It had most definitely not been there when I’d moved out, and frankly, it was scary as hell.
The door cracked, and Elisabeth’s head poked out.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her cheeks still damp from crying.
I ignored her question and pointed to the mirror with the plate. “What the fucking hell is that?”
Her head twisted to the side, her lip curling with attitude as she answered, “A mirror.”
“Okay, but why?”
She swung the door open and propped a shoulder on the jamb. “Well, originally, it was an effort to make this tiny hallway feel bigger. But it didn’t exactly go as planned. Now, I just feel like I live in a fun house. I’ve been…”
I believe there were more words spoken after that, but the blood drained from my head in a rush down south.
She’d changed clothes. Elisabeth’s sleep attire was much like her fancy daily wear. No frumpy old sweats for her. She slept in short, silky dresses, nightgowns, nighties. Whatever they were called, I loved them for a myriad of reasons. Including the way they showed her legs off and the ridiculously easy access they offered in the middle of the night. But, upon seeing her now, I remembered my favorite reason of all: They left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Everything, from the swell of her breasts to the curve of her hips, was outlined in spectacular fashion.
My eyes dropped to her nipples, which were peaking behind the fabric, and just as quickly, her arms came up to cross over them.
“Anyway,” she said, “did you need something?”
Yes. You. Naked and calling my name. “You need to eat.”
She rolled her eyes. “No. I need to sleep.”
She started to close the door, but I caught it with my free hand.
“Why were you crying?” I asked.
“I wasn’t.”
“Bullshit.” I took a step into the room, forcing her inside with me.
Her lips went thin as I kicked the door closed behind me.
“You need to leave,” she contended while I moved past her to set the plate on her nightstand.
“Tell me why you were crying and I’ll see what I can do about that,” I lied.
She scoffed. “Oh, I don’t know, Roman. You’re a smart man. I’m sure you can figure this out without an explanation.”
I glanced around the room. Not much had changed. Our wedding pictures were no longer covering the walls, but minus the khaki bedding that had been switched for a pink-and-white stripe, it all remained the same. Her closet door was wide open, shoes neatly organized over the floor, necklaces draped over hooks I’d mounted on the back of the door.
When we’d bought the place, I’d promised her that I’d expand the closet for her. It was one of the many promises I’d broken to her.
“That guy, Jon. He mean something to you?” I asked, going to the window, peeking out just in time to see Kristen’s car backing out of the driveway.
She laughed, but it held no humor. “That’s seriously your first guess? After the day we’ve had, you guess I’m up here pining over Jon?”
I glanced back in her direction and cocked an eyebrow. “Is that a no?”
She released a frustrated groan, walked to the door, and snatched it open, “Leave.”
I ignored her request and sat on the side of the bed. Resting my elbows on my knees, I interlocked my fingers and let them hang between my legs. “So, you’re upset about the shit that went down at the police station today?”
She blinked for several seconds, her chest heavily rising and falling. She was about to explode, but sometimes, that was the only way to break a wall down.
“Lissy,” I whispered, lighting the fuse.
Three.
Two.
One.
“No! I’m upset because this is my life!”
Boom!
She gave the door a hard shove, slamming it shut before marching over to me. Crossing her arms over her chest, she snapped, “Let’s see. Where should I start?” She waited for a reply that wasn’t going to come before she continued. “My day began in a police station, where I found out that someone might have pulled the old switch-a-roo on my embryos. Then I woke up a second time to find my ex-husband standing in my kitchen, drinking beer, and ordering dinner. Then he pinned me to a fucking couch, declaring his one hundred percent involvement.” She paused and lifted two fingers in the air. “This being said two goddamn years after he’d checked out on me. Then his sister showed up, claiming to be convincing me of something, which he clearly seemed to be in on. Then my friend showed up because he’s worried about me, and you marked me like a fucking fire hydrant. Now, here you are…standing in my bedroom, asking why I’m upset. Jesus Christ, Roman!” She threw her hands out to the sides. “Take your pick!”
She wasn’t wrong.
All of that had happened.
But she’d left a lot of the details out.