Page 52 of Dearly Unbeloved
It’s not a conscious decision to text Lisa and let her know I won’t be in, to lie back down and tug the covers over my head, to close my eyes and sink into oblivion. It’s just all my body, all my brain, will let me do.
25
SIERRA
“Honey, I’m home!”
I kick off my shoes and drop my bag on the bench by the door, yawning. Being woken up by a ringing phone at 5:30 a.m. isn’t my idea of a good time, even when it’s Jazz on the other end of the call. She and Cal were scheduled for a 6:30 a.m. call with a client in the UK, but she’d been up all morning throwing up and begged me to go instead. It was an easy “yes”—Jazz would do it for me in a heartbeat.
Most of our clients at Michaelson and Hicks liveandwork in Washington, but Cal keeps a select few clients that operate businesses here and live elsewhere. Jazz never called him to tell him she was sick, probably trying not to worry him, but that only worried him more, and I’ve spent all day trying to figure out Jazz’s chaotic calendar and keep her father-in-law calm. By the time 2 p.m. rolled around and we finished our last meeting, I told him to go home and finished out the day on my own.
What a fucking day.
I didn’t see Rose before I ran out the door this morning, but I left her a note, the last cranberry white chocolate muffin (that, admittedly, I hid from her yesterday morning because she pissed me off before I had coffee), and an iced latte in the fridge.
It’s been two months since we added sex to our arrangement, and I’m not sure when eating together became part of our routine, but it’s a regular occurrence. It started with dinner. We never talk or debrief our days, just sit in relative silence while we eat—sometimes with the TV on, or watching the bunnies play—either before or after sex. After sex, we tend to be a little nicer to each other. Before, all bets are off.
And then there were a couple of morning hookups, and the breakfasts that followed. Now, we eat breakfast together most mornings, and dinner almost every night. It’s fine, I suppose.
I walk into the apartment and stop short when I see the Post-it and muffin still sitting on the kitchen island. Even if she didn’t want the muffin—and it’s her favorite, so that’s unlikely—Rose would never leave anything on the counter, cluttering it. They haven’t moved at all. Is she not home?
The lights are on, but that doesn’t mean anything. Rose installed smart lights on a timer not long after we moved in together, because she complained that I always forgot to turn them off. I still think she just wanted an excuse for smart lights.
A scuffle commands my attention, and I spin around to see Dibbles sitting on top of the little wooden house I ordered for them. She and Thorne are stillin their fenced-in area of the living room, but the gate’s open, which means Rose did at least open that at some point today.
Her bedroom door is closed, but I knock softly and open it when there’s no response. The room is pitch black, but I can see a shape under the covers thanks to the light from the living room.
“Rose?” I whisper.
There’s nothing but silence for a moment, and my heart stills until I see a small movement beneath the covers.
“Yeah?” Her voice is weak and scratchy, like she hasn’t spoken all day.
I’m across the room in a heartbeat, perching on the edge of her bed. I can’t see her face since she’s turned toward the wall, but I can see the yellow collar of the T-shirt she went to sleep in last night.
“What’s wrong? Are you sick?” Maybe she has whatever Jazz has. I reach for her forehead.
“I’m not sick.”
I snatch my hand back. Huh. “Okay… Did you go to work today?”
“No.” She sounds so fucking small, and it’s making my stomach flip-flop uncomfortably.
“Did you eat?”
“No. I fed the bunnies, though.”
I’m somewhat at a loss for what to say. She’s not giving me much to work with. “Can I do anything?”
Rose is quiet for a moment before tugging the covers higher up toward her chin. “I just want to be alone.”
My breath catches in my throat, and I stand up like shephysically pushed me away, my stomach twisting. “Oh. Okay. Well… yeah. Okay.”
I leave the room and close the door, dragging my feet toward the couch. I pluck Thorne out of the enclosure before I sit down, placing him on my lap and running my hand over his soft little ears. Ever the jealous type, Dibbles hops over, jumping up on the couch to join us.
“At least you want to spend time with me,” I grumble, even though I definitely forced Thorne to be here, and I’m pretty sure Dibbles just wants to see if I have snacks. I shouldn’t care that Rose doesn’t want me around. It’s not like we’re friends. Sure, things have been a little more civil and a little more orgasm-y around here, but she still hates me, and I… Well, we’re not friends. We’re temporary wives and roommates who happen to be sleeping together.
And even though we’re just that, it’s normal for me to be worried that she appears not to have functioned today. It’s not like her—she barely naps, and spending a whole day in bed is almost unheard of. In the time we’ve lived together, I could count on one hand the number of times she’s done this. Every few months, I guess. It’s not like I ever paid much attention before.
