Read Online Pulpy and Midge by Jessica Westhead - Free Book Online Page B

us!’ He jumped up and reached for the plastic bag.
    â€˜Make some room for me, Pulpy,’ said Beatrice. ‘I don’t want to sit beside my
husband.
’

    Pulpy moved over and Dan pulled out the board game just as Midge came back from the washroom, one of her asymmetrical half-scallops now gone bristly with the dried grease.
    â€˜All clean?’ Beatrice asked her from the loveseat. ‘Sorry, Midge, that was me getting overexcited.’
    â€˜I got it out,’ she said.
    â€˜Now, tell me,’ said Beatrice. ‘There’s definitely something different about you. Your hair is leaning more to one side, isn’t it? What an interesting look.’
    Dan opened up the board on the coffee table and started shaking the dice in his big, square fist. ‘Sit next to me, Midge,’ he said. ‘Let’s mix it up a little!’
    Pulpy woke up the next morning in an empty bed. He looked around, stretched and checked the time. ‘Midge?’
    No answer.
    He yawned and got up, and found Midge in the kitchen. ‘Good morning,’ he said.
    â€˜Good morning,’ she said. ‘Would you like some toast?’
    â€˜Yes, please.’ He sat down at the table.
    Midge put two slices of bread in the toaster and stood there, waiting.
    â€˜Did you have fun last night?’ he said.
    â€˜Would you like jam on your toast?’
    He looked over at her. ‘Jam sounds tasty.’
    The toast popped up and Midge took the slices out one at a time. She buttered the toast first, then spread on the jam.
    â€˜Thank you.’ He nodded at it. ‘It looks good.’
    â€˜It’s toast.’
    â€˜All the same.’ He took a bite. ‘Yum!’
    â€˜You didn’t say that about the artichokes,’ she said. ‘You didn’t say
anything
about the artichokes.’

    Pulpy swallowed. The toast was dry. He looked around for something to drink. ‘Could I please have some juice?’
    â€˜It’s in the fridge.’
    He stood up and got a glass, and opened the fridge.
    â€˜You didn’t even finish it,’ she said.
    â€˜What?’ He looked down at the juice he’d just poured.
    â€˜The artichoke I made you.’ She was standing with her back to the toaster, and her pink robe was reflected in the chrome.
    Pulpy sat down. ‘It was good.’ He drank some juice. ‘I just wasn’t all that hungry, I guess.’
    â€˜You said you wanted me to make them.’
    â€˜Yes, I said that. But you made them differently than usual. We usually just eat the hearts. I didn’t know how to eat it the way you made it last night. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do.’
    â€˜You dip the leaves. I showed you. You dip the leaves in the mayonnaise and the lemon butter, and you scrape off the artichoke meat with your teeth.’
    â€˜Midge, I didn’t know.’
    She turned toward the fridge and moved their real-estate-agent magnets around. ‘But I showed you.’
    â€˜I guess I was nervous around Dan and Beatrice,’ he said.
    â€˜Then why did you invite them over in the first place?’ She peeled off one of the magnets and scowled at the photo of the real estate agent, who was giving the thumbs-up. ‘It was supposed to be our night.’
    â€˜I told you, he invited himself.’ Pulpy felt the acid from the juice rise up in his throat, and he forced it back down.
    Midge slapped the magnet back on the fridge. ‘Well, next time you can un-invite him.’
    â€˜But, Midge –’
    â€˜I have to get ready for work,’ she said.

    There was a man standing at the receptionist’s desk when Pulpy arrived.
    â€˜I’m telling you,’ the man was saying to her.
    â€˜I know it,’ said the receptionist.
    Pulpy walked past them to the closet and realized that the man was Gary, who used to work in Packaging.
    â€˜My personal thing is, I don’t create unhappiness for