I turn onto my side, facing away from him, and blow out a breath.
“You good?” he asks, the pitch of his voice sounding lower than usual. Or maybe it’s the acoustics in this tiny room.
“Yeah. Fine.”
He waits a beat. “You were going to tell me something,” he says. “Before.”
“Oh. Right.” I shift. The sleeping bag provides more cushion than I thought, but I can’t remember the last time I slept on the ground. It’s not exactly comfortable. “I was going to say that I’m…well, I’m sorry.”
Heat floods my cheeks, but fortunately I’m still turned away. Really, it should be socially acceptable to do all apologies this way. With our backs toward the wronged party. Though I’m still embarrassed, though I stillhatehaving to do this, not having to see him or gauge his reaction is making it all easier.
“I should have listened to you,” I continue. “About the guest bedroom. About not sleeping there.”
He’s quiet for a few seconds. Probably because he’s so unfamiliar with the concept of an apology. He’d never reached out after the fight, never told me he was sorry for any of it.
“It’s fine,” he finally says.
“No. No, it’s not. Actually, I wanted to, uh, offer to pay you back. You know, just let me know how much damage there is to the room, and if there are any repairs, you can send me the bill. I’ll take care of it and—”
“I don’t need your money, Meena.”
“Oh. Yeah. I know that, but I want to—”
“I don’twantyour money, Meena. Keep it.” The words are strained, as if they’re barely escaping through clenched teeth.
“I’m just trying to say sorry.” Though to be honest, it’s more than that. He helped me, and I’m not going to leave here with a debt unpaid. With my owing anything to him.
“You got hurt,” he grumbles. “And the window would have blown in even if you weren’t there. There’s nothing you need to payfor.”
“You don’t know that,” I say, attempting to lighten the mood. “Maybe the plywood would have stayed in place if I wasn’t here. You’d probably have had a better assistant helping you than me.”
“I wouldn’t have had an assistant. I would have done it myself.”
His serious reply sinks my attempt at levity. “Right,” I say. “That makes sense.”
The closet reverts to silence, broken only by the rustle of the synthetic sleeping bag material next to me. He’s probably rolling over. I wonder which way he’s facing, but I don’t give in to the temptation to sneak a peek over my shoulder.
“Actually,” he says, “I should have boarded the windows up earlier in the day. I ended up having to do them faster than normal. It’s possible I missed something.”
“I’m sure you didn’t,” I say. I don’t know why I’m trying to console him, but I don’t want him thinking I blame him. At least not for this. “And it’s not like you had a ton of notice.”
He pauses. “I had enough time. It’s just…as soon as I heard the news I…I had another property I had to board up first.”
“Oh.” For a second I think Nikhil is saying he owns another house, but then I realize he’s talking about work. “Well, that’s important,” I say. “I understand why you’d prioritize that.”
“You…you do?”
“Yeah. It’s not like you can just tell the boss you’re not going to show up.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, and I feel the need to clarify.
“I just mean that if you had a site you had to prep first, then that makes sense. It’s what you had to do.”
“A site,” he repeats slowly, like he’s unable to understand what I’m saying.
“A construction site?” I try, the words unintentionally coming out like a question. Is that not a commonly used term? I swear I’ve heard him say it before.
A few seconds pass. “Right,” he says. “Sorry. Yes, that propertyis under construction.” He moves again, the material crinkling. “We should get some sleep.”