“What happened to your other phone?” she asks.
How does she even know he got a new phone? It’s the same color as his last one. It’s pretty similar to his old one. I wouldn’t have even noticed it was a different one if I weren’t there getting a new phone with him.
His eyes open slightly, glancing up at her. “It broke at work.” He reaches in and takes a sip of his mimosa. Actually—more than a sip. More like half the glass.
Rya leans back into her chair, twirling her flute stem between her fingers. “How did that happen?”
“Rya, why are you so interested in his phone?” Ez asks, giving her a side-eye as he takes a bite of his food.
“It’s just a question. I’m only trying to start a conversation.” Her eyes are wide.
We settle in after our plates are full and start to eat. The table is silent other than the soft thuds of our flute glasses hitting the table and the silverware clinking against our plates. This is the most awkward brunch we’ve ever had. I don’t understand what’s going on. Are Rya and Ezra in a fight? Sometimes that tension causes everyone to be quiet in a weird setting. If they are, why did they invite us over?
“You two seem very cuddly?” Rya says, smiling at me and Zayn.
Our shoulders are touching as we eat and he’s kept his hand on my thigh this whole time, eating and drinking with his other.
I smile at her and then at him because even with all the awkwardness in the room, I can’t help but feel the love between us. It became stronger after the apology. Sometimes it’s the talks like those that connect you the most to your partner.
As I wash the dishes, I stare out the window, watching the sun fall and the sky light up in orange hues. Zay texted me saying he would be late from work only a couple of hours ago. I thought he would be an hour or two late, but I’ve cooked and eaten, and now I’m washing the dishes and he’s still not home. He doesn’t answer when I call him. I’m assuming he’s really busy and can’t answer. He’s always been one to answer my calls, and now, come to think of it, he’s hasn’t been lately.
Everything was great between us after his apology until recently. Everything’s been dwindling away again. The buzzer of the washer goes off. Just in time, because I barely finished the dishes. A huge yawn escapes me as I walk over there, regretting such a late load of laundry. I’m exhausted already and the last thing I want to do is hang my clothes to dry. I hate drying my clothes because they always shrink. They’re never the same after drying them.
I place the wet clothes into the basket and walk it over to our room. I get a whiff of Zayn’s cologne coming from our closet as I enter to get hangers. The smell heightens my physical emotionfor him. My center pulses at the heightened pull for him. I’m going to have to have my way with him once he gets home.
I had to use part of Zayn’s side of the closet to hang up all the wet clothes. Since I have so many clothes, I barely have room to hang the wet ones to dry.
I hear footsteps as I turn around and see Zayn fully-dressed in his work clothes. “Hey, babe.”
“Hi,” he says, reaching into the shower and turning the knobs.
Oh nice, he’s getting in the shower. I imagine all the ways I can have my way with him. I go back into our closet, peeking at him as he undresses. The steam swirls around the bathroom as he steps into the shower. We have a glass shower, so I stand watching him as the water drips down his body.
I undress in our walk-in closet that connects to the bathroom. I do it quietly so he doesn’t hear me, so I can surprise him when I get in. As I make my way over to the shower, his eyes are closed, his head tilts back, letting the water run over his head. I slowly open the shower door, and he immediately stops what he’s doing and looks over at me, startled.
“What are you doing?” he asks with a bitter tone.
My head jerks back at his tone. I freeze, staring at him as he eyes me. “Uhh, what does it look like I’m doing?”
He turns his gaze away from me. “I’m not in the mood.”
My shoulders slump as I look him over once more. “Really?”
“Yes, really,” he spits as if he’s mad at me for even thinking of stepping into the shower with him.
My heart sinks as I step out of the shower. I grab the towel and wrap it around myself, feeling very uncomfortable being naked in front of him. I hurry off to the bedroom, shutting the door behind me.
Disappointment washes over me as I lie down on the bed. I circle back to the past couple of weeks and what changedbetween then and now. We were doing so good. Is he not attracted to me anymore?
I used to always wear business casual clothes, my hair always curled and a full face of makeup since I worked in an office. Now I’m always in leggings and a sports bra. But what else am I going to wear if I’m at home baking? I try to at least look presentable with a tinted moisturizer and a coat of mascara on my lashes. I usually curl my hair on the weekends, and it lasts during the week until hair wash day. My mind is running with so much of what it could be.
I need to ask him.
The sound of the running water stops, followed by the squeak of the shower door opening. I lie here, my heart pounding with anticipation to ask him, hoping it won’t start another argument.
“Violet!” he yells.
I jump off the bed and swing the bathroom door open to see what the fuss is all about. He’s staring at my hung clothes in the closet.
