Wayne's pencil stopped on the paper and he stared at the drawing trying to process that. She liked Harold. Harold-with-a-penis-Harold. A boy. And on top of that, Harold.
What in the hell was he supposed to say to that? Congratulations? Good for you, old girl? He sure as hell wasn't going to say he was happy for her. Because he wasn't. Wayne wasn't happy at all. Grabbing the piece of paper we'd been working on all day, Wayne crumbled it into a little ball and tossed it across the room.
"Why are you telling me?" His voice sounded short. Cold. Wayne felt his chest tighten and he couldn't bring himself to look up at Sally.