husband,
Amanda, not a teenage boy.”
“I know.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“It makes me uncomfortable.”
She studied my face as though I’d presented her with a puzzle.
Then she shrugged.
“Fine.”
Except the next morning, she did it again.
“It makes me uncomfortable.”
***
Now Andrew was upstairs, and Kayla was stirring sugar into her coffee like nothing had happened.
“I asked you to stop,” I snapped.
She leaned against the counter.
“And I don’t understand why you care.”
“You don’t have to understand.”
“I asked you to stop.”
“You’re seriously threatened by me wearing a towel?”
“No.”
“Because if you trust Andrew…”
“Kayla…”
She took a sip.
“I’m just saying, this sounds like a husband problem, not a towel problem.”
“No. It’s a you-ignoring-me problem.”
“This sounds like a husband problem.”
That made her smile.
Not a nice smile.
“Honestly? Think of it as a test.”
