The Situationship

by Abby Jimenez

I felt him staring at me. I leveled my eyes on him. “What,” I said flatly. “Nothing. It’s just you remind me of someone.” I gave him a look. “Who.” “Naw, you’ll get mad.” “This better not be some fucking negging thing.” He sat back and put up his hands. “Whoa, it’s not. I’m being serious.” “Then who?” “This rooster I have—” I glared. “No wait,” he said. “It’s not an insult. He’s this little bantam chicken. Russell Crow. Really beautiful but mean. He attacks me every morning when I come in the yard.”

“You said you have a petting zoo?” I asked. “Yeah.” “What’s in it? A bunch of tiny cocks?” “Russell Crow’s the only tiny cock on my farm.” He managed to get a laugh out of me. He was grinning. “I’ve got a miniature donkey, some hens, a couple of rabbits, a baby goat—” “Let’s go.” He had me at baby goat.

There was a wood carving that I recognized as one of Daniel’s hanging over the fireplace. Probably an earlier piece by the look of it. Maybe a gift? Or maybe Doug was supporting his friend. Either way I liked that he had it. It meant he was a good enough friend to buy it, or a good enough friend to be gifted it. No matter which scenario, he was a good enough friend to hang it, even though it wasn’t as polished as Daniel’s work was now. Doug was proud of this. He put it in the most prominent spot in the room. He wanted people to see it—or he wanted to see it because it was sentimental for him. Green flag.

I opened the armoire. Was it my business? No. Didn’t care. Women should snoop. Snooping saves lives. Lets you know if you’re in the house of a serial killer or a married man or a guy with a closet full of Sharpies to draw dicks on trails. I didn’t find dick stuff.

“I like to cook. Bottle things. I try to stay busy.” “You’re not busy enough?” I said. “You’ve got the petting zoo and the pizza thing and the pig side hustle. How busy do you need to be?” “I get depressed if I don’t have stuff to do,” he said. “Especially in the off-season.” I stopped to study him. “You feel depressed or actual depression?” “Actual depression,” he said, taking a bite. “Have you ever been to therapy?” I asked. “Every week,” he said. “Do you take meds?” “Never missed one dose. Do you always ask such invasive questions?” “Do you always answer them?” “I do if I’m not ashamed of the answers,” he said, licking honey off his thumb. Green flag, green flag, green flag. I liked a man who was self-aware. I liked a lot of things about him, actually. Interesting.

“So you don’t have a girlfriend?” He shook his head. “No.” “Why?” “Why don’t you have a boyfriend?” he countered. “I’m a travel nurse. I leave them. I don’t live anywhere.” “I live in a small tourist town,” he said. “Practically everyone who lives here year-round is related to me.” “Okay. Fair enough.”

He looked amused. “Don’t look at me like that,” I said. “Like what?” “Like I’m a little chicken,” I snapped. He laughed, the creases around his eyes deepening. God, he was handsome. I let out an exasperated breath through my nose. “Are you going to play the guitar for me or not?” “You are so bossy.” “Do you want me to leave?” “Not even a little.” He grinned.

“The next time you have an injury, you call me,” I said. “It’s just a splinter—” “You call me.” “All right. I will. But only because you scare the shit out of me. I don’t want to ruffle your feathers.” He grinned. I rolled my eyes and he chuckled.

Maybe I was a mean little protective chicken. Maybe I was starting to feel a little protective of him. This nice, unbothered, lonely man who didn’t care what people thought and probably rarely asked for help, even when he needed it. He was kind to animals. Hardworking and funny. Maybe a little much at first, but I think that was a shield. I think he was tender underneath. Vulnerable. I bet he showed up for people he loved. I bet that’s why he showed up that day Emma and I first came here. He was probably Daniel’s first phone call. He deserved to be the best friend. He wasn’t a technicality.