“Do you want me to stay?”
That question mattered.
Not.
Should I stay?
Not.
I’m staying.
Do you want me to?
I thought.
Then said,
“No.”
“I’m okay for tonight.”
David nodded.
Then looked at Richard.
“Apologize.”
Richard said nothing.
David left.
The door closed.
Silence.
The babies slept upstairs.
The television continued playing.
I could hear commentators shouting about a touchdown.
Richard turned it off.
Then he looked at me.
“What the hell was that?”
I stared.
“What?”
“You let him talk to me like that.”
I actually laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because the accusation was unbelievable.
“I let him?”
“Yes.”
“You stood there.”
“You made me look like an idiot in my own house.”
I stared at him.
Then said,
“You did that yourself.”
His face changed.
“Don’t.”
“What?”
“Start acting like David is some hero.”
“I didn’t.”
“You looked at him like—”
He stopped.
“Like what?”
He looked away.
I suddenly understood.
Richard was jealous.
Not romantically, necessarily.
But David had done something he had failed to do.
Protect my dignity.
And Richard hated how obvious that was.
He said,
“You always exaggerate everything.”
I stared.
“Do I?”
“Yes.”
“You act like I’m constantly insulting you.”
“You are.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Claire.”
I started counting.
“The hair jokes.”
His face tightened.
“The weight jokes.”
“Stop.”
“The jokes about how long it took me to start exercising.”
“Claire.”
“The jokes about me wearing sweatpants.”
“Enough.”
“The jokes about leaking when I sneeze.”
“Enough.”
I nodded.
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