Push. Claire Wallis

just a fucked-up asshole,” I say again emphatically, looking up at David. “That’s all.” He’s staring at me now, and I can tell that he wants to ask me more, but he doesn’t. He just cocks his head to the side and takes another bite of dinner.

      “Well, my asshole dad was a drinker. He probably still is. And the trouble with Pops is that he was never a nice drunk. Rather belligerent, actually. Things at my house were usually completely out of hand. I just tried to stay the hell out of his way,” David says. “The only good thing he ever did for me was make me his apprentice. He’s a master carpenter and has his own construction business. Eventually I became a journeyman, and I worked for him for a couple of years before I moved to New Orleans when I was twenty-one.”

      “How long did you live there?” I ask, thankful that the subject is no longer Michael.

      “Almost three years,” he says, “then I moved here because I needed to get the hell out of New Orleans.”

      “The fucked-up girlfriend?” I ask.

      “Yeah, pretty much,” he says with a shrug, not offering anything more.

      We sit in silence for a few minutes, eating and drinking. I admit that I am almost relieved to hear that his family is nearly as messed up as mine. I feel as if he’s less likely to judge me because of it, and that makes me happy.

      “So, you’ve got a couple of brothers, huh?” he asks. Michael’s words from the other night bite into me. “Older or younger?”

      “They’re both way older than me. Evan by six years and Ricky by eight. By the time they graduated from high school, they were a couple of complete football-playing dicks, but looking back on it, I learned a lot about life because of them, I guess. I definitely learned to stand up for myself. And they kind of taught me how to watch my back. Mostly because they never had my back, so I had to look out for myself, you know? Let’s just say they did not turn out to be protective big brother types. Quite the opposite actually.” Not for the first time, I wonder what life would have been like if Michael had never entered our family. “What about you? Brothers or sisters?”

      “Nah. It was just me,” he answers. “My parents didn’t even want the one they had, so they definitely weren’t going to make any more.”

      “Oh.” I don’t know what else to say. I wonder how he knows his parents didn’t want him, but I decide I’d better not ask. I probably won’t like the answer.

      We both empty our plates and finish our wine, and as I carry everything into the kitchen to wash up I realize I never actually thanked him for my fine-ass kitchen.

      “Thank you, David, for my new kitchen,” I say as he follows me into the kitchen. “I love it, and I know that you said that Carl is paying for it, but I know that he really isn’t. I know it’s you. I still don’t understand why, but I am grateful for it.” I turn to him, and he’s looking thoughtfully at me.

      “You’re welcome, Emma,” he says, looking borderline confused. “You should know, though, that I don’t do dishes either, so you’re out of luck there, too.”

      I smirk at him. “Go home, David. Your ineptitude is exhausting.” He actually looks hurt. Really? I think he’s probably kidding, but I can’t quite tell. I decide I’d better try to salvage the conversation with further explanation, “Seriously, I have to be out the door by seven tomorrow to get to work on time, and I need to get a couple of things done tonight. Trust me, I’d love for for you to stick around, but I know what will happen if you do, and I need to get some sleep.” That should do it.

      He throws his hands up in a pretend surrender. “Well, okay, then,” he says with a look of absolute surprise.

      “What?” I thought he would want to leave. I thought he would be thrilled to be off the hook for anything beyond a free meal.

      “You’re kicking me out,” he says, “and I’m surprised how much it pisses me off.”

      “Sorry.” I shrug. “I’m not kicking you out, David, I’m letting you off the hook.”

      “Off the hook, huh?”

      “Yes, off the hook. That’s all. Now, go.”

      “I won’t see you tomorrow, you know. Tuesday is poker,” he says as he walks toward the door. “I gotta pay off that fine-ass kitchen of yours.”

      “Ahh, poker with the boys.” Damn, I forgot about that. Now I’m regretting letting him off the hook. His hand is on the doorknob. “Well, if you need some extra incentive to win tomorrow night,” I add, “you can just imagine me bending over my new countertop, ass up and wearing heels.”

      He doesn’t turn around, but his body visibly stiffens. “That’s not incentive for me to win at poker, Emma, that’s incentive for me to throw myself at your feet.”

      “Your choice,” I say. “But I think you may want to consider doing both.”

      His back is still to me, and he bows his head and sighs as his hand twists the knob and opens the door.

      “Good night, Emma,” he says as he walks out.

      As soon as the door closes, I grab my phone and flip it open.

      Good night to u too, David. And thanks...for everything.

      I get no reply.

      I kick off my shoes and head to the kitchen to clean up. By the time I am finished, it is nearly ten o’clock. I am exhausted. I walk into my bedroom to change and see something small and dark sitting on my bed. When I get closer, I see that it’s a handgun. Holy shit. I am dumbfounded. Where did it come from? David enters my mind immediately. But so do his friends. And so does Michael. What the fuck am I supposed to do? And then I notice a note sitting next to it.

      I pick up the note and see right away that it is from David. It is not in Michael’s handwriting, and even though I know that David and his friends were here all day and there is no way Michael could have gotten in, an enormous pulse of relief smacks at me.

      Emma—

      Do me a favor—keep this please. Put it in a drawer or a shoebox or something. It will make me feel better. I’ll teach you how to use it, if you want.

      Male coworkers can go a little crazy around pretty girls (especially those quiet engineer-types). Not to mention stepfathers.

      David

      PS. It’s loaded so be careful.

      PSS. Your pepper spray is on the dresser. I don’t need it because I’m not interested in any of those half-naked whores. Only you.

      What am I supposed to do? Should this make me angry? He obviously put the gun and note here long before I offered to make him dinner. Before our conversation about jealousy. Before our kiss in the kitchen. But most importantly, it happened before he reminded me that we have only known each other four days. Then it hits me: He wants to protect me. Jesus, for the first time in my life, someone wants to protect me. Where the hell was he fifteen years ago when I really needed to be protected? He was protecting himself, of course, while I was busy trying to do the same. He was right; we are two of the same.

      I have no clue how to use a gun, nor do I have any interest in learning how. Still, having a gun is not a bad idea. Living alone for the first time in my life does make me a little nervous. I decide not to make an issue of it and put the gun carefully in the back of the bottom drawer of my nightstand. I agree to be protected.

      Chapter Twelve

      My alarm goes off at six, and I’m not sure why, but I open the bottom drawer of my nightstand and look at the gun. It scares me to have it there, so close to where I sleep, just beneath the picture of my mother and me looking so very happy. I pick up the gun, sit up and turn it over in my hand. It’s heavier than I remember it being last night, and I’m a little freaked out about the fact