She bobs her head.
Good. “He took down Tyler’s room and gave the crib to some neighbor down the street.”
She’s still in cop mode, and knowing my specialty, she’s on high alert.
Narrative disengages, so I continue, “He took everything down, even the wooden letters you bought.” That one was hard to say without strangling her.
She tilts her head and leans slightly forward. “Without asking?”
Pointing out his flaws … classic, manipulative, mean-girl shit.
“I woke up to find the room boxed up and the crib gone. Kace was holding the picture frame.” I point to it on the mantle. “When I came in, he started talking about adoption and restarting life, as if I can restart anything.”
The bitch smiles. She fucking smiles. “You guys have been on the brink of breaking up since the shooting.”
I inhale deeply to quench the anger bursting through my chest and burning my vocal cords. Lowering my head is the only way I can hide the micro-expressions. Confession, I tell myself. Accusing her will get her on the defensive, and I’ll never hear the words from her mouth.
“Kace told me about the fight you two had yesterday.”
I already knew he went over to her place. The pictures in my purse proved it, but the bile in my stomach isn’t enough to digest the fact. “What else did he say?” I slide into a more comfortable position by turning my body toward her and bending my knee, tucking my foot under my thigh. Open posture of communication. “Did he mention I’ve been sleeping on this couch?”
“Not yesterday, but yeah, I knew. It hasn’t been easy for him. I don’t know why you two are still together. It’s been months, and you haven’t made amends. Do you honestly think you’ll be able to?”
“He tells you everything, right?”
I catch the shake of her head before her answer. “Yes, usually.”
Usually.
“Everyone knows you’ve been having a hard time since losing the baby.”
My hands freeze in the air momentarily. Her neck is a magnet for my fingers—I want to wrap my hands around the delicate neck and squeeze, crushing her voice box to stop her from talking. But I need her to talk. It takes all my strength to thaw out my muscles and move them. “It’s hard. Not many people can say they’ve been through the same thing I have.”
“That’s true. No one doubts your situation is hard.” She keeps using general comparisons. “Kace mentioned therapy. Is that going well? Will you be back at work soon?”
I pump my shoulders and answer, “All I do is talk about my feelings. Not really sure how much help it’s doing. Honestly, working on the Bullet Man case feels good. The distraction helps, and until yesterday, things were better with Kace.” I allow her to take control and feel like the interrogator.
She’s always liked the role. I had invaded her territory and taken the things she liked: her favorite part of the job, the position as Cap’s favorite, and her partner.
“What do you mean better?” she asks.
My eyes fixate on her when I deliver the next stressor, “We slept together, and for the briefest moment, things were so different in his arms.”
She clenches her jaw and crosses her arms and legs. “A goodbye fuck,” she mumbles as she rationalizes his action with her lying brain.
I fuel her theory. “Probably, because Kace’s coming by soon to pack his stuff.” I remove the engagement ring on my finger and glance away to hide my immediate reaction. I wiggle it in the air, luring her focus to the symbol of my relationship.
Control. Suppression, I coach myself and assuage my aggression. I’m not here to know when she’s telling the truth; I’m here to know when she’s lying. Then, with the confirmation, I can unleash my rage.
Only nonverbal actions will be left.
I hold the diamond up in the air and hand it to her. “Can you give this to him?”
Her eyebrows arch before she reaches for the ring, the right corner of her lip slanting upward.
Superiority. She thinks she’s won, and this is how I’d get the confession from her.
“I’m so tired of fighting for something I’m not even sure I want anymore. We are two different people who want different things.” I shake my head and tuck the pillow between my stomach and my forearms, using my hands to gesture and keep her focus off my face. “He wants a family, and I can’t give that to him. Not anymore.”
“That’s true.” Again, a five-second smirk before she flattens it and smooths the material of her shirt with her free hand. The other clutches onto my ring as if it were a medal. “He’s mentioned wanting kids since I’ve known him.”
“You guys are close, huh?” I bite out.
“For the most part, he tells me everything.” Again, she emphasizes the fact of their open communication.
Exclusionary qualifiers. She’s hiding something. “And you tell him everything?”
She shrugs, crinkling her nose before she nods her head. Disconnect. “We’ve been partners for years. We went to the academy together, got placed in the same precinct, and during our rookie time, we were partnered with other people, but we always checked in with each other. I trust him with my life, and I wouldn’t ever hurt him.”
No, just the people he loves.
She hasn’t given me an answer yet, so I nod my head three times consecutively, cueing her to keep going—to keep convincing me she’s a good person when she doesn’t even understand what the word means.
“He used to tell me about his big family, and how he wanted one just like it. He wanted to wake up to kids fighting over the bathroom, and his daughters sneaking around to steal their first kisses. I want him to have that dream.” Her eyes land on me with lips pressed together and a linear lower lash line. “Don’t be offended, but with you, he’ll never see that family.”
“You’re right.”
She smirks and catches herself, flawlessly turning the happy sign into one of concern by putting her hand on my knee. Under her touch, my skin revolts: it burns like flesh-eating bacteria and festers rather than soothes. “You know, even if things don’t work out with Kace, you can always count on me.”
A quick glance at her crossed legs; her hanging anchor—the foot—tells me she’s nervous. It constantly swings in the air in the direction of the door. She can’t wait to leave, but she’s enjoying the conversation—knowing she’s won.
“Kace told you he was going to leave me, didn’t he?”
Her palm flips upward as she massages her wrist. A tattoo I’ve never noticed before stands out today. Between the motion of her fingers, I make out a date, which sounds familiar. Whatever it is, it holds importance to her because she rubs it for luck. “The last time Kace came over to my place, he told me he didn’t know how much longer he could be with you. He said you weren’t the same girl he wanted to marry.”
“I’m not.” I scoff without thinking and quickly justify my impulsive answer. “The woman he wanted to marry was the mother of his first child; now, I’m the woman who will never give him children.”
She holds my gaze for a second; the right side of her face twitches in contempt before she replies, “Right.” She rubs at the tattoo again. “He said you hated him.”