Page 80 of Not In The Contract
Robotically, I scrubbed at our dinner dishes, my hands moving through the process absently while my head churned with the millions ofwhat ifs.
“That’s the last of it,” Devon said as she placed the empty serving dishes into the sink. “I really wish you’d let me do that.”
I took one of the serving dishes and set it under the running hot water. “And why would I let a guest of mine touch dirty dishes?”
“Uh, because you cooked?” she answered, her hip cocked. “And that’s how you’re supposed to divvy up chores?”
I looked away, too distracted by the gentle sway of her body as she spoke.
“Is that right?”
She nodded emphatically. “When you live with someone, you have to halve the chores,” she explained and held up a hand to count. “One person cooks, the other cleans up. One person vacuums, the other person mops. It’s basic domesticity.”
“The dynamics you’re using sound very much like the type you’d find between partners,” I pointed out, keeping my eyes fixed on the task at hand.
Or rather, the dishes in my hands. The task itself was getting a feel for how Devon felt about me.
“O-oh, I guess you could say that,” she murmured, and a peek out of the corner of my eyes confirmed that her cheeks had turned a lovely shade of pink.
“I suppose the same could be said about roommates,” I offered, and I heard the small sigh of relief.
Or was it disappointment? I wasn’t sure.
“Right, of course,” she said. “People who share a space should always divide chores and responsibilities up equally.”
“I find household chores therapeutic,” I told her. “It helps to keep my hands occupied with something mundane while my mind works through shit.”
“Or you could use me,” she reminded me, and I shivered at the vivid image her offer conjured.
“Verbal processing, right?” I said through a forced laugh.
“You’re learning.”
“Trying,” I corrected. “Psychology was never something I understood. I’ve always been someone who plans and acts. Thinking about things that have passed always seemed like a waste of time.”
I turned off the faucet and glanced around for a dish towel before Devon handed me a fresh one. I took it with a smile and dried my hands.
“Has talking about stuff helped at least?” she asked hesitantly. “I don’t want you to waste your time on something that isn’t helping at all.”
I draped the towel over my shoulder and folded my arms across my chest. “It’s helped a lot more than I ever expected it could,” I told her.
Her answering smile was one of relief, and it churned something low in my gut. She took one last look around the kitchen, her hands perched on her hips.
“Are you done monopolizing the chores?” she asked, and I laughed at the playful disdain in her voice.
“Yes, I am.”
“Good!” She clapped her hands together with a wide smile and spun on her heel without another word.
Out of curiosity, I followed after her. “Where are you going?” I asked, the smile on my lips as constant as her presence had become.
I supposed it wouldn’t exist without her.
“We’re having a movie night,” she declared, her arms spread wide. “You’re not picking the movie because you’ll choose something you’ve seen a hundred times.”
I laughed at that; how well she’d gotten to know me in the span of a few weeks. “Guilty as charged,” I said.
She stepped out of the way to reveal the living room.
