Addicted to You (Swanson Court 2)

I grin. “If I ever become obese you’ll have yourself to blame.”

“I’ll be right there obese with you,” she laughs. “At least, if we’re fat and unattractive we won’t have to worry about men.”

“It’ll make a good reality show,” I quip. “Fat Fosters or something.”

We’re still laughing, when a couple walks out of a deli a few feet in front of us.

Laurie stops laughing first, because she sees them before I do. They step out at the same time, the guy holding the door open for the girl. When the door closes behind them, she puts her arms around him in a heartfelt hug, then draws away and squeezes his hand before walking away.

It’s a tender moment. At least it would be if the guy wasn’t Brett. I look quickly from him to Laurie, and she looks as if she’s just been slapped.

When Brett notices us, his eyes fix on Laurie and there’s a brief flash of panic on his face. He starts towards us but Laurie pulls at my hand and hurries down the sidewalk, and I have no choice but to follow her.

“Laurie,” Brett calls from behind us, but she acts as if she can’t hear him.

He catches up in a few steps. “Laurie, wait. It’s not what you think.”

She spins around to face him. “Don’t,” she snaps. “Just leave me the fuck alone.”

She starts to walk again, and I give Brett an apologetic shrug before following her. She doesn’t stop or reduce her pace until we’re right in front of our building.

“Are you alright?” I ask when we finally slow down. I’m almost panting from the exertion.

“I should have changed into my walking shoes,” she replies, shaking her head. “My feet hurt.”

She obviously doesn’t want to talk about Brett.

When we get to the apartment, she still hasn’t said anything about Brett. I close the door behind us and watch as she walks towards her room. “Laurie,” I say gently. “You know it could have been nothing.”

She stops, her whole body completely still for a long moment before she turns to look at me. Her eyes are full of tears. “Yeah, but it could have been something.”

I shake my head. “That’s unlikely. He wouldn’t… He loves you.”

“It’s her,” she says, her voice cracking. “She’s the reason why we had this fight in the first place. She came on to him, and now they’re having lunch and hugging on the street? Did you see the way she smiled at him, the way she held his hand? Did that look like nothing to you? Like the ‘little things’ I’m not supposed to fight with him about?” She stops talking and wipes her eyes angrily. “I’m never going to see stuff like that and not feel horrible about it. It’s never going to be okay.”

She tosses her bag on the couch and goes to sit beside it. I can hear her phone ringing inside the bag, but she ignores it. I know it’s probably Brett, and I wish she would let him explain.

Her phone stops ringing, and almost immediately, mine starts. Even before I fish it out of my bag and glance at the screen, I already know who it is. “It’s Brett,” I tell Laurie gently. “I think he really wants to talk.”

She stretches out her hand for the phone, and as soon as I hand it to her she swipes across the screen to reject the call. When she hands the phone back to me, her hands are shaking.

I sigh. “I think I know what we need.”

She looks at me, her face tight with the determination not to cry. “What?”

“Ice cream,” I suggest. “Lots of it.”

There is a small flash of gratitude in her eyes. She sighs. “That might help.”

“It had better,” I say confidently, going to our tiny kitchen in search of the tub of ice-cream we have in the freezer. I come back empty. “We’re out,” I tell Laurie.

She grins sheepishly. “I could have told you that.”

I purse my lips, glad that she’s smiling, at least. “I’m going to run downstairs to get some. Don’t go anywhere.”

She holds up her hands as if to say. ‘Where would I go?’ “I’ll be right here.”

I come back armed with enough ice-cream and wine to start me and Laurie on our journey to becoming obese drunks. I’m trying to unlock the door when I hear the sound of her laughter. Puzzled, I enter the apartment, wondering what could have become funny in my absence.