“Michael?” He comes in and sees her standing in their kitchen. She is clearly displeased about something. “May I ask what you think doing up the dishes means?”
“Ah, washing them and placing them in the drainer to dry.” He can't figure out what has her upset.
“That is partially true. But, it also means seeing the counters and stove clean, wiping down the table, taking the trash out.”
“So,” he stands against the wall with his arms crossed. “to you, doing the dishes means sorting the whole kitchen then?”
“No, because sorting the whole kitchen would also mean seeing to the floor and refrigerator.”
“Wow. You do have high standards.” He uncrosses his arms and joins her. He picks up a rag and starts to wipe down the table.
“No just normal ones, I believe. I’m used to living with a woman who held the same standards.”
“Oh, poor Devin.” He says under his breath but she hears.
“Why poor Devin? I would say Iris will have a civilizing effect on him if he taught you how to do dishes.”
“I know how to clean a kitchen Chloé. My mom taught me well. I also know how to get under your skin. Now, let me finish.”
“Sorting or getting under my skin?” Oh, Saints help him! She gives as good as she gets.
“Sorting. I will work on getting under your skin more later.”
They both stop. Neither really mad just… but the playing has given rise to something else, something that has been hovering just under their interactions for awhile now. Both their breathing speed up. Fingertips and lips tingle. Eyes drift shut. He lowers his head and she lifts up. Then the phone rings.
She drops back down and into a chair, breathless. He turns to answer it.
“Yes. Is he. Truly. That is excellent news. Yes. No, I’m fine. Just sorting out the kitchen. Yes, I will tell her. Thank you. Talk later. Goodbye.” He rings off and turns to let her know all is alright with Tavish. He is alone. Crap!
He goes to her closed bedroom door. Knocks.
“Not now Michael. I need some time.” God, has she been crying?
“Yah I just...That was Devin. He assures us that Tavish is a fine lad. Nothing like... Yah and Iris will ring you tomorrow.”
“That is good. Thanks.”
“I will - ah, go finish the kitchen then. Talk later?”
“Later.” With nothing else to do, he heads back to finish the kitchen. His mind and heart in turmoil.
***
He doesn’t know whether to approach her. Should he slip her a note like he did when they were first starting out as flat mates, as mates? It feels like going backwards but what else is there to do?
Chloé,
I am sorry. I don't know came over me. I know we needn't be anything but mates. Please don't shut me completely out. We need each other as mates.
Michael.
He slipped it under her door and waited.
She read it through tears. Mates. It is logical. Right. Responsible. He has just recently had his heart broken. She, well her history with the male race is beyond complex. So, mates is appropriate. But if so, why does it feel like her heart is being ripped in two?
“Stop it Laurent. This is the way it is. Will be. Hell, should be. So buck up girl.” She whispered fiercely to herself.
Michael,
Thank you. You are right, of course, mates is best. Whatever that was, needn’t be repeated. We do need each other and that would just complicate it. Would complicate our relationship. I will see you in the morning. We are okay.
Chloé.
Good. She agrees and is okay. That is what matters. This is all good. So, he told himself even as his heart aches.
Why does it? He paces around his room. Mates only was decided from the beginning. With her history. With Rose. Well, it makes even more sense. They are still mates, that is all that should matter. That is all that does matter.
Firmly telling himself that, he climbs into bed where he tosses and turns all night. Chloé, across the hall, is doing the same.