❝ if they do it again, you tell me. ❞
“Mary,” he says, a watery laugh drawn from him by her protectiveness, “You don’t have to worry so much, it’s not like they didn’t believe me when I corrected them.”
He does have to admit that it feels good to hear her say that, even as he’s telling her not to worry. He used to be so good at taking it in stride back when it happened on a day-to-day basis, but the fact that it’s so rare these days is exactly the problem; it hurts completely anew, tears open wounds he thought were long-healed, consumes his mind so completely that he hardly notices as the rest of the workday goes by and then he’s here, sitting on his back step with Mary, intermittently dabbing away the beginnings of tears from his eyes.
“I should get started on dinner soon,” he says to break the short silence, sniffling and tucking his handkerchief back into his breast pocket, “Do you want to eat with us tonight, or are you going to be headed back home?”