"Wait a minute, Scarlett said you came specifically to bring lychees, now it's about fixing the faucet? You two haven't synchronized your confessions?" I teased.
"Confession? We're not criminal!"
"Then synchronized your stories?"
Blushing, both of them were caught off guard, and I awkwardly smiled, rolled up my sleeves, grabbed my tools, and headed to the bathroom.
"Need any help?" Benjamin feigned concern.
"I'm afraid you might make things worse," I quipped.
"Benjamin, ignore him. He's just a rough laborer. Come over and have some lychees."
After a quarter of an hour, I fixed the faucet.
Washing my face, I noticed bloodshot eyes in the mirror, a hot flush on my cheeks, and a heavy head, likely a cold coming on.
Exiting the bathroom, I saw Benjamin already dressed.
"Benjamin, stay for dinner," Scarlett insisted.
Insensitive, Benjamin glanced at me, seeking my opinion.
Smiling, I said, "Don't worry, dinner won't extort you. Just a symbolic 20 dollars will do."
"I have something to attend to, so I'll head out," Benjamin grumbled, leaving.
"Gabriel, why are you so petty? It's just a dinner, and you're asking for money?" Scarlett complained.
Ever since Benjamin returned from out of town two years ago, our arguments revolved around him. The most intense one led to us smashing the living room furniture.
Repeatedly, I questioned whether Benjamin was her boyfriend or if I held that position.
Each time, she would hysterically yell, accusing me of being petty, controlling, and having no right to interfere with her social interactions.
I walked over and grabbed Scarlett's hand. "Come on, let's go downstairs for some crawfish."
"Hold on a second."
"What's up?"
"Are you kidding me? I can't go downstairs in this outfit."
"It's fine. If anyone wants to look, let them. It's not like you're going to lose a piece of meat over it."
"You..." Scarlett shot me a disbelieving look, her eyes wide with frustration.
"What? You called me stingy earlier. If I don't care about people peeking you now, isn't that pretty generous of me?"
"Gabriel, are you doing this on purpose to annoy me? Fine, I'm skipping dinner." She stormed off into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her with a loud thud.
This tactic of hers, skipping meals in a huff, never failed.
Every time, I ended up begging her to eat, feeding her myself.
But today, I felt like, if she wanted to skip dinner, so be it.