He exhales sharply and mutters, “Of course you did,” before trying to regain control of the conversation. “Why make this bigger than it needs to be,” he adds, but I cut through it before Aaron can respond.
“You hit me,” I say clearly, and the words land heavier than anything else in the room. Evan immediately replies, “I did not hit you, I slapped you, and that is different,” which makes Aaron laugh once without humor.
That sound shifts the entire room because it exposes how ridiculous Evan’s defense actually is when someone else hears it. Evan realizes it too, and I can see him adjusting his approach, searching for something that might still give him control.
“It got out of hand, we were both upset,” he says, trying to soften his tone. I answer, “You were angry, I was late on a bill, and you hit me,” without raising my voice.
The oven timer goes off loudly, and I take the biscuits out while none of us move toward eating. Steam rises from the tray, but the room feels colder than before as Evan looks between us with growing frustration.