Push - Claire Wallis

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of unpacking the rest of the boxes. When I am done, the only ones remaining are those from Michael—which I shove to the back of my closet and try to forget—and the ones containing the kitchen stuff that I can’t unpack until David is finished.

      I spend the rest of my Sunday doing the mundane. Since I can now walk on the kitchen floor, I make a quick trip to the grocery store for some food, beer and more wine, and make myself a late lunch as soon as I return. Part of me was hoping to run into David while I was out, but then I recalled his note saying that he had plans for the day. When I finish washing my lunch dishes, my phone buzzes. It’s him.

      

      

      Hi.

      

      

      Hi back.

      

      

      What r u doing?

      

      

      Getting my shit together.

      

      

      Shit?

      

      

      Unpacking and grocery store. Going to hang pictures now.

      

      

      Need my tool belt?

      

      

      He is flirting again. I want to be coy, but...

      

      

      U left it here yesterday. I’m wearing it right now.

      

      

      Is that so?

      

      

      Yep. And it looks damn fine on me, too.

      

      

      I’ll bet it does.

      

      

      Where r u?

      

      

      Boating with the boys.

      

      

      Any girls?

      

      

      Do I really want to know the answer to that?

      

      

      None wearing a tool belt.

      

      

      So what r they wearing then?

      

      

      Nothing that matters to me.

      

      

      What the hell does that mean? That he isn’t looking at what they are wearing because he doesn’t give a damn, or that they aren’t wearing anything at all?

      

      

      Define nothing.

      

      

      It means that it doesn’t matter what they r wearing, or not wearing, as the case may b.

      

      

      Because...?

      

      

      Because whatever it is, it isn’t u in those blue panties.

      

      

      U aren’t going to let any of those girls sit on your lap r u?

      

      

      No, Emma. I am not.

      

      

      Because I will kick your fucking ass if u do.

      

      

      I know.

      

      

      I slide my phone closed and put it back in my pocket. I can’t believe it, but the thought of David on some boat with a bunch of barely dressed women makes my skin sear. Why? I don’t understand how I can be so jealous when we only spent one night together. And shit, it wasn’t even a night. It was barely an hour. But then I remember our conversation about me meeting his friends. He was jealous, too, wasn’t he? Possessive, even. I’m beginning to wonder where this is all going.

      I spend the rest of the afternoon clumsily hanging pictures on the walls, ironing my work clothes for the week, and mapping out the bus route for my morning commute. I am excited and nervous about starting my new job tomorrow. As the evening rolls in, I check my cell phone occasionally to see if David texted. There is nothing, and I am highly disappointed in myself for caring so much. I feel like a damn stooge every time I look at my phone.

      I make myself some pasta for dinner and finish the employment paperwork that’s due at the office tomorrow. I hate myself for it, but I’ve been listening for noise on the stairs the entire evening. What the fuck is he doing? He can’t still be on a boat; it’s pitch-dark outside. I don’t want to care about where the hell he is, and honestly, it’s none of my damn business. But I do care...and it’s driving me fucking crazy.

      I walk back to my bedroom and pull my pepper spray out of my purse. I carry it back to the living room and put it on top of his tool box. Then I get a piece of paper and place the following message under the spray canister:

      

      

      David—

      Next time you are going to be out late with a bunch of half-naked whores, please take this with you. Feel free to use it liberally. I know where to get more.

      Emma

      PS. Please tell me I don’t have to kick your fucking ass...

      

      

      It’s midnight now, and I go to bed.

      Chapter Nine

      I am up and out of the apartment by 7:05 because I suspect it will take me a good forty five minutes to get to work. I’ll have to make at least one bus transfer, and until I know the route better, I want to give myself plenty of time. Turns out it takes me a little over fifty minutes to get downtown, and by the time I walk into the office building, I only have a few minutes to spare. I like to be early, though, so I decide to be out the door by 6:50 from here on out.

      My new office is just as excellent as I suspected it would be. I’m not overly enthused about sitting in a cubicle all day, but the work I’ll be doing is precisely what I was hoping for. Everyone else working here seems to be very nice—and very normal. I discovered in college that engineering is full of quiet, thoughtful men, which means that I don’t exactly fit in, but their ordinary and orderly nature always felt right to me. Plus, the logicality of the work is therapeutic. Even when I was working on a project in my college

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