Page 47 of Compassion

“From the Pigeon Series by Mo Willems.” Her face slightly cringes in its typical fashion. “It’s a kid’s book series-”

“I figured that.”

“And the Pigeon is the main character. He goes through emotional pout spells sometimesespeciallywhen he’s being told he has to do something he doesn’t wanna do.Henceyou being the Pigeon.”

“I’m not a pigeon.”

“You are for the sake of this conversation.”

The glower on my face expands.

“Now, can youstopbeing the Pigeon long enough for us to pick out paint for your bathroom.”

My displeasure swiftly deepens. “It’s notmybathroom, Jaye.”

She sassily folds her arms across her chest. “Do you shower in it?”

“Yes, but-”

“Do you brush your teeth in it?”

“Yeah, but-”

“Do you keep your soap, deodorant, razor, and other toiletries in it?”

“I don’t like the word toiletries.”

“But don’t you lovehavingthem?”

Fuck me, I really do.

As if she could hear the retort I didn’t speak, she gleefully grins. “Exactly. And that place you keep them isyourbathroom.”

“It’s theguestbathroom.”

“No, housemate, it’syourbathroom and you should get to have it catered to a style you enjoy rather than staring at framed photos of Chicago, Seattle, Boston, and Manhattan skylines. Those were Chris’s choices in décor.Hisfavorite cities.Hisfavorite places. But like you keep reminding me, he’snot hereanymore.”

For fucks sake, why can’t I be gentler about saying that shit to her?

“It’s okay…that…things…change.”

The words lack the strength they should prompting me to reach over and gently cup her arm. “Sweetheart, we don’t have to change shit untilyouare ready to change. Everyone moves the fuck on at their own speed. Don’t let me push to do shit you’re not wanting.”

“That’s the thing…,” excitement unexpectedly blooms in her gaze, “Idowant these things. And Idowant a house that feels like ahomeversus a museum I sleep in. I’m tired of living exactly like other people dictate. Doing things just because that’s how they’ve always been done. I want these changes as much as I need them.”

Thoughtlessly my thumb strokes the area under its grasp.

Jaye softly whimpers at the contact, and I have to force myself to remove my touch.

You think Idon’twant to hear her making those sounds? What are you, fucking crazy? Of course, I want to hear that shit. And her moaning. And crying out my goddamn name. But that, my friend, isn’t happening. Or going to happen. We’re…as much as it pains me to say…friends. And fucking…roommates. And neither of those have the word naked before them. I keep trying to tell that to my dick, but he still seems to think if he keeps popping up enough that may change. Unfortunately, it won’t.

My tone remains gentle. Tender. “I just don’t want you wasting money, especially on me.”

“Please stop worrying about money.”

The expression transposes to a sardonic one.

“I swear, the shit is really not an issue.”

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