OU REJOINED HIS WIFE a little while later, she was sitting at the kitchen table eating lasagna and asalad, the pie next in line, watching women in spandex jump around on the large plasma TV in the adjoining family room.
“I thought you’d eaten with the kids,” he remarked after watching her for a while.
“I did,” she said, through a full mouth.
“So why are you eating again?” He looked at his watch. “It’s almost eleven. A bit late to eat, don’t you think?”
“You eat at this hour.” She frowned.
“Yes, but I’m not the one who complains that I’m fat and then eats two dinners and a pie.” He laughed.
She swallowed the food, feeling like a rock was going down her throat. He hadn’t noticed his words, hadn’t intended to hurt her. He never intended to hurt her; he just did. After a long silence, during which Ruth lost her energy for anger and built up the appetite to eat again, Lou poured himself a glass of wine and joined her at the kitchen table. On the other side of the kitchen window the blackness clung to the cold pane, eager to get inside. Beyond it were the millions of lights of the city across the bay, like Christmas lights dangling from the blackness.
“It’s been a weird day today,” Lou finally said.
“How?”
“I don’t know.” He sighed. “It just felt funny. I felt funny.”
“I feel like that most days,” Ruth said.
“I must be coming down with something. I just feel…out of sorts.”
She felt his forehead. “You’re not hot.”
“I’m not?” He looked at her in surprise and then felt his forehead. “It’s this guy at work.” He shook his head. “So odd.”
Ruth frowned and studied him, not used to seeing him so inarticulate.
“It started out well.” He swirled his wine around his glass. “I met a man called Gabe outside the office. A homeless guy—well, I don’t know if he’s homeless. He says he has a place to stay, but he was begging on the streets anyway.”
At that the baby monitor began crackling as Bud started to cry softly. Just a gentle sleepy moaning at first. Knife and fork down, and with the unfinished plate pushed away, Ruth prayed for him to stop.
“Anyway,” Lou continued, not even noticing, “I bought him a coffee and we got to talking.”
“That was nice of you,” Ruth said. Her maternal instincts were kicking in, and the only voice she could hear now was that of her child, his sleepy moans turning into full-blown cries.
“He reminded me of me,” Lou said. “He was exactly like me, and we had the funniest conversation about shoes.” He laughed, thinking back over it. “He could remember every single pair of shoes that walked into the building, so I hired him. Well, I didn’t, I called Harry—”
“Lou, honey,” she cut in, “do you not hear that?”
He looked at her blankly, irritated at first that she’dinterrupted his story, and then cocked his head to listen. Finally the cries penetrated his thoughts.
“Fine, go on,” he sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. “But as long as you remember that I was telling you about my day, because you’re always telling me that I don’t,” he mumbled.
“What is that supposed to mean?” She raised her voice. “Your son is crying. Do I have to sit here all night while he wails for help until you’ve finished your story about a homeless man who likes shoes, or would you ever go and check on him of your own accord?”
“I’ll do it,” he said angrily, though not making a move from his chair.
“Fine, I’ll do it.” She stood up from the table. “I want you to do it without being reminded. You don’t do it for brownie points, Lou, you’re supposed to want to do it.”
“You don’t seem too eager to do it yourself now,” he grumbled.
Halfway from the table to the kitchen door, she stopped. “You know you haven’t ever taken Ross for one single day by yourself?”
“Whoa. You must be serious if you’re actually using his real name. Where is all
“I thought you’d eaten with the kids,” he remarked after watching her for a while.
“I did,” she said, through a full mouth.
“So why are you eating again?” He looked at his watch. “It’s almost eleven. A bit late to eat, don’t you think?”
“You eat at this hour.” She frowned.
“Yes, but I’m not the one who complains that I’m fat and then eats two dinners and a pie.” He laughed.
She swallowed the food, feeling like a rock was going down her throat. He hadn’t noticed his words, hadn’t intended to hurt her. He never intended to hurt her; he just did. After a long silence, during which Ruth lost her energy for anger and built up the appetite to eat again, Lou poured himself a glass of wine and joined her at the kitchen table. On the other side of the kitchen window the blackness clung to the cold pane, eager to get inside. Beyond it were the millions of lights of the city across the bay, like Christmas lights dangling from the blackness.
“It’s been a weird day today,” Lou finally said.
“How?”
“I don’t know.” He sighed. “It just felt funny. I felt funny.”
“I feel like that most days,” Ruth said.
“I must be coming down with something. I just feel…out of sorts.”
She felt his forehead. “You’re not hot.”
“I’m not?” He looked at her in surprise and then felt his forehead. “It’s this guy at work.” He shook his head. “So odd.”
Ruth frowned and studied him, not used to seeing him so inarticulate.
“It started out well.” He swirled his wine around his glass. “I met a man called Gabe outside the office. A homeless guy—well, I don’t know if he’s homeless. He says he has a place to stay, but he was begging on the streets anyway.”
At that the baby monitor began crackling as Bud started to cry softly. Just a gentle sleepy moaning at first. Knife and fork down, and with the unfinished plate pushed away, Ruth prayed for him to stop.
“Anyway,” Lou continued, not even noticing, “I bought him a coffee and we got to talking.”
“That was nice of you,” Ruth said. Her maternal instincts were kicking in, and the only voice she could hear now was that of her child, his sleepy moans turning into full-blown cries.
“He reminded me of me,” Lou said. “He was exactly like me, and we had the funniest conversation about shoes.” He laughed, thinking back over it. “He could remember every single pair of shoes that walked into the building, so I hired him. Well, I didn’t, I called Harry—”
“Lou, honey,” she cut in, “do you not hear that?”
He looked at her blankly, irritated at first that she’dinterrupted his story, and then cocked his head to listen. Finally the cries penetrated his thoughts.
“Fine, go on,” he sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. “But as long as you remember that I was telling you about my day, because you’re always telling me that I don’t,” he mumbled.
“What is that supposed to mean?” She raised her voice. “Your son is crying. Do I have to sit here all night while he wails for help until you’ve finished your story about a homeless man who likes shoes, or would you ever go and check on him of your own accord?”
“I’ll do it,” he said angrily, though not making a move from his chair.
“Fine, I’ll do it.” She stood up from the table. “I want you to do it without being reminded. You don’t do it for brownie points, Lou, you’re supposed to want to do it.”
“You don’t seem too eager to do it yourself now,” he grumbled.
Halfway from the table to the kitchen door, she stopped. “You know you haven’t ever taken Ross for one single day by yourself?”
“Whoa. You must be serious if you’re actually using his real name. Where is all
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