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At that, he glances over his shoulder to scrutinize the situation before meeting my stare to state, “Is this name shit your passive aggressive way of lettin’ me know you’re pissed at me?”
Did he just call me passive aggressive?!
Me?!
The man who haunts me instead of just being honest wants to talk about not properly communicating?!
Is this a fucking a joke?!
“Why would I be upset with you, Hogan?” My small child classroom voice takes over. “Because you missed class?” Anxious to do something with my hands is what leads me to needlessly straightening the stack of poetry books on my desk. “You’re an adult.” I move the Sylvia Plath collection to the top. “An adult who paid for this class.” Aligning its spine with the others occurs next. “You are entitled to spend your time where you deem fit.”
“Don’t say that shit like I didn’t wanna be here,” he unhappily grouses. “Like I was balls deep in some house mouse and couldn’t be bothered to get my ass out of bed.”
I finally meet his gaze.
“I was in Church.”
There’s no stopping my head from falling sardonically to one side. “Really?” Narrowing my gaze isn’t stopped. “You’re religious now?”
“No,” he quickly he shakes his head, “Church is a club meeting. It’s what they’re called.”
“Weird name, but who am I to judge?”
“I-”
“And it’s fine if that’s where you really were-”
“I. Was.”
“And it’s fine if that’s not where you really were-”
“You calling me a liar?”
“And it’s fine if you miss class.”
Hogan presses his lips together, clearly swallowing whatever rebuttal he thought of making.
“And it’s fine if you don’t.”
This time I’m thrown a glare.
A deep.
Dark.
Displeased glare.
“Your decisions are yours.”
He folds his arms firmly across his chest causing it to distractingly bulge.
“Your um…” returning my fidgeting to the books below is swiftly done, “priorities are yours.” I move the Claude McKay poetry collection to the top for sizing reasons. “Just like mine are mine.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
Keeping my fingers feathering the Jamaican-American author’s most notable works is accompanied by my eyes finding his once more. “The club is everything to you and teaching is everything to me.” I grip the edge of the book a little tighter. “Which is why I completely understand and even agree with what happened between us being a one and done sort of thing.”
“What?”
