"So what, now we're going to live together?" Jamie takes another step towards me. "That's your idea of a good plan?"
Unwilling to back down, I poke a finger at his chest. "This is my family's house. Not yours. I have every right to be here."
"Newsfl...
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My new plan is brilliant in its simplicity. I will continue to be a walking disaster, except this time on purpose. Like the unholy spawn of Midas and Wreck-It-Ralph, everything I touch will be destroyed. Jamie will drive himself to the brink of insanity trying to fix it all. The selling of the house will be pushed back farther and farther. When, and I do mean when, Jamie quits, my parents will be so drained from dealing with all these catastrophes that they’ll beg me to take it off their hands. And I will be ready with my miracle job and oodles of money and fulfilling Life Purpose that I will discover somewhere between now and then. That last part is a little fuzzy on details, but it’s not important. The important part is: I have to get Jamie to break.
With this goal in mind, I bravely decide to stop avoiding him by eating cold pop-tarts in my room, and go to the kitchen for breakfast. The last few weeks have shown that being around me is incredibly stressful for him, which is a recent victory on my part. Three times now, I’ve gotten past the chink in his un-bother-able armor and actually driven him to show annoyance. I’ve got to put that superpower to work. Plus I’m new at this whole sabotaging thing and I’m hoping he’ll drop some ideas in casual conversation. Something along the lines of, “Gee, it sure would be terrible if someone did this very specific thing that requires zero technical know-how and has multiple YouTube videos with detailed instructions.”
The whole way down the stairs I picture his dark circles and how worn out he’d looked in the bathroom. I am gleefully anticipating how much worse he’ll look today, after staying up half the night working. Bloodshot eyes. Bedhead. In my best fantasy, he’s had to do some plumbing work and his clothes smell like sewage.
I get to the kitchen and am greeted by the worst disappointment of my life. A cheerful, freshly showered, and not even a little bit of a hot mess ex-boyfriend stands at the stove flipping pancakes. He is whistling. He smells nice. This is unforgivable.
“Good morning.” Jamie smiles at me. “I made extra, if you’re hungry.”
I underestimated my powers. He’s skipped trying to put up with me and jumped right to poison.
I keep a suspicious eye on him as I approach the counter, then sniff his bowl of batter. I don’t know what I’m expecting to smell. Gasoline? Drano?
“It’s a box mix.” He pushes a plate in my direction. “I’d offer you bacon, too, but you’re still a vegetarian, right?”
The amazing smell of the bacon on his plate floats towards me, tempting me to say no. My mouth waters with the memory of its taste. But then I picture Wilbur and his adorable little snout and flippy ears and I get a wave of nausea. I can’t eat Wilbur.
“Yeah, I’m still vegetarian.” I stare at the plate like it’s a live grenade. “Why did you make me breakfast?”
“I made myself breakfast,” he corrects. “I just happened to have extra. And I wanted to thank you.”
