The next morning, Diane walked up the driveway with two cups of takeout coffee. She pushed the front door open and stepped inside, like none of it had happened last night.
I was sitting at the kitchen counter. I hadn’t slept all night. She saw me, set the coffees down, and gave me that small smile. “Didn’t sleep too well? I brought coffee for you and Jake.”
“You pulled the covers off me last night,” I said. “You should’ve brought an apology.”
She set her cup down, and the smile didn’t budge. “I’m sorry. I was so worried last night. And when I worry, I get rough.”
She said “worried” like it explained everything. In her version, I was the one who’d started it.
Jake came out of the bedroom, hair still a mess. He picked up one of the coffees and took a drink. “Okay, she apologized. Let’s all just sit down.”
