I’d taken one suitcase while Andrew took the other.
“Stay here until you get back on your feet,” I’d told her.
Andrew had agreed before I’d even finished the sentence.
I hadn’t told her to call friends first.
For the first week, Kayla was an easy houseguest.
Then came the towel.
The first morning, I assumed she’d forgotten Andrew was downstairs.
The second time, I pulled her aside.
“Could you put on a robe before coming down? Andrew’s usually in the kitchen.”
I assumed she’d forgotten Andrew was downstairs.
Kayla blinked at me.
“He’s your husband, Amanda, not a teenage boy.”
“I know.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“It makes me uncomfortable.”
She studied my face as though I’d presented her with a puzzle.
Then she shrugged.
“Fine.”
Except the next morning, she did it again.
“It makes me uncomfortable.”
***
Now Andrew was upstairs, and Kayla was stirring sugar into her coffee like nothing had happened.
“I asked you to stop,” I snapped.
She leaned against the counter.
“And I don’t understand why you care.”
“You don’t have to understand.”
“I asked you to stop.”
“You’re seriously threatened by me wearing a towel?”
“No.”
“Because if you trust Andrew…”
“Kayla…”
She took a sip.
