A thought occurred to me. “What time do you have to be home by?” I asked Mel.“An hour earlier than yesterday because Mum will finish work and make dinner earlier,” explained Mel, looking at her cartoon-character watch.“When we’ve finished our drinks, we’d better clean up so you can go,” I said, feeling pangs at the thought of Mel leaving.That thought put a damper on things, so we finished our drinks in silence. Mel dumped her can in the trash and I put my mug in the dishwasher.“Shower,” I pronounced, feeling a tight patch on my stomach where Mel’s fluids had dried.At first Mel didn’t look keen, then her face affected a pleading look. “Can you do that thing with the shower-head again? Please?”“Okay,” I conceded. “If we’re quick.”“There’s no need to wash my hair again.”Mel had a point there. That morning, washing and drying Mel’s hair had taken at least as long as washing and drying the rest of her, and it wouldn’t do to have Mel turn up at home with damp hair.We made our way back to. “Ok, what do you want me to call it?”“Yoga.”“So, yoga is ok, but yoga stuff is not ok?”“Right.”I shook my head as if to say, “Whatever,” but I knew better than to vocalize my thought. Instead, I let her know what I expected.“So, you need to call Marcel,” I told her, deliberately not using his title, “and tell him you can’t make it to his open house. It’s not like you work there or are an owner. You’re just a student. These are our best friends, and we have been looking forward to this trip. You were looking forward to it, too, before you changed. There will be more open houses. We are going to the lake.”I didn’t want to be an asshole, but sheesh. Jude was being ridiculous; She could sense my mood and my determination. She relented and called Marcel later in the day to tell him that she couldn’t attend the open house. Jude gave me the cold shoulder all weekend. She was moody, short-tempered and acted like a woman with a perpetual case of PMS.I knew this was neither reasonable nor.
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