthday and Christmas present for every one missed since you left? Or you could owe me a dance this weekend?”
Is it the world’s mission? “I’m still not going, so no. I’ll think of some way to pay you back. I wouldn’t take these as gifts, you’ve spent a fortune.”
“You’re worth it.” He sighs and my hearts gone…mush, like a marshmallow. “I take it you haven’t been in to the bedroom yet though?”
New bed? New bathroom? New wardrobe? “No, why?”
“Go look.”
I don’t want to, I could just sleep on my new couches. I take my time checking that the door is locked and collecting my purse and shoes before I even step in there. Even throwing everything down with my eyes closed and going back to turn the lights off before I find out what he wants me to see. It annoys him too, because he starts nagging down the phone at me.
With a flick of the switch my eyes zone in on what he wanted me to see. In the middle of the bed is a basket full of Butterfingers. I screech and throw him a few thank you’s.
“Oh, I buy you furniture and I’m the devil, but candy and everything is okay?”
“Pretty much,” I laugh. “You know I love these and they were always your apology sweetener. No matter what you did as a kid, you got me one before you faced me.”
One of the good things about England was they didn’t have them. I’d have probably crumbled going down the candy isle every time. It’s not so much what it was, even though I do love them; it was the fact that it was his way of sweetening me. A joke that went on and on. It started one day while we were in a store and he mentioned that he was hanging with the guys that weekend. I wasn’t bothered but I pretended I was and said I’d only let him if he got me one. So he did. It happened a couple more times before he started handing me the Butterfinger and then asked. I would never have stopped him doing what he wanted
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