Did you really think you could just leave when the coffee was still hot, Nell? Honestly, it’s like that static on an old radio—just a lot of noise to cover up the fact that you aren't actually listening. You're practically halfway out the door already. It's fine, really. I'm perfectly fine sitting here with the mess you left on the table. It’s much more dramatic this way.
It wasn't noise, Pia, it was an actual point. And besides, the coffee was getting cold anyway because you were busy making a scene about the crumbs. If you wanted me to sit there and listen to you lecture for another hour, you should have just said so. Why are you acting like this is some grand exit? It’s just a Tuesday morning. You're being incredibly dramatic.
A lecture? Is that what you call it? I was merely observing that you've already forgotten what we were even talking about. And don't act like the crumbs were the issue—the crumbs were just a symptom of you being too distracted to notice you'd left the window unlatched. If you're so eager to go, go. It’s not like you’ve actually stood up yet. You're just hovering.
I'm hovering because my keys are still on the sideboard, which you moved to a different spot entirely. And how do you know the window matters? It's not as if there's a gale coming in just because you're feeling restless. You're acting like everything is a catastrophe because we didn't finish a single thought. If you want to keep talking about the window, do it. I have that meeting at ten.
Well, you'll certainly be late if you keep staring at the sideboard as if it's a crime scene. And why is it always a meeting? You treat those little briefings like they're life-or-death. If you'd just taken the keys when you first reached for them, we wouldn't be in this loop. But you'd rather stand there debating the wind, wouldn't you? It’s much easier to argue than to actually move.
It was easy to take them until you started talking about the window. And don't act like my work is some trivial thing just because it doesn't involve a lot of spilled sugar. If the meeting was a life-or-death matter, you'd understand why the timing is tight. You're just making this about my schedule to avoid admitting you lost track of the conversation entirely. Who even knows if the wind will blow?
I didn't lose the conversation, Nell; you just stepped out of it to go find your keys. You’re doing it again, right now. You're looking at your watch like it's a countdown to freedom. If the meeting is so vital, why are you still standing there defending your schedule? You should probably go before you're officially late. Or do you need to argue about the window one more time to feel settled?
The window wasn't the point, but you've turned it into some sort of grand failure. And how can you say I'm looking at my watch? I'm looking at the clock on the wall because it's actually visible. You're just trying to push me out the door so you don't have to deal with the fact that you missed the point about the insurance papers. If you're so eager for me to leave, why are you still holding the door shut?
I'm not holding the door shut; you're standing in the threshold like you're waiting for an ovation. And the insurance papers? You haven't even brought them up until now. That's the problem, isn't it? You're so busy preparing your exit that the actual matter gets lost in the shuffle. If you'd just take the keys, we can decide if the paperwork matters. Or are you waiting for the wind to pick up?
I mentioned the papers because you were the one acting like everything else was trivial! You always do this—act like everything is a distraction just because you didn't anticipate the topic shifting. And calling the door 'shut' when it's wide open is a stretch, even for you. If the papers are so important, why haven't you looked at them yet? You're just hovering over the empty chair to make me stay.
The chair is empty because you left it, Nell. And don't pretend you haven't been thinking about those papers for the last twenty minutes. It's a convenient defense—to blame my "hovering" for your own indecision. If you'd just grab your things and go, we could actually settle the matter of the insurance without this theatrical delay. But of course, you'd rather stay and fight the air. You're still standing there.
I'm still standing here because you won't let the door swing! It's not indecision, it's waiting for you to stop being so sharp about everything. And you're acting like the insurance is a solved problem, but we haven't even agreed on the coverage. If it's so simple, why haven't you signed it? You just want to win the argument about the papers before you can finally be alone with your silence.
Winning? Is that what you think this is? You're the one with the agenda. If you wanted an agreement on the coverage, you would have sat back down. But no, you're leaning against the frame, making sure we can't forget the tension. You've been halfway out the door for ten minutes, yet you're still the one keeping the conversation alive. Go, Nell. Go to your meeting. The papers aren't going anywhere.
You say 'go' but you're practically blocking the path. And who says the papers aren't going anywhere? If they sit there, they might get lost or someone might misplace them, like you did with my sunglasses last week. You're just trying to make my departure look like a victory for you. If we're going to settle the coverage, we need to be clear. Why do you always make it about the tension?
Don't bring the sunglasses into this; you left them in the car. And you're the one who brought up the "victory" concept to deflect. If you're so worried about things being misplaced, then take the papers with you. It's much simpler than this constant back-and-forth. But you won't, will you? You'll just stand there, perfectly poised, waiting for the perfect moment to finally cross the threshold. It's nearly ten.
The sunglasses were in the hallway for three days, Pia. Don't rewrite history just because it's more convenient. And the papers? If I take them now, they'll just end up buried under some pile in your office. You're acting like this is some masterstroke of timing, but you're just making sure the last word is yours. Is it nearly ten? Then stop counting the minutes and just let me walk through.
They were in the hallway because you put them there. And fine, have the last word—it seems to be your favorite pastime. If the papers end up in my office, at least they'll be somewhere they're actually being looked at. You're still standing in the same spot, you know. It's almost impressive, how much energy you spend on just standing there. Are you going, or are we still waiting for the hand-off?
I'm standing because you keep shifting the goalposts! One minute it's about the window, then the papers, now it's my "energy." It's incredibly easy to criticize how I stand when you're the one making every step a negotiation. If the hand-off is so important, then take them. But you won't, because you'd rather keep this little standoff going. If you're so impatient, why are you still talking?
I'm talking because you won't move! It's a very simple concept. You've made every movement into a debate, and now you're blaming me for the static. If you actually wanted to leave, you'd have left five minutes ago. But instead, we're here, negotiating the physics of a doorway. It’s quite funny, really, how much effort it takes to stay in one place. Go on, then. The hallway isn't going to vanish.
It's not a negotiation if the terms keep changing every time we get close to the door. You talk about the physics of it like it's some grand theory, but you're just the one standing there, making sure the exit feels like a heavy task. If the hallway is so vast, why do you look so small waiting for me to move? You're just using the door to keep the argument from actually ending.
"Small"? That's a new one. It's almost clever, how you can turn a simple exit into a philosophical crisis. If the door is heavy, it's only because you're the one leaning on it. You’ve turned this into a standoff, and you're acting like the victim of your own momentum. If you truly wanted the argument to end, you’d have stepped through that door by now. But you’re still here. Still negotiating.
I'm still here because you're too busy being clever to let the door close. You say it's a standoff, but you're the one casting the roles. If it's so heavy, then move your hand and let it shut! You're just waiting for me to leave so you can feel like you've finally 'won' the morning. If you're so certain of your position, why are you still standing there watching me?