chapter fifty-six

Patrick was waiting for me, and not in a good way.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” I kept my head down while I petted a delighted Pearl. I was half afraid he’d be asleep and I’d have to wake him up to break up with him. It was awful, but lying to myself and to him for even a few more hours seemed worse. But somehow knowing he’d been waiting up, unhappy, wasn’t much better. “Sorry to be so late.”

“I know you were busy. Glad you’re okay.”

“Yeah, I am. Listen, Patrick—”

“We should talk.”

“Yeah. I’ve—”

“This is too much.”

“I know. And the thing of it is—”

“I mean, I thought we could make this work. But I don’t think we can. This—” He waved a hand, gesturing to the beautiful perfect house. “It’s only been three days—”

“Two.”

“Check your watch.”

I did. “Oh.”

“Yeah. So like I said, it’s only been three days, and you’re never here, or if you’re here you’re thinking about BOFFO, and if by the grace of the gods BOFFO loses funding you’re thinking about how you can find them funding so you can keep working a dangerous job, and meanwhile I’m stuck here with the dog—”

“It’s only been three days!”

“Yeah, that’s a long time to be stuck with the dog. I mean, I think Olive’s great—”

“Pearl.”

“Yeah, that’s another thing.”

I threw up my hands. “You knew I was a multiple before we moved in!”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know your dog was a multiple.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “What?” The oddest mood shift had come over me. I had dreaded walking through the door, cringed at the thought of hurting him. If someone had told me, It’s okay; he’ll break up with you first, I would have thought I’d be relieved.

But I wasn’t relieved. I was fucking pissed. “So you’re dumping me because my dog has three names and I’ve got a real job like a grown-up instead of making chocolate chip cookies and calling it a career?”

“You knew I was Aunt Jane before we moved in together! And speaking of careers, I don’t want that goddamned George Pinkman in my house, how about that?”

“He’s never been in your house!” How dare he disparage my real partner against real crime, George Pinkman, a devoted sociopath who was sworn to fight evil as a fake FBI agent as long as fake BOFFO kept paying the bills?

“I don’t want him in my driveway, either!”

“I know he can be unpleasant—”

“Unpleasant?”

I tried to rein in my temper. “Look, this obviously isn’t going to work.”

“What I’ve been saying.”

“Because you’re right. If you can’t handle three days of this, we’re doomed. Because I’m always gonna have to leave at all times of the day and night and I’ll never know exactly when I’ll be back. And until one of George’s one-night stands stabs him in the dick and he bleeds out, he’s gonna be my partner, and while I don’t exactly want him around, I can’t let you forbid his presence in your house.” His house, and it always had been. “And I’m always gonna have a dog…” Uh, maybe. How long did dogs live? “… who’s gonna have a relationship with all three of us, not just me. That’s the real problem, isn’t it? You thought you were fine with the three of us. But it’s really just me you want.”

“Well.” He hesitated, as if gauging how much truth I wanted. Unlike Cathie, who would just give it to me whether she thought I was up for it or not. “Shiro, sometimes. But not Adrienne, no. I thought it was pretty cool at first, your other personalities. But Adrienne’s gonna do something really bad. She could kill me by accident. She’d be sorry later—you’d be sorry later—but I’d still be dead.”

Unlikely. Adrienne wasn’t around much anymore. But Patrick couldn’t know that, because he didn’t know me. And that wasn’t his fault. The situation was our fault: I had moved in despite misgivings. Shiro had moved in despite misgivings. Adrienne had committed grand-theft auto, either in protest or celebration.

“I think maybe it’s good we’re figuring this out now,” I told him. The wash of relief over his face was so immediate, I had to grit my teeth not to say something bitchy. “I think it’s better we finish tonight rather than limp along for another month or two or six or ten.” His shudder made me wonder if I could actually grit my teeth hard enough to crack a molar. “I’ll go to a motel and come back and get my stuff over the next few days.” I realized I couldn’t even commit to coming back and getting everything tomorrow. Later today, rather. I had no idea what tomorrow would bring. “I’m sorry. I know you are, too.”

His face sagged, and for a moment I wondered if some of what he had said had been for show. But no … George was right, sometimes my ego did get in the way. If anyone would recognize that quality, it was him. “Yeah. I’m sorry, too. You’re being pretty nice about it—this was all my idea. And I pressured you into it. You didn’t do one thing wrong. It’s on me.”

I smiled and arched my eyebrows. “It’s on us. All four of us.”

He smiled, too, and even laughed. After that it was a little better.