Page 94 of Dear John

“Well, your minute is up. Pack your bags and get home because there is no way I’m going to be in charge of two grumpy men!”

“I doubt Kavanaugh will be staying there.”

“Was it that bad?” she asked, showing the first signs of actually caring that Kavanaugh and I got into a huge fight.

“It’s…everything’s up in the air right now.”

“Fine,” she grumbled. “But you should know that I am not happy about this.”

“I get it.”

“And you will buy me Jujyfruits when you get home.”

I rolled my eyes even though she couldn’t see it. “Yes, I will buy them for you.”

“And you will cook the meals.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve been taking care of Bowie while you were off galavanting all over creation. It’s the least you can do for me.”

“Bowie doesn’t belong to me.”

“Bowie was hit saving my life because of your crazy ex. Need I say more?”

She was right. “Fine, all the meals you want.”

“And you’ll do my laundry.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Fine, just my whites. You know I can never get them as bright as you.”

“One load,” I stressed. “I will not be doing all your laundry.”

“Oh, and my delicates.”

“Riley—”

“And I might need you to help me with a home waxing kit.”

I flipped my blankets off and got out of bed, storming over to the bathroom to pee. “I’m about to pull down my sleep shorts and take a really long pee. Do you want to listen?”

“Where do we stand on the home waxing situation?”

“Goodbye,” I grumbled, ending the call.

That wine I drank before bed was running through me. I shouldn’t have had so much, but I couldn’t help myself. Shit was bad and I just wanted something to take off the edge. That something turned into the whole bottle. It turned out, you couldn’t actually wipe away your sorrows with alcohol. Though it had worn off, I was still just as angry as when Kavanaugh left.

My phone chimed as I came out of the bathroom. “I swear to God, I’m going to kill her if she doesn’t let this go.”

But when I looked, the text wasn’t from her. I didn’t recognize the number.

Are you awake?

I’m outside your door.

Was it Kavanaugh? Had he texted me from someone else’s phone? I wasn’t sure I could deal with him, even if he couldn’t bring himself to leave. I wanted to find a way to make this work between us, but how many times could I forgive him for hiding things from me?