Alice:
I’m sorry friend.
Eh, enjoy yourself. He can lay on the rocks if he wants to.
I laugh, the absurdity of the situation too much to process fully.
At least I have Alice to keep me grounded.
I keep ignoring him, but the audacity of his behavior is almost comical. Who the hell whistles at someone like they’re a dog?
Eventually, he returns to the apartment.
“You’re disgusting,” I say flatly, not even looking up. "Immature. A complete piece of shit."
I can feel the weight of his glare, but I don’t care. My vocabulary has expanded to new levels of insult lately. And my emotional intelligence? Absolutely plummeting.
“Wow, nice! Real nice!” He stalks off to the back room, muttering under his breath about how ungrateful I am for his… what? Hisexistence?
“Get the fuck out of my life!” I call out with a cheery voice. “It’ll be much better without you in it!”
He leaves again and comes back about twenty minutes later, dripping wet from the ocean and tracking sand all over the apartment. I can’t even keep track of his comings and goings.
I’m halfway through an episode of my show, the first real moment of relaxation I’ve had all day.
“You good?” I ask, not even looking up, feeling slightly guilty for insulting him earlier.
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he huffs past me, grabs a towel, and heads back out, muttering to himself.
I shake my head.
Me:
He came back, wet and sandy, tracked crap everywhere, then left again. I think the rock-and-sea time-out plan is going well for him.
Alice:
That rock deserves an award for being his emotional support cliff.
I laugh, for what feels like the first time all day.
I sigh, sinking back into my pillows.
At least I have Alice.
At least I’m not crying anymore.
CHAPTER 25
BLUE'S CLUES
MARGAUX
About an hour later, Timmy stomps back into the apartment, agitated and muttering under his breath.
I try to steer the conversation elsewhere, telling him about an idea Alice and I have for a book, and how we might ask Rebecca to do some book art for us.
His reaction is immediate and volatile. “You don’t want me to do the art for your book?” His voice rises, his face twisting into a scowl. “You’re going to write a book with someone else, and have another person do the art?”