Ruthless Creatures by J.T. Geissinger

“I’m a lot of different things. It doesn’t matter. The point is
that I stayed away as long as I could. A little bit of fucking
snow wasn’t about to stop me from getting here.”
That sends a jolt of electricity straight through me.
I want to pretend I don’t know what he means, but I do.
This beautiful, strange, magnetic man has just informed
me that he’s thought about me as much as I’ve thought about
him, that he tried to fight the urge to come back here from
wherever he went, and that he thinks returning is a bad idea for
whatever reason, but has resigned himself to it nonetheless.
We stare at each other until I regain my senses and invite
him in out of the snow.
I close the door behind him. He makes the room feel
crowded because he’s just so big. I wonder if he has to custom
order all his furniture. And clothes. And condoms.
Best not to think about that now.
We face each other in my small foyer made even smaller
by his bulk and simply look at each other.
Finally, he says, “Something smells like it’s burning.”
“That’s just me thinking. You never put your house on the
market.”
“No.”
“You said you’d put it on the market within a few weeks
after you left.”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
His voice drops. “You happened.”
Surely my gulp must be audible. I will my hands to stop
shaking, but they ignore me.
He says, “You never called.”
“My roof never leaked.”