Perfect Together by Kristen Ashley

“Wine? Vodka tonic?” he offered, not going to her usual, a margarita, because he wasn’t going to put that kind of time into making it.

“Wine,” she answered.

“I’ll be back,” he murmured.

There was a white opened in the fridge. Wyn had opened it the previous evening while he grilled chicken. Over dinner, they’d gotten involved in a discussion about household chores, this devolved into an argument, and they’d ended up fucking.

It had been superb.

In the end, he took her point about being too traditional about the gender divide in everyday life. But since neither of them did most of those things anymore (Wyn was now also using his laundry service), it was moot. Though, he promised to try to be more aware, and if he wasn’t, receptive if she brought it up.

Since they’d fucked and talked themselves out, they’d then gone to sleep.

And didn’t finish the bottle.

Remy poured wine into two glasses and returned.

Myrna was on the couch, right in the middle, like his mother had sat in hers the last time he saw her.

After giving her the glass, Remy moved across the space to sit on the piano bench.

He took a sip, waited for her to do the same, then he started it.

“I wanted to apologize.”

She studied him closely, her eyes carefully shuttered.

“For what?” she queried cautiously, but curiously.

“For letting you move in. For leading you on. It wasn’t my intention, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. It’s clear it did. I can understand how you felt there was more between us, because I was not communicating effectively with you. I can understand how you felt we had a future, because I hadn’t made my feelings clear to you. I was checked out, I allowed things to go on too long, and considering your feelings for me, which I knew you had, that was unkind.”

Now she was staring at him, shock unhidden.

“I don’t like that you tracked down Sabre and lied to him about what happened between us. I don’t like that you broke into Wyn’s house and did whatever you tried to do. But I’m not telling you these things solely to get you to stop pulling shit on me and my family. Quite a bit has happened since we split, I’ve taken a hard look at what I’ve done, so I’m saying all of this because you deserve to hear it.”

For a second, she sat there, frozen.

After that second was over, she lost it.

Completely.

Her crying was so bad, Remy had to get up and take the glass from her or it would have been on the floor.

He set it aside with his and approached her, but he didn’t sit by her, he didn’t touch her, he crouched in front of her.

He let her cry for a while, but when, instead of getting better, it got worse, and he saw Bill edge into the room, Remy knew he needed to address it.

He shook his head at Bill, who disappeared, then he turned to his ex.

“Myrna, what’s going on?” he asked.

She was bent to her thighs, face in both hands, but at his words, she jerked back to sitting on the couch.

“I-I-I pulled that fucked-up shit with S-S-Sah be-because I was so p-p-pissed at you,” she hitched out.

He’d figured that part out himself.

“Okay,” Remy murmured.

She took in a breath that broke about five times.

Christ, he wasn’t fond of her or her recent behavior, to say the least.

But he felt that.

“The m-m-minute he stalked away from m-me, God, he was so upset, so m-mad at m-me, I got in my c-car, drove home and thought,”—another broken breath and then a wail—“what the fuck is wrong with me?”

Remy didn’t answer because that was also his question.

“I mean, I was acting like a crazy person!” she shouted, then shot out of the couch so fast, Remy had to lean back to miss her and almost landed on his ass.

Instead, he straightened and retreated. Not so far she’d feel snubbed, but Bill recommended he keep distance between them, and Remy was definitely listening to Bill.

She swiped at her cheeks and faced him.

“Okay, so…listen. You’re gonna be mad, but just listen, okay?” she asked.

Remy braced but nodded.

“So, I was, like…you know…”

He didn’t know but she didn’t go on.

Then she exploded, “Fuck!”

He was growing concerned about her behavior. Myrna unstable, he’d learned, was not a good thing.

“Myrna, just tell me,” he urged patiently. “What’s gone down between us can’t possibly get worse, unless you let it, so just say it. You’re here for us to work this out. This is a safe place for you, I promise.”

“I went part-time,” she blurted.

His head jerked in confusion. “What?”

“Okay, this makes me sound bad, and I was in la-la land because I was crazy about you, though really, that’s just excuse, but I’m blathering. It isn’t debatable. You’ve got money.”

Remy didn’t speak.

She, lamentably, kept going.

“You weren’t asking me to pay rent. You weren’t asking me to contribute to the bills. I thought…”—she lifted her shoulders, dropped them—“I thought we were solid. I went part-time. I mean, work’s a drag. Play is so much better. I took a pottery class. Did a lot of hiking and mountain biking. Hung at Lola’s, drank coffee and read. I mean, I just, well…I kinda used it as a break.”