He grabs the paint can full of brushes from where it rests, on the floor in front of his newest painting, and brings it over to the sink. He turns on the water and positions the long neck of the faucet so the water pours into the can. He grabs the bottle of green dishwashing soap and squeezes some into the can as well.
Miles always does this after we have a fight. He can never just sit and think about things, he always has to be doing something. Even if he had just washed his brushes the day before, he would wash them again. It infuriates me.
I love Miles but I don't understand him. I pretend that I do – sometimes I even start believing it – but then this happens again and the illusion of deep personal connection falls away. Why is he so stubborn? God, I don't get it. I don't want to live with him anymore. I don't even want to look at him, but I just keep watching. I could pull out my phone and text Kaylee, tell her all the things he said this time, but I don't. I just sit here on this hideous couch that I can't get him to throw away because it belonged to his mother, and I watch him.
I watch him tuck his long hair behind his ears to keep it out of his face. I watch him take a soapy brush out of the can and rub the bristles between his fingers. I look at the image of a Ninja Turtle on the back of his t-shirt. It's spinning a pizza pie over its head on one finger. Under the Ninja Turtle it says "Cowabunga!" in goofy bloated letters. I smile. Miles wears the stupidest things.
I look at the shorts that he's wearing which are just cut-off cargo pants. I always tell him that he can actually buy shorts, instead of getting pants just to cut them in half, but he only smiles at me. I hate that smile.
I look at the sandals on his feet, then he starts humming. I know the tune immediately. It's the theme song from the Power Rangers. The only reason I know that is because he hums it so much that I asked him. I can't believe he's into those stupid old kid shows. He's like a stupid kid himself; a stupid, funny, charming kid.
He runs his wet fingers over his hair. He wanted to cut it once, but I wouldn't let him. "Ok go ahead," I told him, "but no sex for a month." "What? No, Eva, you can't do that to me." "Oh yes I can. Watch." "Ugh, you suck." "I don't now, that's for sure." "Eva!"
I look down at the bracelet on my right wrist. It's metal, with a glass oval in the middle of it. Inside the glass is a tiny white rose. Miles got it for me at a yard sale I had dragged him to a few months back. When he gave it to me I almost cried.
I watch the way he moves the brushes in his hands as he cleans them. His hands are so steady and gentle. That's the way he touches me, the way he holds me. I don't even remember what we were arguing about. I don't remember what he said that first set me off. It all seemed so important at the time.
I begin whistling along with him and get up from the couch. I walk up behind him and slide my arms around him. I rest my forehead in the middle of his back. I close my eyes.
"I'm sorry too," Miles says.
