At first, Hannah’s bitchy jabs didn’t bother so much. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized there was something in her voice that was different than just a jealous woman trying to press my buttons. It sounded like…she knows things.
“When—” Slice “were you going to tell me—” Slice “that—” Slice “you used to—” Slice “fuck Hannah?”
Bowen shifts his eyes between me and the cutting board, “Can you put the knife down, please?”
I look down at the cubes of cantaloupe and then at the gleaming chef’s knife. I guess I do look rather unhinged. I rinse the knife, set it down on the counter next to the drying rack, and then turn back to him expectantly.
“Alright,” he continues, “what makes you think I fucked Hannah?”
“Because she said so. Barrett was there, she heard everything, when she—"
“Where?” Bowen cuts me off.
“What?”
“Where was Barrett?”
“At the Rickhouse last night. We went to the restroom and Hannah was standing there at the sink looking at me like I wrecked her whole night.”
“What did she say?”
I can’t read Bowen’s face. It’s an odd mixture of curiosity, skepticism, and amusement.
I purse my lips, “Well, first of all, she was the one who stole my lipstick.”
The corners of Bowen’s mouth relax and any amusement he had is now gone.
I nod with vindication, “Yeah, I went with Hildy one day to check on her cat while she was out of town and, right there,” I thrust my arm out between us, “on her dresser is my lipstick. So, I took it back!”
Bowen bites his lip like he’s trying not to smile.
“And when she saw I had it at the bar, she made a comment about how this house isn’t my house, but it’s your house, like I don’t belong here. And then I called her out and asked her if the only reason she hates me is because you won’t fuck her.”
Bowen blinks, pausing for a moment before he responds, “And?” He’s eerily quiet.
“She gave me this stupid grin like I didn’t know what I was talking about and said, anymore...” I drawl with a dramatic eyeroll.
“You’re getting bent out of shape because some bitch tried to rile you up at the bar?”
His response catches me off-guard. It feels pretty reductionist and slightly odd that he’s reducing Hannah to some bitch at the bar. Am I the unreasonable one for being bothered that another woman, who is a constant presence in his life, is insinuating that she’s slept with my fiancé?
“Doesn’t that bother you?” I implore.
Bowen leans back against the counter and just looks at me. I try to read him, but it’s impossible sometimes. He only shows emotion when he chooses to.
“Bowen,” I press, “is she telling the truth?”
He gives a half shrug and glances across the living room, “Does it matter?”
I hesitate at first, because I don’t know, “Not on its own,” I stammer, “but when I found her in the house, when she left that picture in our closet, when all my shit started disappearing—”
He snaps his head up, “What do you mean all your shit started disappearing?”
Finally, something got your attention.
“My earrings disappeared before New Year’s, after I found Hannah here checking on Waylon. My lipstick disappeared, obviously. My favorite sweatshirt is gone…” I trail off, remembering that Bowen doesn’t know—and Bowen can’t know—that I know about that one because I snuck back into Hannah’s apartment and saw everything stashed in her closet.
I shake my head and regroup, “You know I’m not a slob. I hardly ever lose things. And now, all of a sudden, things are going missing when it’s obvious that Hannah doesn’t like me and sneaks in here whenever she wants. It’s not OK.”
Bowen’s face softens as he listens to me. Not dismissively, but like he’s finally accepting that something strange is going on.
“I believe you,” he finally nods, “I’ll figure it out. I’ll get my keys from everyone and I’ll get your stuff back.”
“How?” I blurt out incredulously.
Bowen shrugs, “I’ll ask her for it.”
I arch my brow in amusement, “And she’ll just admit it and give it to you?”
“She will,” he says bluntly, “because she listens to me and she’ll do what I say.”
“Why would she admit something like that to you?” I press him.
Bowen closes his eyes and lets his head fall forward with an exasperated sigh, “I really didn’t want to relive this,” he mutters, “but do you remember me saying that one of my friends died when we were in high school?”
I nod, remembering Amy Lee’s lyrics tattooed up and down Bowen’s ribcage.
“I never slept with Hannah,” he finally admits, “but that’s why she acts the way she does,” he explains, “when our friend died, it messed her up so bad that she hangs on to the way things used to be. Back then, I promised her nothing would change and all of us would still be best friends. Then Hildy married Jay and she freaked the fuck out and nearly had a nervous breakdown when I started dating my last girlfriend. She’s really possessive and has major abandonment issues. That’s the reason she’s such a basket case around you, because she can’t handle anyone new coming into the fold. It’s like time stopped for her after—” Bowen stops short, glancing around the kitchen before letting his gaze fall back to the floor, “You want to know what happened?”
