Page 44 of PS: I Hate You
This one is promising. A collage of classic national park posters. I glance at the top of the box once, then flip it over, not to be referenced again. I’ll complete the puzzle if I want to earn the picture.
A large coffee table made of worn wood provides the perfect surface to work on. I can tell in a glance that the dimensions are large enough to fit the puzzle. With one of the throw pillows from the couch, I settle in a cross-legged seat on the floor and rifle through the soft cardboard pieces, searching for the edges and setting them out one by one.
All the while, I ignore the man coexisting in this space with me. If I’m lucky, he’ll go to bed soon, and I can puzzle in peace.
Apparently, my luck is still at zero because Dom decides to linger.
No. “Linger” isn’t the right word. If he simply lingered, I might be able to ignore him.
But Dom, always in need of a purpose, fills the periphery of my vision with his room-circling. As I try to focus on my audio story and colorful pieces, he stops every few feet to pick up objects, fiddle with them, and put them back down.
The air of determination surrounding him bothers my brain like pollen irritates my airways.
When he fully pulls a large clock off the wall, I can’t handle his self-important fidgeting anymore.
“What the hell are you doing?” I snap, tapping the side of my headphones to pause my book before pushing them off so I can hear myself berate my unwanted roommate. “Searching for recording devices? Casing the place? Stop touching all the stuff!”
Dom doesn’t look at me as he turns a knob on the back of the clock.
“There are more than ten clocks in this place,” he says. “And they’re all set to the incorrect time.”
I snort, then scan the room, realizing every item he’s messed with is a time-telling device of some kind. Of course that would frustrate Mr.I’m Never Late If I Aim to Be Ten Minutes Early.
“They’re just decoration.” Most of the old-fashioned-looking devices fit the lived-in vibe of the cabin. Not that Dom would care. His place is probably all chrome and straight edges and fit for a robot.Ugh, I bet he’s a minimalist.“Knickknacks can be aesthetically pleasing.”
“Clocks serve a purpose,” he mutters. “Wrong clocks are aesthetically aggravating.”
His agitated movements are making it impossible to focus on my puzzle.
“Can’t you use your phone to check the time like a normal person? Or, I don’t know, my brother’s watch?”
Damn. I was trying to be aloof, but resentment creeps into my tone on that last bit.
Every time I see Dom wearing the watch, it’s a reminder that Josh isn’t.
Because he’s gone.
Dom pauses in the act of hanging the clock back on the wall, glancing my way. I weld my eyes to the jumble of pieces on the coffee table, ignoring the glimpse of vulnerability I allowed him.
Next I know, he’s crouched at my side, clock abandoned as his fingers fiddle with the leather strap around his wrist. My breath catches when Dom slips the timepiece off and holds it out to me.
“If you want it, it’s yours.”
I stare at the familiar accessory. Josh only took the watch off at night to sleep. I can’t remember a time when he didn’t have it with him. One day the watch appeared on his wrist, and it became a part of him like the calluses on his fingers and the scar on his forehead from the time he fell out of the apple tree in the Perrys’ backyard.
For a moment, I imagine accepting the offer, slipping this piece of my brother on and holding him with me forever.
But I know myself. Know that I can’t stand bracelets or even hairbands around my wrists. As much as I’d love and cherish the device, I’d eventually take the watch off. Then I would put it down somewhere, and it would disappear one day, mixed in with my clutter.
Another piece of Josh would vanish.
I grit my teeth and close my eyes.
Dom would never be so careless. He probably has a custom-made watch stand by his bedside and cleaning supplies to make sure the glass face doesn’t smudge.
“Keep it,” I grind out. “He left it to you.”
“Maddie—”