Cold.
Not amused.
Contemptuous.
The microwave beeped.
Neither moved.
He said, “You’ve been coming home late for weeks.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“So?”
“I’ve asked whether you’re okay.”
“And every time you ask, you sound suspicious.”
“I wasn’t suspicious.”
“Then why are you bringing it up now?”
“Because you just accused me of not noticing your life.”
She shook her head.
“You always need to win.”
“No.”
“You do.”
She turned away.
He reached toward her shoulder.
Not forcefully.
Barely touched the fabric.
She jerked away.
Hard.
Like his hand had disgusted her.
His arm remained suspended for a second before he lowered it.
Then she looked directly at him.
Her face had no softness left.
“I’m so sick of you.”
He said nothing.
She continued.
“I’d rather kiss the dog than kiss you.”
The dog wagged his tail because he heard the word dog.
The absurdity almost made the husband laugh.
Instead he felt something inside him collapse.
He stared at the woman he had slept beside for eleven years.
“What?”
She did not apologize.
That mattered.
She gave him a look as though repeating herself would be beneath her.
“You heard me.”
He did.
He simply hoped he had not.
The husband had been yelled at before.
He had been called stubborn.
Emotionally unavailable.
Work-obsessed.
Defensive.
She had called him an asshole twice during their marriage, and on at least one occasion he had deserved it.
This was different.
Contempt was different from anger.
Anger still treated the other person as someone worth fighting.
Contempt made them smaller.
He looked toward the golden retriever sitting patiently between them.
Then back at his wife.