chapter twenty-six

My phone shrilled the alarm far too early for a Saturday. Sadly, crime didn’t sleep late. (Crime didn’t sleep late? I definitely needed another two hours.) I opened my eyes and saw a stark, bare room full of boxes and a bed and a dresser without drawers and not much else. Oh. Me. I was in there, with the boxes and the bed and the not much else. I’d slept on the bare mattress under a quilt, too tired to worry about sheets. That was fine in the wee hours of a crap day, but in the fresh light of morning it had a distinctly creepy feel. Was this a metaphor? Was I sure what a metaphor was?

Get a grip. D’you have to be a whiny bitch all the time?

Apparently, yes. My subconscious obviously hadn’t been paying attention, and my mood from last night was carrying over to the morning, which sucked. If it took less than twenty-four hours to open my eyes to the realities of living with Patrick, I’d had no business agreeing to it at all. It was at best unfair to both of us and, at worst, cruel to him.

Get a grip. Right. Good advice. I would. Starting right now.

I darted across the hall, into the bathroom that also was to be mine. Patrick admitted outright to feeling guilty about “hogging” the master bedroom and divine master bath, with its double Jacuzzi, two-headed shower, and view of the small pond in the backyard. It wasn’t much of a pond—really more of a big puddle. But it was ours. I’d never had a water view before. I’d never had a view before.

When he’d shown me the house, he had offered to take one of the smaller bedrooms, but I nixed it. I think we both thought/hoped at the time that soon enough, we’d both be using the master bedroom.

Anyway. I found a toothbrush, and even better, it was my toothbrush. I did my morning ablutions, pulled on jeans (it was a Saturday), a red turtleneck, and red fuzzy socks (I didn’t mind Minnesota winters, but I would not tolerate cold feet!). Finished, I pulled my hair back and twisted it up into a ponytail while I padded into the kitchen.

Where my baker awaited, wielding a spatula and wearing, incomprehensibly, Eric Cartman pajama pants. Pearl was on her blanket in the corner, happily chewing on something. “Oh my God,” I said, sniffing. “You’re the devil. Belgian waffles?”

“Yeah, and I’ve got homemade blueberry sauce on the back burner.” He forked a piping hot waffle out of the waffle maker, flopped it onto a paper plate, and handed it to me. “I’m sure I’ll find real plates soon.”

“Don’t care. Ummm.” I breathed in the heavenly smell. “Listen. This is really decent of you. Decenter than usual, especially after—”

He was shaking his head while he poured more batter into the hissing waffle maker. “You came to me with bad news and all I could talk about was how great it was gonna work out. Practically patted you on the head. I’m really sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too.” I managed a smile. “And the day started so well. Moving Day, I mean. Today’s starting out kind of great, though.” I took a monster bite of waffle drizzled with blueberry sauce. “Nnnf mmm unnff mummf.”

“I just worry about you. Pretty much all the time. I shouldn’t have pushed my plan on you so soon.”

“Oh, there was a plan?” I asked this lightly enough, which was a good trick since my waffle stuck in my throat like a golf ball at the realization. I coughed, swallowed, coughed again, and finally managed, “You had this plan to save me from myselves before BOFFO lost funding?”

“I love you and I want to help you any way I can.” Patrick said it with such simple dignity there wasn’t a damned thing I could say without coming off like a mega-bitch. And it wasn’t even nine o’clock. I wanted to put off mega-bitchery until noon at least. Or save it for George. George! The perfect person to take my pissiness out on. I’d do what people all over the world did—take my domestic problems to work and punish the innocent with my inability to be in an adult relationship.

That’s the first time in the history of George that “the innocent” has referred to George.

I chortled while I chewed. “Thanks for the waffle.” I was now wolfing it down so I could get out the door as soon as possible. My cheeks bulged with Belgian goodness. “M’ll come homm n’knn t’hpp mmpkk.”

“You’ll come home when you can to help unpack?”

“Thnnks nnf ffufflls.”

“Thanks for the waffles?”

Curse it! Should have slathered on more blueberry sauce. Patrick’s waffles were delicious yet dry. I ran over to Pearl, gave her a quick hug, then headed toward the door. “Mum-mye!”

“This is gonna be weird!” he hollered after me. “For all of us!”

Well, duh.