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The point is, Nick knows how to hate people. He’s no stranger to a grudge. He ought to spend the rest of his career resenting the ever-living daylights out of Andy. Instead he lasts less than a week. Less than a day, even. About forty-five minutes, to be exact, and that’s Andy’s fault, too.
Nick has spent years making sure that when people look at him, they don’t see anything that sticks out like a sore thumb—they don’t see anything at all, they hardly even see a person, just a man in a suit.
Nick’s tired of people like him having to suffer in order to provide the right kind of ending. He’s done his time with shame and doesn’t want any more of it.
If Nick wants flowers, then Andy will fill the apartment with every bouquet and posy and arrangement he can get his hands on.
