Page 59 of The Last Guy On Earth
Then he allows Jethro to hustle him into his shoes and out the door. “I’ll be right back, Clay,” Jethro calls on his way out. “Let me clean that bowl.”
“Take your time!”
The door closes behind them, and I take a deep breath. Maybe we needed this—a low-stakes lesson on how to be in the same room for a couple hours together without bickering over the past.
I put the last mixing bowl in the sink and spray hot water into it. I gather up the unused baking cups and tuck them back into the package and finish setting the kitchen back to rights.
Before long, Jethro is back, tapping on the door. After I let him in, he marches into my kitchen like he owns the place and commences washing up that last bowl. “You weren’t supposed to clean up,” he grumbles. “The kid really trashes a kitchen.”
I take him in for a moment. The muscles in his forearms flex as he squirts dish soap onto the sponge.
“It wasn’t so bad.” Although now I have nothing to do while the muffins bake except breathe the same air with a man I used to love.
Maybe Jethro feels awkward, too, because once the bowl is clean and dry, he does a restless circuit of my living room, stopping to look at the family photos on the bookshelf and my lucky puck on its stand.
“What’s this?” he asks, lifting the puck and flipping it.
“My first NHL goal.”
“Against who?” He grins. “I need to know if it’s a goalie I respect.”
“Matti Korhonen.”
“Nice,” he says, setting it down again. He wanders onward, past the sofa. “Wait, what’s this?” He plucks something off my coffee table. It’s a curved thing, almost shaped like headphones, but not quite.
“That’s…”Shit. “That’s a neck massager. Kaitlyn gave it to me.”
“Huh.” He gives me a wry glance. “Do you look like a Star Trek character when you’re wearing it?”
“Possibly. I’m not going to demonstrate.” I cross the room and take it from him. The less said about neck massages, the better. It’s deeply embarrassing that I have an electric device to take the place of his hands on my body.
I shove it in a drawer and slam it shut as if he’d found my dildo.
TWENTY-NINE
Jethro
Walkingaround Clay’s living room feels like walking around an alternative history of my life. His home is clean and bright. It’s inviting and comfortable, which shouldn’t surprise me. He always had great taste.
There’s only one thing that puzzles me about this place. Why is he here alone?
“Hey, have you eaten?” he asks after we head back to the kitchen.
I shake my head. “Nah. I walked into the Great Cupcake Crisis and never got a chance.”
He opens the refrigerator and takes out a container. “I’ve got some chili, and I’m starving. Want a bowl?”
I hesitate, but only for a second. “You know I do.”
“Cool,” he says briskly. “Grab some spoons, would you?” He takes two wide bowls from a cabinet, fills them with chili, and puts them in the microwave. “I’d offer you a beer, but you said you don’t drink anymore?”
“Uh, no. No thank you.”
“Okay.” He gives me a sideways glance, and I can see him straining against the impulse to ask why not.
“It was a decision I made after my sister went to prison,” I explain. “Too much substance abuse in my family. I live with my father, who’s in recovery, and not drinking makes things easier on him. And also…” I swallow. “I always told myself I could give it up, and I wanted to be sure it was true.”
He gives me a thoughtful nod. “That’s a power move, Jetty.”
