“Her father probably wasn’t pleased.”
“My grandfather liked my father’s work ethic. He didn’t care what he did for a living.”
“That’s nice.”
“My whole family is nice,” Eli stressed to me. “On both sides, all nice. Me included.”
“I know you’re included,” I mumbled.
We were quiet a moment, and he turned and looked at me, holding the kettle in his hand. “If I haven’t said it before, I’m sorry about Senan.”
I sighed deeply. “I’m sorry he’s dead, but that doesn’t change the fact that I hated him and I feel guilty about that right now.”
“Because he’s dead, you can’t be mad at him?”
“Yes. It seems unfair. He’s not here to defend himself anymore.”
“It’s hard because you guys were fighting,” he stated, filling the kettle.
“It’s all we ever did.”
“Maybe there was lingering passion there that neither of you wanted to admit,” he threw out, turning on the gas stove before looking back at me. My expression must have been blistering because he laughed out loud. “Okay, okay, not that. I’m wrong.”
“He was just so—I dunno. Just such an ass all the time, and I racked my brain, trying to figure out why. Why was he like that?”
He leaned on the counter. “You never figured it out?”
“No, and I even called the company where he came from in San Francisco. I have an acquaintance there, and—”
“You can say friend,” he teased me.
“But it’s not like she’s you. I think of a friend like you, like Miro and Ian, or like Jer and Anna, Luna and Maven and the other principals. They’re my friends. It’s not like that.”
“What is it like?”
“I respect her, and she respects me.”
“Okay, sorry. Go on.”
“So I called her and said, ‘Tell me about Senan Weaver,’ and she said, ‘Thank God he left. One more week and I would have cut him up into little pieces with my box cutter.’”
“Her what?”
“All dancers have their own set of tools, you know that. I use my box cutter to trim the soles of my shoes.”
“I’d like to point out that if she tried to kill him with a box cutter, that would take time.”
“I think that was the point.”
“And did you get the idea from her that that was the general feeling about Senan there?”
“I did.” I pushed off the couch I was leaning against and walked around it instead of climbing over the top. On the other side, I dropped down onto the firm, but soft at the same time, cloud of heaven. Toeing off my clogs, letting them drop heavily on the rug, I grabbed a small throw pillow and shoved it under my head.
“Don’t fall asleep. You haven’t eaten anything.”
“Nope. No sleeping.” I yawned so wide I could hear my jaw crack. My eyes were watering as well, so I closed them, just for a moment.
“It’s like living with a nine-year-old coming down from a sugar rush,” he muttered as he covered me with one of his chenille throws. So soft. So warm.