CHAPTER 14
TREY
The problem with perfect weekends was Monday.
By Wednesday, they had barely spoken.
Thursday night, Paula canceled dinner forty minutes before the reservation.
TREY: Everything okay?
Late-night arrivals had their own intimacy.
The house was mostly dark when the lock turned, and Trey heard the small sounds that announced Paula before he saw her: the scrape of luggage, the soft curse when a wheel caught the threshold, the exhale of somebody finally indoors.
He did not rush to take the bag from her.
He asked first. That tiny pause had become important between them.
She nodded, and only then did he lift it, kissing her temple as she stepped out of her shoes.
PAULA: Work. I’m sorry.
TREY: Understood.
He meant it.
Mostly.
Friday she canceled again.
This time he called.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
Noise behind her.
“You still at the office?”
“Yes.”
“Have you eaten?”
Silence.
“Paula.”
“Don’t.”
Trey stopped.
He recognized it immediately.
Care approaching the border of management.
He adjusted.
“Do you want food?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Anything.”
“Anything is not food.”
“Trey.”
He smiled faintly. “Thai?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
He sent it.
Did not go.
That choice was harder than it should have been.
At eleven Paula called.
“You mad?”
“No.”
“Disappointed?”
“Yes.”
She was quiet.
“Thank you for saying it.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“This case is—”
“You don’t have to justify work to me.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
She sighed.
“I’m trying.”
“So am I.”
They sat on the phone in silence.
Finally Paula said, “Can I come over?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Whenever you’re done.”
“That could be late.”
“I’ll leave the light on.”
At 1:18 a.m., the alarm chimed.
Trey opened the door.
Paula stood there exhausted.
No speech.
She stepped inside.
He closed the door.
They went upstairs.
She undressed, washed her face, crawled into bed and put her head on his chest.
“I hate disappointing you.”
Trey ran a hand down her back.
“You’re going to disappoint me sometimes.”
“That’s rude.”
“It’s adulthood.”
She laughed weakly.
“And I’ll disappoint you.”
“You already booked my flight without permission.”
“Thank you for preserving the record.”
“Lawyer.”
“Crisis manager.”
She kissed his chest.
They slept.
No manufactured fight.
No dramatic breakup.
Just two busy adults discovering that understanding each other did not eliminate inconvenience.