“I don’t know. I don’t want to talk about it,” I say. “I have to write a column tonight so I’m going to go work on that.”
“I brought home dinner,” she said shortly. “Maybe you will feel better once you eat.”
“That must be it.”
I was seeing red for the next 15 minutes as I ate a little Italian food alone and had a glass of wine. I was still muttering under my breath as my mind spun various kinds of vitriol, when I started to level out. I realized I hadn’t eaten since a very light and early lunch.
A few minutes later I apologized to Emily. She sighed dramatically and then let me off the hook. Gave me a big hug.
“I don’t know where you get the patience,” I said.
“Me neither,” she said, and we both laugh.
“What do you think I should write about?”
“Your outburst. I like it when you write, when you’re honest.”
“Not sure I can write honestly about that. I’d have to leave out XXXXXXX and XXXX.”
“I don’t think you’d have to leave it out, but I know you will.”