needed to start dressing
nicer. She was suddenly embarrassed that she had been filmed for a
news program today. And now she was standing in front of Paul’s
apartment, dressed in clothes she should’ve thrown out years ago.
The once purple top had faded to mauve and her jeans were worn out
in all the wrong spots. Then a terrifying thought came to her that
she hadn’t considered before: What if his new girlfriend was
here?
The door opened and Paul greeted her. “Hey
beautiful.” He glanced up and down, inspecting her. “You look good.
Did you start jogging again?”
“Don’t patronize me. I look like shit.”
He rolled his eyes, sighed, and turned away
from her. “Fine, whatever. You look like a washed up hag. Get in.
It’s cold.”
Paul looked good. He was a big guy, both in
height and width, but his weight was sexy. He lamented his former
football physique, but she often tried to convince him that some
girls liked hefty men, and she was one of them. He had a gut, but
it wasn’t a loose one. It was as if he were just a big, bulging
muscle. His beard was trimmed down from its once bushy length, but
was still thick, and he’d shaved his long hair down to stubble,
revealing a head tattoo of a snake that she’d never known about. He
had a tank top on and a pair of torn jeans that he hadn’t bothered
buttoning or zipping up all the way.
“I like your hair,” said Alma as she walked
in.
He rubbed his palm over the stubble. “Yeah?
Thanks. I lost a bet.”
Alma glanced around the impeccably clean
apartment. She couldn’t believe the sight, and knew that he hadn’t
been able to simply clean up in anticipation of her possible
arrival. “What the hell is this?” she asked as she looked around.
“Did you hire a maid or something?”
He rubbed his belly, which was a trait that
she’d always loved about him. Every morning when he got out of bed
he would stretch and his long arms would nearly touch the ceiling
before he’d bring them back down to rub his stomach. It was one of
a thousand endearing traits that she recalled.
She knew she was falling back into the same
old trap. Alma let this happen far too frequently, but even when
she recognized the pattern she was helpless to avoid it. The
comfort of familiarity was alluring. She recalled all of the things
she loved about Paul, but none of what she hated.
Alma glanced around the studio apartment,
relieved to see that Paul had asked his slut to leave.
“No. I’ve been trying to keep things nice
around here. It hasn’t been easy. You know how I am.”
“Yeah, I do.” The cleanliness was a nice
change, but she felt oddly uncomfortable in the apartment that had
once been her home away from home. It seemed somehow foreign
now.
“Want a beer?” he asked, already headed to
the corner of the studio where the kitchen was set behind a
breakfast counter.
She nodded and walked with him while still
surveying the changes in the apartment. A new flat screen
television was mounted on the wall and had tall speakers one either
side of it. All of the changes were welcome ones, but she felt a
pang of sorrow that she hadn’t been around to see them. She
would’ve preferred that Paul stayed exactly as he was the day she
walked out, as if it was impossible for him to live without
her.
When they got to the kitchen, Alma was
almost sad to see that there wasn’t a burned pan of macaroni on the
stove. She felt like a mother visiting her son’s new home for the
first time, expecting disaster, only to discover that he didn’t
need her anymore.
“Here you go,” he said after he popped the
top off a Milk Stout Nitro and handed it to her.
“Glass?” she asked.
He smirked and winked. “That’s my girl.” He
retrieved an extra tall pint glass from the cabinet and gave it to
her.
This was their beer, and she knew how it was
supposed to be poured. As opposed to most brands, this one needed
to be hard poured. Instead of daintily tipping a glass to keep the
head from
nicer. She was suddenly embarrassed that she had been filmed for a
news program today. And now she was standing in front of Paul’s
apartment, dressed in clothes she should’ve thrown out years ago.
The once purple top had faded to mauve and her jeans were worn out
in all the wrong spots. Then a terrifying thought came to her that
she hadn’t considered before: What if his new girlfriend was
here?
The door opened and Paul greeted her. “Hey
beautiful.” He glanced up and down, inspecting her. “You look good.
Did you start jogging again?”
“Don’t patronize me. I look like shit.”
He rolled his eyes, sighed, and turned away
from her. “Fine, whatever. You look like a washed up hag. Get in.
It’s cold.”
Paul looked good. He was a big guy, both in
height and width, but his weight was sexy. He lamented his former
football physique, but she often tried to convince him that some
girls liked hefty men, and she was one of them. He had a gut, but
it wasn’t a loose one. It was as if he were just a big, bulging
muscle. His beard was trimmed down from its once bushy length, but
was still thick, and he’d shaved his long hair down to stubble,
revealing a head tattoo of a snake that she’d never known about. He
had a tank top on and a pair of torn jeans that he hadn’t bothered
buttoning or zipping up all the way.
“I like your hair,” said Alma as she walked
in.
He rubbed his palm over the stubble. “Yeah?
Thanks. I lost a bet.”
Alma glanced around the impeccably clean
apartment. She couldn’t believe the sight, and knew that he hadn’t
been able to simply clean up in anticipation of her possible
arrival. “What the hell is this?” she asked as she looked around.
“Did you hire a maid or something?”
He rubbed his belly, which was a trait that
she’d always loved about him. Every morning when he got out of bed
he would stretch and his long arms would nearly touch the ceiling
before he’d bring them back down to rub his stomach. It was one of
a thousand endearing traits that she recalled.
She knew she was falling back into the same
old trap. Alma let this happen far too frequently, but even when
she recognized the pattern she was helpless to avoid it. The
comfort of familiarity was alluring. She recalled all of the things
she loved about Paul, but none of what she hated.
Alma glanced around the studio apartment,
relieved to see that Paul had asked his slut to leave.
“No. I’ve been trying to keep things nice
around here. It hasn’t been easy. You know how I am.”
“Yeah, I do.” The cleanliness was a nice
change, but she felt oddly uncomfortable in the apartment that had
once been her home away from home. It seemed somehow foreign
now.
“Want a beer?” he asked, already headed to
the corner of the studio where the kitchen was set behind a
breakfast counter.
She nodded and walked with him while still
surveying the changes in the apartment. A new flat screen
television was mounted on the wall and had tall speakers one either
side of it. All of the changes were welcome ones, but she felt a
pang of sorrow that she hadn’t been around to see them. She
would’ve preferred that Paul stayed exactly as he was the day she
walked out, as if it was impossible for him to live without
her.
When they got to the kitchen, Alma was
almost sad to see that there wasn’t a burned pan of macaroni on the
stove. She felt like a mother visiting her son’s new home for the
first time, expecting disaster, only to discover that he didn’t
need her anymore.
“Here you go,” he said after he popped the
top off a Milk Stout Nitro and handed it to her.
“Glass?” she asked.
He smirked and winked. “That’s my girl.” He
retrieved an extra tall pint glass from the cabinet and gave it to
her.
This was their beer, and she knew how it was
supposed to be poured. As opposed to most brands, this one needed
to be hard poured. Instead of daintily tipping a glass to keep the
head from
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