“No, I don’t want to—that’s not necessary.” He mashes the potatoes, hardly adding pressure, but it’s enough to make his biceps flex. I bite the inside of my cheek and force myself to look away. “You don’t want to what?” he presses, insistent as always. Be a bother. Annoy you more than I already have. Inconvenience you. “It’s not necessary.” “Mmm, I disagree. I think it’s very necessary. Put me in your phone.”
