Conflict of Interest

Chapter Forty Nine

Kim

I'd come to the point with Carrie where I felt as though I could tell her anything. She'd make sarcastic comments, she'd offer priceless logical advice, she'd offer shitty emotional advice, but regardless, I knew she wouldn't judge. Not too hard, anyway. And not too permanently.

But every so often there came an occasion where I just didn't want to discuss something, with Carrie, or with anyone. This was one of those times, and yet I knew it would come out eventually. When it did finally come out, it was at six in the morning in Carrie's kitchen. I was getting ready for work, she was getting ready for another round of excruciating psychiatry, and we were chatting intermittently in passing like two married people that didn't have time for one another anymore.

"So," she threw out absentmindedly, pouring a cup of coffee. "How did it go with Grace last night?"

"Ugh."

"That well?"

"It was..." I tried explaining while skipping the details. "It was rough."

"She's still mad?"

I stared at the ground. "Something like that."

"Cryptic..." Carrie said, sitting down and looking me in the eye. "Elaborate."

"If I tell you," I warned. "You're not allowed to say anything."

"You expect me to just sit in sil—"

"Yes."

She blinked several times, appearing to be blindsided, then curiosity got the best of her and she shrugged. "Okay."

"And no ha-ha, Grace is dumb jokes."

She looked sad, as though I was physically hurting her. "Just one?"

"None."

"Okay," she relented. "Go ahead. What did she say?"

I sighed. This was going to be harder than I thought.

"Basically," I began, thinking up the best way to put it, eventually just opting for the truth. "Basically, she told me that she understands that I needed to get it out, you know, it being the sex, just one last time before we got married, because I had cold feet or whatever. And that she's not mad anymore, that she missed me, and that she's just..."

The last part killed me, but I just forced it out anyway.

"...Ready for me to come home."

Carrie stayed true to her word and said nothing, but pressed her lips together as though they were sewn shut as the most amused of expressions played in her eyes. She dropped her head downward, refusing to meet my eyes, and her shoulders began to shake as she laughed, increasingly hard.

"Carrie!"

"I didn't say anything!" she defended, tears in her eyes.

"You might as well have!"

"Laughter was not a term of the verbal agreement—"

"Don't law school me, Carrie."

"Oh God," she said, wiping tears. "This is so going on my Twitter."

"You don't have a Twitter."

"I know, but if I did, this would so go on it."

"Stop being an asshole. It's not funny, it's really sad."

"Yes, it is really sad," she agreed. "That's the funny part. You really don't see how this works, do you?"

"You're a sociopath."