Part 3 — The Answer I Finally Stopped Hiding
The kitchen smelled of cut lemons and warm bread. Outside, the speaker kept playing, and somebody shouted about the score as though the evening were continuing exactly as planned. Maya looked toward the open back door, walked over, and closed it before turning to me again. The change in sound was small, but it took away the last excuse to pretend we weren’t having a serious conversation.
“I’m not turning you into a punchline,” I said. She folded her arms loosely, the way she did when she was trying to stay patient rather than shut somebody out. “Every time someone calls me your girlfriend, you make a joke instead of answering,” she said, and I started to tell her I wasn’t denying it. Even before I finished, I could hear how little comfort there was in that defense.
“You’re not saying it either,” she replied. I felt cornered, which was unfair because she hadn’t moved toward me or raised her voice; she had simply stopped accepting the exit I kept offering. I asked whether she wanted an announcement, then made the mistake of suggesting a shirt. Her face changed, and I heard my own words land exactly where the earlier jokes had landed, turning a reasonable hurt into something I expected her to laugh away.
