I wash the dishes, Feodor dries them.
It's nothing new. We've been in this position before.
It shouldn't be awkward anymore. And it isn't... I guess.
I'm not uncomfortable. I don't feel like running away and barricading myself in the bathroom anymore, or 'accidentally' blinding him with soap.
But maybe it is awkward. Somehow it feels unusual. Well, not so much the situation as myself – I feel unusual.
Every now and again his arm brushes against mine or his elbow bumps me. So maybe I should move away slightly to avoid a dish breaking.
But I don't.
Maybe Feodor hasn't noticed. Or maybe he doesn't want to move away either.
I almost want to look at him, to see if I can divine his thoughts. But again, I don't.
The last dish has been washed and I pull the plug. I go to wipe my wet hands on my dress when Feodor catches them between the tea towel.
I'm shocked into statue-tude.
He pats them dry as if this isn't weirdly overly affectionate.
But... isn't it?
His eyes finally connect with mine as he finishes.
He opens his mouth as if to speak, but nothing comes out.
His eyes have grown wide, albeit in inexpressive Feodor style.
Eventually, he clears his throat and hangs the tea towel back up.
But I'm still solidified.
He glances at me and then quickly exits the room.
What the heck am I supposed to make of this?
It's like some weird way of levelling up in a game.
Like Congratulations, you've reached FRIENDS LV 1
You've unlocked new skill: skinship
If only I could level up the whole talking thing along with it.
____________________________
Friday rolled around rather quickly without me making any progress in the remembering or asking department. Which isn't all that surprising to be honest.
Because, one: I have yet to level up my speaking skills or find some sort of cheat code.
And two: time seems to pass faster the older you get.
And I'm only 23. So how much of a blur will things be by 60?
Trin and I are settled in in her lounge-room with cups of tea and some random ginger and chocolate biscuits she felt like making. Although different to what I'm used to, they do taste nice.
While waiting for Eddie to arrive, Trin's been telling me this, that and the other anecdote from her week, but she seems to have temporarily run out of topics.
After a moment of silent chewing and sipping, I (miraculously) initiate a conversation of my own.
"Trin," I say, "what's your take on lies and secrets?"
If she's surprised by my sudden philosophical question, she doesn't show it.
"Hmm, I think it depends on the intention," she says.
YOU ARE READING
Our Contract of Distrust
Mistério / SuspenseNadia Kathellen's world revolves around death. At work and at home. That's all she knows for certain. It's the reason she's trapped in a marriage with a man she hardly knows. The reason for her never-ending work at the factory. She knows it all...
