"Okay." I lowered my hands by a fraction. "There was this guy..."
"There was this guy?" She threw her hands up in the air. "Oh, well, Jesus, why didn't you say so? That explains everything."
Sweat streamed down the side of my face despite all the open windows letting in the breeze. They also let out all our business for the neighbors to hear. Despite the furniture separating us, I could feel the anger eminating off Lydia like bad perfume.
She moved towards the coffe table. I suspected it was so that she could throw it at me. But instead she collapsed onto the couch and started crying.
I was torn. This behavior had been previously used as a trap after I'd told her I gambled away our honeymoon budget. I still had teeth-shaped scarring on my left arm.
But these were not the pretty, delicate tears I'd seen then. They were the honking-goose, hiccup tears of utter dispair. In between bursts of it, she said, "We were supposed to live here for the rest of our lives and grow old together."
"Oh, sweetie." I stepped over the broken lamp and shredded newspaper to sit next to her . "I know we had plans for this place, but something amazing has happened. Even better than we dreamed of for this house."
Lydia swiped mascara streaks away from those pretty blue eyes and managed to silence her moans. She reached for the tissue box sitting on the undamaged table. "What are you talking about?" She sounded exasperated. Disappointed. In me. Again.
I had to prove her wrong. This time, my plans would work.