Page 191 of Lorenzo

Instead, I am sitting at his dining table eating my favorite meal while my dog naps in his designated spot in the next room.

Lorenzo slides the bread basket closer to me.

I take a piece mostly because refusing it would turn this into a conversation, and I do not want a conversation.

Especially because I have no idea what I would say.

There is nothing to accuse him of.

He did not ask me to leave things here.

He did not tell me I should come over more often.

He did not make some big announcement about us.

He just made room.

And somewhere along the way, I started using it.

I drink my water.

Lorenzo looks at me again.

“What?”

“You are still staring at the bottle.”

“I am thinking.”

“About water?”

“No.”

He waits.

I hate when he does that.

“What?” I ask.

“I did not say anything.”

“I know.”

He sets his fork down and looks at me. “Is there something the matter? Is it not to your liking?”

“It's fine,” I say. “It's delicious.”

“Then something else.”

“No, nothing else,” I say, feeling a little stupid. He hasn't done anything wrong. Picking a fight with him now would be petty and mean.

But I still really want to.

I shrug my shoulders to relieve the itch between my shoulder blades.

“All right.”

He goes back to his dinner.