by Bob Thurber

So I asked her again, very politely and calmly, and she smirked. She scowled. She walked out of the room and I lost it. I pushed up out of the recliner and followed her into the bedroom. "That's not an answer, Nicole." She got down on the rug and pulled her suitcase from beneath the bed. I could tell by the way she handled it that it was already loaded. She used both hands to swing it onto the bed. "I deserve an answer." "You want an answer," she said. She snapped the suitcase open. "Okay. Here's one." She dug her hands into the contents, lifting things, turning them over. "He's young, you're not. He's got money, you don't." She closed the case, snapped it shut. "That enough? Or you want more?" Like a fool, I nodded. "Yes," I said: "I need more than that."

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