That should have ended it.
But something about how quickly he accepted it made me angrier.
“You gave him up.”
“I know.”
“He waited.”
“I know.”
“He still thinks people are going to leave hungry because of what happened with you.”
Wade’s jaw tightened.
“I know.”
“You don’t get to just show up because your life got better.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying that.”
His eyes met mine.
“What do you want me to say?”
I didn’t know.
Maybe that he was a bad person.
Maybe that I was the good one.
Maybe that the world came with neat labels.
He looked toward my door.
“I thought giving him away would be the hardest thing I ever did.”
His voice was quiet.
“It wasn’t.”
I said nothing.
“Knowing I did the right thing and still having to live without him was harder.”
That sentence stayed with me.
Wade reached into his jacket pocket.
He pulled out a folded piece of paper.
“I wrote my number down.”
I didn’t take it.
He set it on the stair railing.
“If you ever need somebody to walk him.”
“No.”
“Okay.”
“If I need help, I’ll figure it out.”
“I figured you would.”
That annoyed me.
“What does that mean?”
He glanced at the grocery bags again.
“Nothing.”
“It means something.”
Wade looked embarrassed.
“I know what those bags look like.”
My grip tightened.
“They look like groceries.”
“They look like mine used to.”
That one landed.
I looked away.
“I’m fine.”
Wade almost smiled.
