I placed a hand dramatically against my chest, feigning shock. “Honey… you’re not nervous about seeing someone, are you?” I asked, the words slipping out with a strange, sweet cadence.
He froze, confusion flickering across his features. “What?”
“They say when people get anxious before a date… their body reacts.” I watched his eyes dart, trying to find an explanation that fit the chaos.
He shouted, “I CAN’T STAND HERE TALKING!” and bolted toward the stairs.
“Oh, and one more thing,” I said, voice soft, “don’t use the upstairs bathroom.”
He stopped halfway up, his brow furrowed. “Why not?!”
I smiled, the kind of smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Because I’m cleaning it.”
He turned, a look of panic on his face, and sprinted up the staircase. The bathroom door slammed shut with a force that made the whole house shudder.
A moment later, a series of loud, dramatic noises echoed through the hallway—splashes, a muffled gasp, the sound of something hitting the tile. I stood there, my heart thudding, the absurdity of the scene sinking in.
