Point of Retreat

today. You really should apologize, you know. That was kind of a dick move on your part. If you need any more medicine, you know where I live. 
     
     
     
     
     
    I toss the letter back onto the table. Was the smiley face really necessary? I wince as the cramps in my stomach intensify. When was the last time I ate something? I honestly can’t remember. I open the refrigerator and see the basagna from the night before. Unfortunately, it’s now the perfect night for basagna. I cut a section out and throw it on a plate and toss it in the microwave. As I’m filling a glass with soda, the front door swings open.
     
    She’s walking across the room, heading for the bookshelf. I dart into the living room just when she reaches it. She’s still ignoring me. Rather than reaching in for a single star this time, she grabs the entire vase off the bookshelf.
     
    She is not taking this vase with her. If she takes the vase with her, she won’t have a reason to come back. I grab the vase out of her hands, but she won’t let go. We tug back and forth, but I’m not letting go. I’m not letting her take it. She finally releases her grasp and crosses her arms across her chest as she glares at me.
     
    “Give it to me, Will. My mother made it and I want to take it home with me.”
     
    I walk back to the kitchen with the vase…she follows me. I set it in the corner of the countertop against the wall and I turn around and place my arms on either side of it so she can’t reach it.
     
    “Your mother made it for both of us. I know you, Lake. If you take this home you’ll open every single one of them tonight. You’ll be opening stars all night just like you carve pumpkins.”
     
    She throws her hands up in the air and groans. “Stop saying that! Please! I don’t carve pumpkins anymore!”
     
    I can’t believe she thinks she doesn’t carve pumpkins anymore. “You don’t? Really? You’re carving them right now, Lake. It’s been twenty-four hours and you still won’t let me talk to you about it.”
     
    She wads her hands into fists and stomps her feet in frustration. “Ugh!” she yells. She looks like she wants to hit something. Or some one . God, she’s so beautiful.
     
    “Stop looking at me like that!” she snaps.
     
    “Like what?”
     
    “You’ve got that look in your eyes again. Just stop!”
     
    I have absolutely no idea what look she’s talking about, but I divert my attention away from her. I don’t want to do anything to piss her off even more.
     
    “Have you eaten anything today?” I ask. I take my plate out of the microwave but she doesn’t answer me. She just stands in the kitchen with her arms folded across her chest. I pull the pan of basagna out of the refrigerator and fold back the tinfoil.
     
    “You’re eating basagna? How appropriate,” she says.
     
    It’s not the conversation I was hoping we would have, but it’s conversation nonetheless. I cut another square of basagna and put it in the microwave. Neither of us says anything while it cooks. She just stands there, staring at the floor. I just stand here, staring at the microwave. When it’s finished cooking, I put our plates on the bar and make another drink. We both sit down and eat in silence. Very uncomfortable silence.
     
    When we’re finished, I clear off the bar and sit across from her so I can see her better. I wait for her to speak first. She has her elbows resting on the bar while she stares down at her nails, picking at them, attempting to look uninterested.
     
    “So, talk,” she says evenly, without looking up at me.
     
    I reach my hands across the bar to touch hers, but she pulls them away and leans back in her chair. I don’t like the barrier of the bar between us so I get up and walk to the living room.
     
    “Come sit,” I say to her. She walks to the living room and sits on the same couch as me, but at the opposite end. I rub my face with my hands, trying to sort out just how I’m going to make her forgive me. I pull my leg up on the couch and turn to face her.
     
    “Lake, I love you. The last thing in the world I want to do is hurt you. You know that.”
     
    “Well, congratulations," she says. "You just succeeded with accomplishing the last thing in the world you wanted to do.”
     
    I lean my head back into the couch. This is going to be harder than I thought. She’s tough to crack.
     
    “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you she was in my class. I didn’t want you to