That bright face just turned sour. I’m in trouble. A very big one.
I was walking to Jamie’s door when this chicken delivery guy walked towards her apartment. I guess she ordered this for lunch. I offered to get it and see if it’s paid for, if not I’d cover for it. He said it was. I even forgot to get her food in my rush to come here not thinking she might not even have lunch yet.
I know I messed up but realized it only when I was at my apartment door last night. I went against my gut in driving back to her apartment or calling her to talk about what happened. I know she’s mad at me, she didn’t even want to hear what I had to say after what she said to me. I’m wrong to deflect my exhaustion and the stress I was into yesterday and for her to get the brunt of it.
I needed to go to the restroom to freshen up because I was getting sleepy. I just wanted to make sure I remain in my sociable self for her, she’s with her colleagues and good impressions are always needed in this kind of socializing. Seeing her laughing with that guy last night must have been my last straw. It was fine that she’s socializing but the way he’s looking at Jamie made my blood boil. I had to restrain myself there for her.
I wanted to come here early morning too so that when she wakes up, she’d see me and we can talk. That’s my third strike I guess because instead of coming here, I went to play soccer with the guys to get some steam off.
Pete was there and he noticed that I was agitated the entire game. He sat me down and I told him what happened. He’s with Jamie on this one and with that validation, I’m so sure that I am going to face a very mad version of Jamie.
Mad Jamie is not a good thing. She’d always be understanding and between the two of us, the most rational one. She’s not going to talk because she doesn’t want to say anything that would hurt the both of us. I’d choose an annoyed or pissed Jamie over the mad Jamie every time.
“Uhm. Hi.” I raised the chicken box she had ordered and gave her an awkward smile.
Not saying a word. Crap.
She just gave me that “I don’t want to see you, why are you here?” glare, went back inside but left the door open for me to come in. I rang the doorbell instead of letting myself in because I’m not too sure if she’d appreciate me being in her apartment without invitation especially when I know she’s mad at me.
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I followed her inside and put the food on the table. She’s moving around the kitchen without saying anything and I’m just observing, trying to find the perfect timing to open my mouth. I’ll be honest here, I’m afraid of mad Jamie. I don’t know how to act around her when I’m not sure what she’s thinking because she’s not talking. She’d mostly give me a piece of her mind but this is scary.
She began washing some dishes she left perhaps last night and I decided to get some plates to set her table. Thing is, they are on the cupboard in front of her, since she’s not talking I don’t know if I should excuse myself. I just came closer, opened the cupboard while covering her forehead to prevent the door from hitting her. Still no reaction.
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I set the plates on the table while watching her closely.
This is a whole new level of nervousness I’m feeling. It’s all my fault really so how do I even begin to apologize? Words are important to her. Hers go through a process before it goes out of her mouth, they can be enlightening, remarkable, even make you come to your senses but she can wield them like weapons too. That’s why she keeps silent when she’s mad.
I can’t be the funny Sean here. I’d dig myself a deeper grave. I can’t even be the sweet Sean too, she’d melt me like candy on a hot frying pan with those stares. But I need to start this conversation one way or another because it’s driving me totally crazy.
“Uh, would… uhm would you, you know, like some help with washing, uh, the dishes?” I’m stuttering, great.
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She just turned around. Gave me an unbothered stare and continued with what she was doing. Those dishes are going to be squeaky clean when she’s done with them. Rather than push my luck, I left her alone and sat at the table.
