Page 62 of The Infiniteness of Yesterday
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say something cutting but I swallow it down.
Friends. We’re trying to be friends.
“I hope it tastes good, then.”
As if it’s a challenge, he holds my eyes as he takes the first bite. A soft sound of pleasure hums in his throat. “Delicious.”
I turn away from him and face the TV. “I’m glad.”
But there’s really no escaping him—not with him beside me, and Roe squished against his other side.
“You want a bite?” he taunts, clearly enjoying my squirming.
“I have my own.” I quickly grab my own bowl and hand him Roe’s—covered in gummy bears—to pass to her.
Just get through this movie, I tell myself.Get through the movie and then he’ll be gone.
“You seem tense,” he says, amusement coiled around the words.
“I’m fine.” I shove a too-big bite of ice cream in my mouth.
He chuckles, perfectly at ease—or at least he seems that way. He could be acting for all I know.
“Shh,” Roe scolds. “I’m trying to watch the movie.”
I’ve never been more grateful for my daughter than in that moment. I settle into the cushions, leaning against the arm of the couch to try to gain some more breathing room. I swear Spencer leans closer, though, but it could be my imagination since my body seems to be unusually attuned to him.
When the movie is over, Monroe is fast asleep, and Spencer carefully stands from the couch with her in his arms. He doesn’t say anything to me as he carries her down the hall to her room.
With him gone, I inhale what feels like my first breath since he first crossed the threshold into my too small apartment. I gather up our dishes and stack them back on the tray to make it easier to get them to the sink.
I scrub at the bowls to get rid of the sticky ice cream residue. I haven’t even finished the first one when Spencer pads softly onto the kitchen tiles.
“Want some help?”
I flick hair out of my eyes. “It’s okay, I’ve got it.”
“You know, you can ask for help from me.” He says it with a smile, but there’s a hint of bitterness to his words, probably because of all the help I’ve turned down from him over the years.
“Fine,” I grouse. “I wash and you dry.”
He seems appeased by that response and grabs a dry rag.
It’s silent between us as we work. He’s drying the last of the dishes when he says, “Thank you for letting me stay. Tonight was…” He takes a deep breath and leans his hip against the counter. His arms slowly work their way across his chest until they’re crossed. “It was nice to feel like a family again.”
“Spencer—” I start but he cuts me off with a shake of his head.
“Please, don’t say anything,” he begs. “Don’t try to put a wall up. Just let me enjoy this, okay?”
I wet my lips and give a weak, “Okay.”
“I better head out,” he says, plucking his keys from his pocket.
“Drive safe. Text me when you get home.”
He grins at that. “Worried about my safety?”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t get cocky.”
