said casually, trying to dull the heat rising in the room.
He looked at me, disappointed. “Like fuck it’s not. Three times a week for two months Norah. That’s twenty-four times.”
Twenty-four times. It was so many. Hearing that number made me feel ashamed. I hadn’t asked for this, and the way Clint was doing the calculation only made me hang my head even more.
“It’s not my fault Clint,” I said under my breath.
“Don’t you think I know it’s not your fault!” he said, raising his voice, his chest heaving in frustration.
“C’mon, let’s just get back to what we were doing, alright.” I reached for him again as I lay naked in our bed, but Clint was sitting now, his shoulders hunched like he was sulking.
“No, I’m not in the mood now.”
My hands went over my face as I tried to fight my frustration at his change of emotion, and the impending fight now hovering above us, ready to strike.
“Clint don’t be like this please.” I was pleading; hoping and praying that maybe it would make a difference.
“Answer the doorman Norah. You know it’s for you.”
I sighed, knowing I couldn’t change his mind or avoid it any longer. I got out of bed, walking over to the intercom near the door of our bedroom, completely naked. I pushed the button, my hand shaking as I did. “Yes?” I yelled towards the mouthpiece. Clint started to pull on boxers and a T-shirt as he listened to me speak.
“It’s another delivery for you Ms Ross.” I breathed heavily and then swallowed. I could barely find the strength to turn and look back at Clint, who I was sure was listening intently and getting angrier by the second.
“Send it up Norman. And thank you.” I swallowed again and stepped away from the intercom, knowing that in a few minutes, this perfect little world Clint and I had created, was about to come crashing down. I turned back to Clint and walked over to him, but he got up and left the bedroom, heading out to the lounge.
I grabbed my robe that was hanging in the ensuite, pulled it on, and then went and sat on our king-sized bed. Twenty-four times. The large number replayed over in my head. No wonder Clint was about to go catatonic. I didn’t blame him. If the situation were reversed, I would lose my mind too. But I had no idea how I could change it. It was not in my power to control. I had hoped it would stop, but it persistently kept pace, with no end in sight.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
My head swung towards the direction of our front door as I sat silently on the bed, trying to gather what emotional strength I had left for what was about to explode in front of me. My breathing quickened. I tried to mentally prepare for the fallout that was about to come, but every time got worse than the last. What if this was the time Clint finally had enough and walked away? I wouldn’t blame him. Even I could admit; it was a lot to take.
“Norah...your present is here!” Clint yelled to me, as I slowly but steadily headed to the front door.
Please don’t let Clint lose it again!
I opened our front door to a stony-eyed teenage delivery boy. He looked at how I was dressed and half blushed as he handed me the electronic signature device. “Sign here Miss,” he said, pointing to the reader and avoiding my eyes. He was very shy, and kind of cute.
“Thank you,” I said, as I signed and handed him back the device with a tip. He grinned at me, handed me a box, and quickly took off.
Clint glared at the box I was holding in my hands as I shut the front door, and walked back into the apartment. “What is it this time? Perfume? Broadway tickets? What? What did he get you Norah?” His voice felt like razor blades as he spoke; each time getting sharper and sharper as he pierced me with his questions.
I had to consciously steady my hand as I opened the little black box that had a small white bow attached on top. “It looks like jewelry. It’s a Harry Winston box.”
“Fucking jewelry!” There was no mistaking the hateful rage in his voice this time. Clint’s feelings about the delivery, or more specifically, the person who sent it, was loud and clear.
“Clint I understand that you are angry, but please, don’t.”