His hog-trough chewing sloshes around in my eardrums. “Should we move the planters later?” he asks, lifting a piece of squash to his unwiped mouth. I look away, anticipating the horrific smacking to come.
“Sure,” I mumble.
Before the shovel unloads, his phone goes off on the counter and inside I’m sighing sweet relief.
The chair snags his shirt as he rises and those gelatinous love handles plop out over the waistband. I close my eyes to kill the reminder of when they used to be the tapered obliques that got me sliding into his DMs.
“You’re a doll,” he says into the phone. “An elf might just leave a fresh-baked pumpernickel at your door this week.”
His woodpeckerish fake laugh follows and my teeth grate. Luckily, our upstairs neighbor’s none the wiser and I can hear her grateful protestations.
We cross glances as he sits and I catch the telltale disappointment but don’t care. I clear my plate and try to escape more chewing.
Discarding my dishes in the full sink, I skip the cleanup and head—“I’ll get the dishes,” he interjects.
I don’t bother responding. My freshly bought 18-year scotch is waiting to be opened in the living room.
Smelling its sweet cinnamon high notes as it splashes over the square ice cube fills me with bliss. The first sip sends luscious maple vapors through my head and crowds out his obnoxious humming. A tinge of guilt beckons me to lend a hand, but I’m happier falling into the glass.
The humming descends into singing and I feel invisible prison bars closing in around me. I silently scream. Twenty-four days together—the kitchen goes quiet.
A plate smashes and I start.
He stomps into the living room, furious, and before I utter a syllable he shouts, “Shut up! I can’t take it another day! The way you mope…and complain. I can fucking hear it in your head and I’m 30 feet away! My God! You used to be fun! You used to be interesting! Now you’re just…boring and…fat!”
The mutual anger! The shared disappointment! Something inside me ignites. I smash the highball to the ground and rush to him, rip his shirt open and slam my tongue down his throat while we tear each other’s clothes off.