Page 79 of Silent Ties

“You saw me five hours ago.” Elijah and I attended a meeting with Dima and him before I fucked off to study. The spring semester is over, but I’m working on my graduate thesis.

“And in the five hours since, I’ve gotten twelve texts from Elijah regarding fuck all. Even Roma called, needing advice from his dear old dad. Let’s grab lunch tomorrow. I want to spend time with you, Maxie. No business.”

“Father, son bonding time? You’re really getting old.”

A sheepish chuckle fills the line. “Put Russie on the line, I want to say hi.”

Absolutely not. “Night, Dad.”

My family has to get over their obsession with my wife. She’s mine.

I drop my bookbag in the foyer, taking off my shoes. Before I can get any further the elevator opens again.

A guard holds out a pizza box.

We both stare at it for a second before I carefully take it. “Thanks.”

Russet’s in the living room, sitting on the floor between the couch and the coffee table. The TVis on.

She has an absurd regard for reality television. Normally it’s catty women or dating shows. Now that she knows I’m not going to bite her head off for turning on the TV, it’s constantly on. It made my jaw ache at first because the noise distracted me.

I never mentioned it, but she noticed. The volume stays low and if we’re speaking she’ll turn it off.

I hadn’t realized how silent of a castle I built myself. Elijah’s constant chattering and Roma’s mix of music formed the background of my life. In my own place, I went in the opposite direction, needing the quiet.

With Russet, we’ve had to find a medium, once she pointed out how she doesn’t like the sterile silence.

“You didn’t eat?” I hold up the pizza box. Her face lights up, an expression of awe overtaking her features. God, this woman devours pizza.

She holds her hand out, motioning for it. “I waited to order it for you. Good timing.”

Why am I so damn touched by her thoughtfulness regarding what’s essentially junk food? I’d texted her when I was on the way back from the library.

She sets the pizza box on the coffee table and opens it before standing and going to the kitchen.

I land on the sofa, loosening the first few buttons on my shirt. “What are you wearing?”

Holding a pile of plates and napkins, she twirls showing off the shorts and button-down pajama shirt.

“Are those avocadoes?” I ask about the pattern.

“It’s cute and comfortable.” She hands me a plate.

“So is being naked. Take them off.”

She ignores me, an increasingly common habit I thoroughly plan on fucking out of her later.

“This isn’t what you normally watch.” I nod at the TV.There are no hurling insults and women hobbling around on heels. I think it’s a made-for-TV movie.

“He’s an ex pop star down on his luck. He’s come back home after ten years away,” Russ says, sitting on the floor. I tried to scoop her up and get her to sit nearer but she has this thing about using the coffee table to eat.

The camera pans to a woman.

“That’s the love interest,” she helpfully supplies.

I shove pizza into my mouth. She ordered pepperoni for me even though she prefers cheese.

I remain silent on how dumb her movie is, which I hope she appreciates. We load up the dishwasher and I fill a glass of water for her which she takes to the bedroom.