Not His Problem

"Listen," I say, quietly, "You saw what happened there, with me and Rachel and Kim?"

"It's not my problem if-" he starts, but I interrupt him.

"Not saying it's your problem," I cut in, "But it's going to be your problem if you don't just relax and let this happen. Kim's got some kind of hate on for me for some fucking reason and she's got a bug up her ass about you needing to participate more and apparently she's decided to kill two birds with one stone. I don't like it any more than you do, but it is what it is and I've at least got to recognize that if I don't want to have her make my life more of a pain in the ass than it already is I'll have to go along with it."

"What do I care if your life is more difficult?" he protests.

But I shake my head, "You don't dummy. But you don't have to either to realize that you're a part of the fucking equation. Right now, at least. While she's fucking watching. You don't let me 'help' here and she's going t start turning her watchful eye on you. And given the fact that you're walking around looking morose and like you don't want to be a part of any of this I'm figuring having the 'help' of our chipper little leader there is about the last thing you want.

"In other words, right now we need each other. Unfortunate though that is."

We stopped at a crosswalk as a group, waiting for the light to turn. Eddie and I stood a little ways off and Rachel was doing her bit up at the front of the group with boy-Kim, affording us enough privacy that we could have a little conversation here.

"Truce," I offer, sticking my hand out for him to shake.

Eddie looks at it suspiciously but he sighs and takes it, pumping it twice before quickly pulling his hand back.

"I can't believe I have to do this," he rolls his eyes.

"My company is really that bad?" I tease.

He looks at me like I've grown a second head, which in a metaphorical kind of way I definitely did two nights ago.

"Right," I say, "You're probably still a little freaked out about how I knew all that stuff about you."

"Not at all," he waves his hand sarcastically, "Once a week at least I run into a complete stranger who has my whole family history. You know, there was an old family rumor that my great grandpa had a second family in Brazil. You know anything about that?"

"Close," I say back quickly, "It was actually in Chile."

Crossing the road he trips on a little crack in the pavement and I get the feeling that wasn't just because of poor city maintenance.

"Sorry," I apologize, "Bad joke. Don't really know any of that or any such thing. Shouldn't really joke about that."

"Probably not," he replies, "Pretty dick move of you."

"Look," I say, "I'm not a spy or anything like that. Not a mind reader either. I don't have an easy explanation for how I know things, but it is a pretty clear explanation at least."

"So what is it then?" he asks, and I think his curiosity might be genuinely piqued.

But I can't be sure of that, so I shake my head, "Too unbelievable. Hell, lying and saying that I'm a spy sent by your parents makes more fucking sense than the truth. No, not going to fall into that stupid trap."

"Oh good," he throws his hands up in the air, "So I'm just supposed to go along on faith then? Just supposed to trust that you're not here to ruin my life?"

I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him, "Eddie, you don't need any help on that front."

"I thought you said you were going to be nice to me," he protests weakly.

"I promised nothing of the sort," I say.

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