He was late again. The third time this week. Usually
he was home by 9. She knew there was some trouble at work, from the calls that
finished late at night and started again, early in the morning. He hadn’t
shared details with her and it was not in her nature to ask. She mostly
observed and gleaned her facts from what she heard and read and saw. It was
understood that work matters were private and she had accepted it.
She checked the map again. The traffic was horrible –
the western expressway was fully red. If he took the turn from the statue of
silent martyrs, maybe he’d save 5 minutes. But then he never took directions
well and he’d probably turn off the navigation rather than listen to the GPS.
They had met around 10 years ago, when he was just
starting out at the firm. He used to be freer then, striking silly poses and
taking pictures often. He had often written poetry too, short sentences and
freeform couplets, interspersed with extracts from Neruda. They had gone hiking
and gone to the beaches. She remembered when they had gone to Koh Khram Yai,
just a backpack between them and spent hours walking the trails, barefoot in
the sand and leaping across the rocks. It was better than Phuket certainly,
which only offered crowds and plastic tables and cheap beer. They had planned
the trip for weeks, after his first bonus had come in, she offering suggestions
and then helping him finalize the itinerary. It was good that she was so
patient, because he changed his mind half a dozen times even after the tickets
had been booked. She thought, well, she knew that she understood him better
than anyone else, certainly better than his parents who hardly kept in touch
and the sister who was busy with two kids these days. With work taking up more
and more of his time, it fell to her to keep him somewhat social, dragging him
out for movies and shopping on the weekend and reminding him to call his
friends.
The bell rang – it was him. She opened the door and let
him in.
“Long day today.”
“Yes, it was. Somedays are just too long you know.” He
trailed off, looking as if he had surprised himself by speaking.
“Why don’t you freshen up? I can order from the new
Italian place that has opened – they should deliver within half an hour.”
“Could you do it please? That would be wonderful.
Nothing much. A pasta or a salad. Maybe a pasta. Thanks.” He was being coldly
formal again – retreating from the moment. Reminding himself. She didn’t let the
hurt show.
She went through the day’s news while waiting for the
food to arrive. He was not political really, but he liked to be in touch.
Banking was such a weird sector, taking cues from everything and nothing,
arbitrary sentiments propping up poor fundamentals. But he’d managed to do well
for himself, his personal investments were up 8% since the last quarter. She
didn’t have much use for money herself, but she knew that it was a point of
almost painful pride for him. He needed to prove himself continuously and it
made him blunt and crude sometimes, but she never doubted his essential
goodness. He took pride in his work, just like she did.
The delivery chute chimed, informing her that the
takeaway had been delivered. She went through the refrigerator and placed an
order for some yogurt and some greens. He liked to cook sometimes but when he
did, he made it a point to do most of the shopping himself, especially the
protein. She added a few items to the weekend shopping list she maintained. He
came out of the shower, trailing steam. She inched up the thermostat a few
degrees, didn’t want him catching a cold.
He served himself.
She tried to make small talk while he had his dinner.
“Did you take a look at the election results? Nobody
really expected this.”
“A letter came from Nat Geo today. Do you want to
renew the subscription?”
She tried again.
“Don’t forget to call Pam tomorrow. It’s their
anniversary.”
“Sure, I will. Remind me again tomorrow though. And also,
get some flowers delivered – and a box of those almond chocolates – she used to
love those.”
“Okay. Bet she’d like that.”
“By the way, did any mail come through on my tax
refunds? They should have come by now.”
“Well, your accountant sent a mail saying he’d confirm
the numbers. So I assume it has come through. I did a quick check myself, it
seems to be all right.”
“Okay.”
“Do you want to catch a movie tonight? You haven’t
watched the latest Deadpool movie and its streaming on Netflix now. It’s got a
decent rating as well, over eight on IMDB.”
“How long is it?”
She beamed.
“Just over two hours. And there is some popcorn ready
to microwave as well.”
“A perfect plan then.”
They watched the movie on the couch, with the lights
turned low, the bowl of popcorn by his side. She mainly watched him, less than
half her attention on the movie. He looked quite mysterious in the half light
of the screen, his profile defined like in a black and white movie or like a
Frank Miller panel. She hadn’t cared at all for comics earlier, but his
enthusiasm had piqued her interest and now she could rattle off the latest
Spawn plotline and was tantalizingly close to finishing a Logan continuity timeline.
Well, she did have a lot of spare time. While he was busy with the film, she
did her usual check round the flat for the night.
The movie finished and they sat through the post
credit scene. Not bothering to turn on the lights, he got up and stretched. He
had lost a bit of weight and he was quite thin now. She waited, patiently, for
a word or a sign.
“Good night, Miho. Set an alarm for 6 tomorrow and
then turn off for the night.”
“Very well, Sam. Good night.”
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Not original certainly. But I hope it flatters.
I thought about swapping the genders - and then I decided that I just wanted to tell the story first and then worry about that later. And now I don't want to change it.
