I forgot all about the goddamn Chocolate Mint Tea.
The full cup is still sitting in the car, perched in the cup holder between the seats, exactly where I set it when heading to pick her up from class. A peculiar odor clings to the interior from the hours old drink.
It makes my nose twitch.
Karissa stares at the cup during the drive into the city. I wait for her to ask me about it, but she doesn't say a word. I can feel the tension mounting, though, the theories forming in the back of her mind.
"I bought it for you," I explain before she even mentions the thing. "I tried to pick you up from class this afternoon."
Her voice wavers when she responds. "I told you I didn't need a ride home."
"That's never stopped me before," I say. "You weren't at the school, though, so I tried to call you."
"Oh, yeah." She finally looks away from the drink to glance at me. "My phone's not working."
"What did you do to it?"
She narrows her eyes. "What makes you think I did something?"
I smile at her defensive tone. "Because I know you. You're hell on that phone."
She rolls her eyes. "So, okay, I dropped it, and like the screen went black and now it won't turn on, but that doesn't mean I broke it. It could be unrelated, you know. Maybe it just died."
"Unlikely."
"Whatever."
"Regardless, we'll get you a new one. With a new number. I'll put you on my plan."
"How very... domestic."
"Well, you're going to be my wife, aren't you?"
She hesitates.
Hesitates.
"You're going to be my wife," I say, not phrasing it as a question this time for my own sanity. "What's mine is yours. Which, for the record, is also a Plautus quote: for what is yours is mine, and mine is all yours."
She's quiet for a few minutes before clearing her throat. "I am"
"Are what?"
"Going to be your wife," she says, "someday."
"Someday soon," I amend.
"Not that soon."
"Soon enough."
"Whatever."
"Whatever," I mimic. She's starting to love that damn word. "Speaking of, have you chosen a date? Have you thought about any of it?"
"No."
This time there's no hesitation.
Infuriating woman.
"No," I echo.
"It's not that I don't want to," she says. "I think I do."
"You think you do."
She groans loudly. "Can you not do that right now?"
"Can I not do what?"
"That! Repeating everything I say in that tone you use."
"Repeating everything," I say, "in the tone I use?"
"Naz!"
I breathe deeply, trying to combat the swell of frustration when she yells that name. I don't even realize when I do what she's complaining about. It helps me keep things straight to repeat her, to take her at her word and not misinterpret what she says.
"You think you want to," I say, picking up her train of thought. "Continue. I'm listening."
"I think I want to. I still feel how I felt the day you asked me, even though you never really asked me."
"I never asked you?"
She cuts her eyes at me, glaring, but doesn't complain that I repeated her words. "You didn't ask. You said 'marry me'. It wasn't a question."
"Huh."
She looks at me like she wants me to say more, but I'm not sure how to respond to that.
"Anyway," she says after a moment, stressing the word. "The point is, yeah, I think I want to, but the whole wedding thing is daunting. I just, I don't know... what's the point? It's not like I have anyone to give me away. Hell, I don't even have anyone to invite. Melody, I guess... I'd invite my mother, but I'd rather it not turn into murder, Game of Thrones style. She wouldn't come, anyway. And now Melody has her own stuff to deal with. I guess we could invite your former in-laws. I'm sure they'd be about as thrilled to attend as the rest of your family, who clearly all hate me. Maybe your father can cater the event."
Her words have a bitter bite to them.
I can't help but laugh.
"My father doesn't hate you."
"He clearly didn't like me."
"He just felt bad for you for having to deal with me."
"I don't need pity."
I smile at that. "Welcome to my world."
"Killer."
The lone word echoes through the den. I glance up from my work, eyes darting to where Karissa sits on the couch with her notebook. A strange sense of déjà vu hits me. She's back to taking notes while watching cooking shows.
It's quiet as I stare at her.
She's frowning, looking right at me.
"Killer," I repeat.
Killer.
"Yes," she says. "Killer."