"Where were you?"
Before he'd even closed the door, it started. He was wet and cold and just a little bit fed up, and so his answer was a tad more aggressive than it would normally have been. He shrugged of his coat and surveyed the woman spread out comfortably on his couch with narrowed eyes. "Where the hell do you think I was?"
A short silence, followed by a slight frown. That wasn't good.
"I have no idea. That's why I'm asking."
Too calm. Her tone was deceptively calm, and he knew that meant trouble.
"I was out."
Idiot! He knew the best form of defence was attack, but this was ridiculous. He knew better than to bait her with elusive answers, and yet his mouth seemed to have a snotty mind of its own that was determined to dig him in deeper.
She brushed a piece of non-existent fluff off her sweater and continued grilling him. "Obviously you were out, John. I believed I asked for specifics."
Specifics? She wanted specifics? Oh, he'd give her specifics, alright. "Can I at least get out of these wet clothes before I face the inquisition?"
Another silence. He really seemed to have a death wish at the moment. Apparently being wet and cold didn't agree with his temperament. Who'd have thought it?
"You went out hours ago."
Relief. She was letting the 'inquisition' comment pass. Still, it irked him that he felt such relief. He was the one who'd had to go out and . . . "I know how long I've been gone. I don't need you to point it out to me."
Yeah. Let her know that it was at least partly her fault. At least.
"Did it occur to you to make a call? Let me know where you were? That you were safe?"
Oh no ... she wasn't going to make him feel bad by going down that road. That was a low blow, and he wasn't going to stand for it.
"No, frankly, it didn't. You knew what I was doing. A phone call would have just slowed me down. May I remind you that time was of the essence here?"
Yeah. That should put her back in her box. Maybe he could win this thing after all.
"So you knew I'd be here waiting, wondering what was taking so long, and you didn't think my worry worthy enough of a phone call?"
He had to concede; she was good. Always managed to wrap him up in knots and make it all seem like his fault. The thing was, he knew what she was doing; he knew that she was baiting him, but she still got him every single time.
"Monica, look. I'm sorry I was gone so long. I'm sorry that I dripped a stain into the carpet. But you know what I'm most sorry for? I'm most sorry that for some reason you're riding my ass when you should be thankful that you didn't have to go out there."
"I should be thankful? I should be thankful?"
Crap. His chronic foot in mouth disease had reared its ugly head again. Just when he thought he'd gone and made a valid point, he had to go overboard. "Bad choice of words, maybe," he conceded.
"Considering that I'm barely capable of going anywhere at the moment, I would think so," she retorted, all the while keeping her unflinching eyes trained on his suddenly wary ones.
"I'll think I'll just spit my foot out now. Could ya move to the left a little?"
She accepted this as a half-hearted apology and looked into the bag that he held out. "You were gone for hours and you didn't even bring back what I asked you to?"
He knew that she would fight him on this. Knew it. Still, he had to at least try to sell it.
"I'm sorry. I tried. I went to four different stores, drove across town, and no one has them."
"One thing. I ask you to one thing for me, since you're the reason I'm like this in the first place, and you can't even do that."
He surveyed his pregnant partner and gave up the fight. She'd always get him with the 'You did this to me' line, and he brought it every single time. He dropped a single kiss on her forehead that signified defeat, and pulled out the closest thing to the cream lamington that she'd asked for.
"What is it?"
"It's a coconut-slash-chocolate-slash-cream spongy thing."
"But . . . it's not a lamington."
"Four stores, Mon. In the rain. Sounding like an idiot every time I went into a new one, 'cause no one in the city knows what a damn lamington is."
She tried unsuccessfully to hide a smile, but her eyes lit up in that way that had made him fall in love with her, and he fell all over again.
"I suppose this coconut-slash-chocolate-slash-cream spongy thing isn't so bad."
Capitulation. He knew those hormones would ease up a soon as they saw the chocolate and cream.
"You're welcome," he muttered under his breath, grinning as she took a huge bite and ended up with a smudge of cream stuck to her cheek. He swiped it with his thumb and offered her the wayward dollop, laughing as she licked it off greedily.
She was right - it was all his fault. And so he had to deal with the consequences of that – late night runs to bakeries included.
End.
Before he'd even closed the door, it started. He was wet and cold and just a little bit fed up, and so his answer was a tad more aggressive than it would normally have been. He shrugged of his coat and surveyed the woman spread out comfortably on his couch with narrowed eyes. "Where the hell do you think I was?"
A short silence, followed by a slight frown. That wasn't good.
"I have no idea. That's why I'm asking."
Too calm. Her tone was deceptively calm, and he knew that meant trouble.
"I was out."
Idiot! He knew the best form of defence was attack, but this was ridiculous. He knew better than to bait her with elusive answers, and yet his mouth seemed to have a snotty mind of its own that was determined to dig him in deeper.
She brushed a piece of non-existent fluff off her sweater and continued grilling him. "Obviously you were out, John. I believed I asked for specifics."
Specifics? She wanted specifics? Oh, he'd give her specifics, alright. "Can I at least get out of these wet clothes before I face the inquisition?"
Another silence. He really seemed to have a death wish at the moment. Apparently being wet and cold didn't agree with his temperament. Who'd have thought it?
"You went out hours ago."
Relief. She was letting the 'inquisition' comment pass. Still, it irked him that he felt such relief. He was the one who'd had to go out and . . . "I know how long I've been gone. I don't need you to point it out to me."
Yeah. Let her know that it was at least partly her fault. At least.
"Did it occur to you to make a call? Let me know where you were? That you were safe?"
Oh no ... she wasn't going to make him feel bad by going down that road. That was a low blow, and he wasn't going to stand for it.
"No, frankly, it didn't. You knew what I was doing. A phone call would have just slowed me down. May I remind you that time was of the essence here?"
Yeah. That should put her back in her box. Maybe he could win this thing after all.
"So you knew I'd be here waiting, wondering what was taking so long, and you didn't think my worry worthy enough of a phone call?"
He had to concede; she was good. Always managed to wrap him up in knots and make it all seem like his fault. The thing was, he knew what she was doing; he knew that she was baiting him, but she still got him every single time.
"Monica, look. I'm sorry I was gone so long. I'm sorry that I dripped a stain into the carpet. But you know what I'm most sorry for? I'm most sorry that for some reason you're riding my ass when you should be thankful that you didn't have to go out there."
"I should be thankful? I should be thankful?"
Crap. His chronic foot in mouth disease had reared its ugly head again. Just when he thought he'd gone and made a valid point, he had to go overboard. "Bad choice of words, maybe," he conceded.
"Considering that I'm barely capable of going anywhere at the moment, I would think so," she retorted, all the while keeping her unflinching eyes trained on his suddenly wary ones.
"I'll think I'll just spit my foot out now. Could ya move to the left a little?"
She accepted this as a half-hearted apology and looked into the bag that he held out. "You were gone for hours and you didn't even bring back what I asked you to?"
He knew that she would fight him on this. Knew it. Still, he had to at least try to sell it.
"I'm sorry. I tried. I went to four different stores, drove across town, and no one has them."
"One thing. I ask you to one thing for me, since you're the reason I'm like this in the first place, and you can't even do that."
He surveyed his pregnant partner and gave up the fight. She'd always get him with the 'You did this to me' line, and he brought it every single time. He dropped a single kiss on her forehead that signified defeat, and pulled out the closest thing to the cream lamington that she'd asked for.
"What is it?"
"It's a coconut-slash-chocolate-slash-cream spongy thing."
"But . . . it's not a lamington."
"Four stores, Mon. In the rain. Sounding like an idiot every time I went into a new one, 'cause no one in the city knows what a damn lamington is."
She tried unsuccessfully to hide a smile, but her eyes lit up in that way that had made him fall in love with her, and he fell all over again.
"I suppose this coconut-slash-chocolate-slash-cream spongy thing isn't so bad."
Capitulation. He knew those hormones would ease up a soon as they saw the chocolate and cream.
"You're welcome," he muttered under his breath, grinning as she took a huge bite and ended up with a smudge of cream stuck to her cheek. He swiped it with his thumb and offered her the wayward dollop, laughing as she licked it off greedily.
She was right - it was all his fault. And so he had to deal with the consequences of that – late night runs to bakeries included.
End.