“I was worried when you didn’t answer the phone,” Chris went on.
“What did you think would have happened to me between here and the hospital? Alien abduction? Human trafficking? Don’t be ridiculous, Chris,” I chided in frustration.
“Given the unsavories you work with on a daily basis—”
“Why. Are. You. Here?” I demanded, cutting him off.
My ex-husband appeared surprised by my obvious anger. I supposed seeing any sort of emotion from me was shocking considering he hadn’t witnessed much of it in the time he had known me.
I looked at Chris long and hard, trying to remember why I had been drawn to him.
Because he’s nothing like Yoss.
The truth was obvious now that I could face it. Yoss, whether he was around or not, had dictated so much in my life.
I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
Physically Chris and Yoss were nothing alike. Yoss had dark hair; Chris had ginger locks that he insisted on dying brown. He hated being a redhead and I only realized his natural hair color a month after we had been married and found the box of hair dye in the trashcan.
Yoss was tall and lean. Chris spent too much time at the gym trying to overcompensate for his short stature. He and I could look each other in the eye when I wore heels.
Yoss was beautiful. His face was perfect.
Chris was all right.
Yoss set me on fire.
Chris and I were only ever lukewarm.
I liked Chris. He could be funny. He was smart and knew random facts about interesting things. He had always been easy to talk to. I had enjoyed his company. For the most part.
But enjoying his company hadn’t been enough for either of us.
I had hurt him. I knew that now. As I had closed myself away, protecting a heart that had already been given away, he had been desperately trying to hand me his.
And I had refused to take it.
“I was looking for my bowling shoes. I think I left them in the hall closet,” Chris stated almost defensively.
His bowling shoes?
Since when did Chris go bowling?
“Cut the crap, Chris. We both know that’s not why you’re here,” I snapped. I was feeling antsy, wanting him to leave. Yoss’s presence hung heavy in the house. Could Chris feel the difference?
Chris sighed and ran a hand through his hair. His roots were starting to show. He was slacking on the hair dye.
“I just want my bowling shoes. No ulterior motive, Imi. I promise. I think we’re both past my pathetic attempts at rebuilding whatever relationship we had. I don’t have it in me to bang my head against that particular wall anymore.” Chris’s words should have hurt. If I had loved him at all they would have.
Maybe there was a twinge deep down.
But it was impossible to find.
“Let me find them for you,” I said, not wanting to get into another argument about our failed marriage. Another round of placing the blame.
“I know where the hall closet is. I can get them myself,” he snapped, all but pushing past me so that he could reach the closet door behind me.
I stood aside as he rooted around my shoes and coats to find the mysterious bowling shoes I had never seen before.
After a few minutes Chris pulled out a pair of bright blue shoes I didn’t remember him buying.
“Here they are,” he announced.
“Huh. I’ve never seen those before,” I commented and then braced myself for the snide remark that was sure to follow. Something about how I never paid attention to him, so it wasn’t surprising. Or how my not realizing he owned a ridiculously ugly pair of bowling shoes was just another indicator of how bad I had been as a wife.
But he didn’t say any of those things. Instead he closed the closet door, tucking the shoes under his arm and turned to me.
“You look good, Imi. Happy almost,” he observed, startling me.
I nervously tucked my hair behind my ears, not quite meeting his eyes. “Thanks,” I muttered.
“Divorce seems to agree with you,” Chris quipped nastily and I relaxed, more comfortable with his bitterness than I was with his complimentary observations.
“Okay, you have your shoes. Is there anything else you need?” I asked, not responding to his obvious bait. Chris wanted an emotional reaction from me. He would poke and prod until he felt like I showed him something. Anything.
“No. I guess that’s it,” he responded shortly.
I felt the guilt. Chris wasn’t a bad guy. He deserved a lot more than a wife who had loved him barely and married him because it seemed to be expected.
I held the door open for him, the night air making me shiver. As Chris walked outside I couldn’t help but give him something.
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.
Chris stilled for a moment. Hesitated.
And then walked down the porch steps without saying a word.
It was for the best anyway.
I closed the door and turned, nearly jumping out of my skin when I saw Yoss standing there, a strange look on his face.
“The ex,” he stated and I nodded. “He seemed upset.”