But the number wasn’t what impressed me.
Greg had recently decided he wanted to take better care of himself.
He slept better.
Had more energy.
Stopped complaining about his knees every time we climbed stairs.
And yes, he looked good.
I told him constantly.
Apparently, I wasn’t a sufficiently independent review board.
And yes, he looked good.
The next time Brittany came over, it was after dinner.
Greg had eaten with me less than an hour earlier.
Yet somehow, while Brittany and I were discussing inventory, he became desperately hungry.
He entered the kitchen.
Again, no shirt.
While Brittany and I were discussing inventory, he became desperately hungry.
“Oh, Brittany. How are you doing?”
“Good.”
Her eyes stayed on the laptop.
Greg opened the refrigerator.
Closed it.
Opened a cabinet.
Closed that too.
“Oh, Brittany. How are you doing?”
I watched him.
“What are you looking for?”
“Something to eat.”
“You had two servings of dinner.”
“I worked out today.”
“Four hours ago.”
He ignored that and eventually left with six almonds.
Six.
“You had two servings of dinner.”
After Brittany went home, I found him watching television.
“Greg?”
“Yeah?”
“Could you please wear a shirt when Brittany’s here?”
He looked genuinely surprised.
