(Reese)
I stood at the door for a long moment after it closed.
Then I turned around and looked at my apartment and tried to remember what I had been doing before he knocked. I had been making dinner. The pan was still on the stove. The water I had put on had boiled down to almost nothing.
I went to the kitchen and turned the stove off and stood there with my hands flat on the counter.
He had apologized.
I had not expected that. I had opened the door ready for another version of the same conversation we kept having, the push and pull of it, his certainty against my wall. I had not expected him to stand in my living room and say what he said plainly and without dressing it up. What I did was wrong. It was immature and cruel. I have known that for a long time.
No excuses behind it. No e
