Page 27 of Love, Second Chances and Other Nonsense
“Isn’t that just the funniest thing? You wouldn’t believe the crazy things people tell their nurses.”
Adam chuckles politely, but I can’t even muster the energy to fake amusement. I set down my half-eaten sandwich, my appetite completely gone.
“I should probably get going,” Millie says, glancing at her watch. “It’s getting late, and I have an early shift tomorrow. Caitlin, it was so nice to see you. We should do this again sometime.”
The thought makes me want to scream. “Sure,” I say instead, forcing the word past my clenched teeth.
Adam stands up. “I’ll walk you out.”
“You’re such a gentleman,” Millie says, touching his arm in a way that’s both familiar and proprietary. “Your mama raised you right.”
I watch as Adam helps her into her coat, how she turns just so, allowing her body to brush against his as she slips her arms into the sleeves. She knows exactly what she’s doing. Every moveis calculated, every touch and glance designed to stake her claim. And Adam, for all his intelligence, is completely blind to it.
“I’ll text you tomorrow,” she says as she steps into the hallway. “Thanks again for dinner. You really saved my day.”
“Anytime,” Adam replies, and the word sends a spike of anger through me. Anytime? Really?
He closes the door behind her and turns to face me, his expression a mixture of apology and defensiveness. “I know that wasn’t ideal,” he says, moving back to the living room. “I should have texted to let you know she was coming over.”
“Why was she here at all?” I ask, too exhausted to sugarcoat my feelings. “This is our home, Adam. My home.”
“She was having a rough day,” Adam says, his voice taking on that familiar defensive tone he always uses when discussing Millie. “Rhonda called my mom, worried because Millie hadn’t eaten all day. Mom asked if I could check on her, and when I called, she sounded…” He runs a hand through his hair. “She sounded really low, Cait. Really depressed. I was worried.”
“So worried that you invited her to our apartment and cooked her dinner without even mentioning it to me?”
“I didn’t think it would be a big deal,” he says, frustration creeping into his voice. “It was just dinner.”
“She ate my portion on purpose,” I say flatly. “You know she did.”
Adam’s face hardens. “Why are you so determined to always think the worst of her? It was a misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding? Adam, she’s not stupid. She knew exactly what she was doing.”
“You’re being paranoid,” he says, the words hitting me like a slap. “She made a mistake. She apologized. Why can’t you just let it go?”
“Because this isn’t just about dinner!” I explode, my exhaustion giving way to anger. “This is about her constantlyinserting herself into our lives, into our home, and you letting her. This is about her deliberately trying to come between us, and you not only allowing it but defending her every time!”
“That’s ridiculous,” Adam says, but there’s a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “Millie’s not trying to come between us. She’s my friend, and she’s going through a hard time.”
“She’s been going through a ‘hard time’ for months now,” I say, making air quotes with my fingers. “And somehow, it always requires your undivided attention.”
Adam’s jaw tightens. “Her father died, Caitlin. That’s not something you just get over.”
The unfairness of this stings. As if I, of all people, wouldn’t understand grief and loss. “I know that,” I say, my voice quieter now. “But that doesn’t give her the right to take over our lives.”
Adam sighs, his anger seeming to deflate. “You’re right. And I should have checked with you before inviting her over. I’m sorry.”
It’s not enough, but I’m too tired to keep arguing. I stand up from the couch, leaving the half-eaten sandwich behind. “I’m going to bed.”
“Wait,” Adam says, reaching for my hand. “Let me make it up to you. Let’s go out to dinner on Sunday, just the two of us. Anywhere you want.”
I look at him, at his hopeful expression, at the sincerity in his dark eyes, and I want so badly to believe that this time will be different. That a dinner date will somehow fix the growing chasm between us. That I won’t spend the entire meal wondering when Millie’s going to steal him away from me.
“Fine,” I say, too exhausted to argue. “Sunday dinner.”
He smiles, relieved. “Great. It’ll be nice, I promise. Just us.”
I nod and turn toward the bedroom, my body heavy with fatigue and something deeper, something that feels a lot likeresignation. Behind me, I hear Adam start to clean up — the clatter of dishes, a familiar sound that used to mean home.
