"I get it." She puts a hand to her mouth and shakes her head. So cute, my little Miranda. "I mean, I don't necessarily get it, not yet, but I can see how it could be horrible."
"It is. And I don't know what Janine told you—I'm sure it was more than I could even stomach knowing—but I have the tendency to act on impulse. At times, to a fault." I look her in the eyes and impulsively take her hand in both of mine. She looks startled, but I continue holding it regardless as I paint the perfect look of sincerity onto my face. "I just want you to know it'll never happen again. You're a very talented writer, truly."
I give her hand a good squeeze then release it, turning my attention to the duffel bag. I unzip it and begin pulling out its contents: noise-canceling headphones, a mini stop sign, and a laptop still in its box. I toss the bag aside, and my eyes meet hers, a mischievous little smile on my face. A look of total bewilderment on hers.
"I feel like shit about how I treated you, and I want to take the appropriate measures to see that it doesn't happen again. So I'd like to make a deal. How's that sound?" Another timid smile. Soft, unassuming eyes.
"I, uh, I appreciate the apology. I'm sure it's different working with someone when you’re used to working alone." She curiously glances at the items on the desk then back at the tent. "But… um, can you explain to me what all this stuff is for?"
I laugh, understanding how odd this all must look. I reach first for the stop sign, holding it up by its thin wood handle, waving it and smiling. "So at UNC, in my earlier creative writing classes, I had this crazy professor, Tony Harris. He was the first real writing inspiration I had. He had some rather peculiar teaching habits." I lift the stop sign once more then set it back on the desk. "One of them involved these stupid little stop signs. Any time peer-to-peer writing criticism went from productive to personal, you’d hold up the sign. So in this circumstance, if you think I'm out of line, if I'm too harsh or too critical…" I point at the sign and shrug. "Just shove that shit in my face."
She laughs. "Okay. And"—she points back at the desk—"the headphones?"
"See, that’s stage two. If the stop sign doesn't work, just throw on these bad boys. I have a pair I travel with, and trust me, my griping will go undetected." I set my hand against the laptop, scanning her face, trying my best to read her. I'm not used to having to do this, having to win someone over. It's unnerving and nauseating. "The laptop is for you. It's stage three. I know you already have one, but I noticed it's not in the, um, best condition…" I fight a laugh back as the thought of her dreadful laptop crosses my mind. "I had Janine load this one up with a writing program that's linked to our computers in here. Again, top of the line. If you need to get away, maybe go outside and write, or in your room or whatever, just take that with you." I scan the items on the desk, my fingers nervously picking at my arm. "I want this to work. I need this to work." I swallow hard. My stomach knots. "And I'll do what I have to to make sure that happens."
Her eyes narrow on me, as though she's scrutinizing me for a brief moment, before she drags in a breath. "I think it will all work out, and I really do appreciate the laptop…" Her voice drifts off, and we stand in awkward silence for a moment. "So what the hell is that thing for?" She points toward the corner of the room.
I laugh, glancing back at the tent leaning against the wall. I look back at Miranda, undeniably taken by her cute look of intrigue. "I know how I can get. I can only imagine what that's like for someone who's just met me. I've thought a lot about it…" My eyes scan the floor. Genuine remorse? What the fuck is this? "Anyways, I'm going to pitch that tent out back and go on a little three-day 'writing retreat.' I'll give you free rein of the house and won't bother you at all. I have a fire pit down there, food already set up in coolers, and an outdoor shower behind the shed. Consider it a three-day vacation from my miserable ass."
Her brow wrinkles, and she shakes her head. "Edwin, that's really unnecessary. It's your house. The apology…” Her eyes wander to the items on the desk. “All this… it’s more than enough."
I put up a hand, shaking my head. "I'm afraid I have to insist. I do this sort of thing all the time. It allows me to clear my head… connect with the earth. I always come out completely inspired. Trust me when I say I have more camping equipment than the fucking army. I'll be fine regardless. You just make yourself comfortable up here."
She blankly stares at me for a moment, biting her bottom lip. "Well…" She sighs as her eyes drift from me to the tent and back. "I guess whatever helps you to feel inspired."