I'm trying to figure out if P hates me or not.
We sit together but there's no camaraderie. There are his things and then there are my things. Everything divided by an invisible line, at the midsection of the white work desk as if we're involved in a silent war. P's not much of a talker and I can't muster enough chat chat chattiness on my own.
It's like we're an old married couple sometimes, a bit begrudging and boorish with each other. He'll snap over something small and then I'll simmer for an hour. We will forget all about it the next day. But then there are moments where we feel like strangers, every silence feels sticky and uncomfortable as if things have been left unsaid, big things. My jokes never go over well and I like to ask lots of questions.
P is always the first to arrive, me second. I'll say good morning and then he will. Sometimes we're nervous around each other, shy. Sometimes we're antagonistic. Sometimes a little too comfortable. Sometimes he'll tease me about something and then we'll bicker like children.
I'm still trying to figure out if P hates me or not.