First the authoritative-husband voice, then wounded resentment, then plain anger. Stop this circus.
Do you want the whole building laughing at us?
My mother is an old woman and you’re humiliating her in the hallway.
I answered his fourth call standing on Tamsin’s balcony, misting the jade plant, the evening smelling of jasmine and wet earth.
“Lorna, where are you?” His voice was frayed.
“Just come home and stop this.
The place is a disaster and Mom’s blood pressure is through the roof.
Come back and we’ll talk it out behind closed doors, like adults.”
I let the silence stretch.
“When I lived there, Shane, it wasn’t a disaster.