She was making some sort of salad, and I was sitting at one of the two barstools we owned, watching her meticulously chop a green pepper.

“I’ve told you about that cell phone thing, how many times?” Chop, chop. “You are going to kill me.”

“Cadence.” I aimed for soothing in my tone. I don’t know that I quite managed it, because she said “James,”  giving me a pointed look.

“I’m fine,” I told her. “We should be talking about the house.”

It had been several days since my parents’ lawyer had called, causing me to veer off into a tree. Cadence refused to let it go.

“I just want to make sure it won’t happen again. I love you.”

“I know.”

“It annoys me when you do stupid things.”

“I know.”

I popped a carrot into my mouth. She was on a health kick, going to the gym, making me eat healthy salads and soups. I missed cheeseburgers, but it wasn’t all that bad. Already I had lost a few pounds, but I wore my clothes loose to begin with, so noticing a change took a while. Cadence rejoiced in this change, which was nice, but I didn’t care. I was remarkably unconcerned with my own appearance.

It was a mystery to me why a girl as incredibly beautiful as Cadence was so attached to me.

“So what do you want to do?” She asked me. I drank the wine she had poured.

“I don’t know. Sell it.” I thought of the years I had spent between those four walls.  “Live in it.”  Particularly the last three years, during which my parents had learned that I liked girls. “Burn it to the ground.”

“Not all three,” she said, smiling at me. 

“Obviously.”

“Might be tricky to explain,” she continued.

“Mhphm.” I couldn’t help smiling back, despite the topic. Cadence had that effect on me.

Despite my being a surly asshole, she had a way of coaxing a smile. It made me hope every single day that she wouldn’t leave me for another woman. In fact, a corner of my mind was constantly occupied with that very topic, despairing in the fact that it was only a matter of time before she left me. Every so often, when panic really took hold, I would make a tremendous out-of-character effort to make her extatic, planning an outing or writing her a surprisingly touching love letter. Then I’d turn back into my idiot self, because that is my base nature. I obviously got the better end of that deal: Cadence cooked like a five-star chef (salad or no salad),  seemed to love me beyond reason, and could do so, so much better than the likes of a 37-year-old technical support representative, but she seemed fine with the arrangement, so who was I to argue?

She served up the salad, and I set the table.

“I think we should take it,” she said.

“You do.”

“Yes.”

“It’s big, C.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s three storeys, has six rooms, and fancy crap everywhere.”

“Yes, so?”

“That’s a lot of room for two people.”

“Sure, but it’s your inheritance.”

“I don’t know. We don’t have the money we need to maintain it at that level.”

“I’m not saying we should. Renovating, baby. I think we should renovate. It’s kind of like stomping on the choices your parents made,” she said. “Decoration-wise, anyway,” she conceded.

And it was because of that particular bit of logic, and the fact that our apartment was tiny, that three weeks later, we moved into a 100-year-old showhouse, designed to impress society, and annoy the shit out of anyone with an ounce of sense.

I can’t say that expected it. In fact, it would be a bold-faced lie to say that I had even suspected it would be a possibility.

I kind of blame the shock for my current condition.

“James? Oh my god, what have you done to your face?”

“Smashed it up a little bit.” I winced, which hurt.

“Right. I can see that.”

“Cadence, your sarcasm is not helping.”

“Fine. But really, what happened? No one will tell me much.” She approached my right side, avoiding my broken arm and wincing at the nine stitches along the left side of my face.

“Car accident.”

“What?!” The vague scent of wildflowers wafted over to me, in direct contrast to her expression. She shook, agitated.

“Got a call on the road.”

“You know better than to answer that stupid thing while in that unsafe piece of crap you drive.” Her harsh tone did not match her soft touch.

“Cadence. My… my parents left me the house.” I sighed, still not knowing whether to believe it.

“They… what?”

I knew she would be surprised. I hadn’t seen my folks in over fifteen years.

“Oh, wow. Wow. Baby, that’s… fantastic.”

“Yeah.” I knew she meant the house, not the part about them being dead, but I was kind of glad that they were gone. Cadence gave me a knowing look.

I was happy to see her, but wanted her to leave, too. She was what one might call a high-energy sort of personality. I, drone that I am, was more of a calm sort.

“I’m tired. You can go home. Come back tomorrow.” Magic words, where Cadence was concerned. She fussed for a few more minutes, then left me. I knew she would be back in two hours at most, but it would be nice to have some reprieve.