CROSSCURRENTS
I spot Eric before he spots me. He’s standing instead of sitting this time, phone in his hand like he’s debated leaving more than once and lost. When his eyes lift and meet mine, relief flashes across his face before he can stop it. That annoys me immediately. “You look like you’re waiting for a verdict,” I say as I stop in front of him. He exhales. “I’m waiting for you.” “That’s worse.” He gives a tight smile. “Probably.” We don’t sit. I don’t give him that comfort. “You wanted to talk,” I say. “So talk.” He hesitates — and I don’t let him. “Before you start managing the conversation,” I add, “don’t. I’m already irritated.” That actually makes him laugh. Quiet, surprised. “Fair,” he says. “Then I’ll start with the part I should’ve said last night.” My chest tightens. “Go on.”
- Writer
