“Whoa,” he said. “Damn.”
I waited for “Are you okay?”
It didn’t come.
Instead, he shrugged. “Well, that’s really unfortunate timing.”
I stared at him. “Unfortunate timing?”
He gestured around. “My birthday? This weekend? Twenty people? I told everyone you were making that roast again. The house is a mess. How are we supposed to do this now?”
I blinked. “Jason, I can’t cook. I can’t clean. I can barely get my shirt on. I broke my arm on our porch. Because you didn’t shovel.”
He rolled his eyes. “You should’ve been more careful. You always rush.”
He leaned back like this was a normal conversation. “Look, it’s not my fault you fell. And it’s not my problem. IT’S YOUR DUTY. You’re the hostess. If you don’t pull this off, you’ll ruin my birthday. Do you have any idea how EMBARRASSING that would be for me?”
For him.
Not one word about how scared I’d been. Just his party.
