The truth? I have a headache, I do. And when I look at myself in the mirror in the bathroom, I see puffy, bloodshot eyes and tired skin. It’s going to be a long day.
Before I close the bathroom door, I hear her tell him, “Hey, can I ask you something?”
God, no, I plead. Just when I thought today might be looking up.
* * * *
I stand under the shower and let the hot water pound away the tension bunching my muscles. I hadn’t bothered with the cold water at all and my skin is red, my face sweaty from the heat. I ignore it, the same way I ignore the roar of the shower, and the fact that she’s in our room, talking to him, about…something.
About me.
What can she possibly be saying?
I almost don’t want to know.
A short while later, the bathroom door opens and a whiff of cool air swirls aro
