Author's note: I've written quite a bit lately, though I haven't shared any of it publicly. This story was written based on a single word prompt ("Solve") and it's quite different than most of the other stories I've written. I hope you enjoy it!
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I slumped on the sofa, my head lolled back and near comatose when I heard Sherri stomping into the living room, forcing me to climb out of my escapist haze.
“Why did you mess up this puzzle?" she asked, shaking the newspaper in front of my face. "Couldn't you have at least tried to solve the damn thing instead of just blackening the boxes like a four year-old?”
Snickering, I took a pull from my bottle of Stella I still held like a pacifier. I lost count of how many of them I drank, but I recalled popping open my first one around five in the morning.
"Aren't you going to answer me?"
I shook my head and downed the rest of my beer. She watch me lick the foam from the mouth of the green bottle, then stormed out of the room, muttering invectives to gods unseen.
"A-hole!" she screamed when she got to the bedroom.
I heard the door slam behind her. The immediate area settled into a blissful quiet. Even the robins perched on our porch knew it was safe to be birds again and began to chirp their happiness. I closed my eyes, relishing the calm of the day.
Riiiiingggg! Riiiiingggg!
"Damnit!" I muttered, stumbling to the telephone. "Yeah, what?”
Instead of the caller responding to me, Sherri spoke up on the extension. I was about to hang up when I heard a man's voice on the other end. Placing the phone on mute, I sat down in my chair and listened.
"I've just about had it," Sherri said, a hitch in her voice. Was she crying about that damn crossword puzzle, I wondered, both amazed and impressed.
"I know," the man said in a soothing voice. "Why are you still there then?"
"Habit, I guess.”
"Sherri, I don't know what to tell you I have already said. You have to make up your mind."
"I so confused!" she said, sobbing loud enough for me to hear her through the thin walls of our apartment. "I've been in this relationship for so long, I've lost myself."
"Honey, he's not worth all these tears, is he?"
A pause. "I guess not.”
"Then what's stopping you? Pack your bags and walk right out that door. You don't need to explain yourself, you don't have to tell him where you're going, just go."
"But where?"
There was a long pause. I could hear both of them breathing, almost panting. It took everything I had not to take the mute off and tell her to hurry up and go to his place. Anywhere other than this hellhole we made together was bound to be better.
"Live with me," the man said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "We can work out the details later, but right now, you need a place to live and I need you. Come on, I'll be waiting."
Sherri's sobs started anew. "Are you sure?" she squeaked, blowing her nose, the sound a muffled, staccato burst.
"Absolutely. Come on, I'll make you a nice dinner."
“Okay, I’ll do it! I'll see you in an hour."
I heard the call disconnect and turned off the phone, then placed it back on the charger. Keeping an ear open for her movements, I turned on the TV and flipped it to the sports channel. The second day of the Masters was about to start and I could easily get lost in the game, me and my beautiful Stella. Just the thought of that started me laughing and I couldn't stop.
I was still laughing when she stormed into the living room, her eyes red-rimmed and wild.
"What the hell is so funny?" she demanded, her hands planted on her hips.
I paused from my mirth to look up at her, thinking that I disliked her now as much as I loved her once before. Still, she was pretty in a way that some women are when they don't know they're pretty, a trait that makes them even more alluring. I was still attracted to her and probably would always be so. But living with her was killing me and her, the "us" already long deceased.
"Nothing's funny," I lied, wiping my eyes. "I'm just watching the golf match."
"Whatever," she said, muttering something inaudible as she stomped back to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
I waited until she emerged again, fully prepared to see her with packed luggage in hand and ready for a showdown. She didn't disappoint me.
"I'm out of here," she yelled as she left the bedroom.
"What are you talking about?" I said, my eyes fixed on the TV, but trying to sound interested.
"I can't stand living with you anymore. I'm moving out!"
I finally turned around and looked at her posing in front of me, three pieces of unmatched luggage draped over her shoulders. She reminded me of overladen donkey I saw in an old western. For the second time today, I had to force myself to stop laughing. I was going to miss her.
"Is there anything I can say to change your mind?" I asked, finishing the rest of my beer.
She stood there, defiant and proud, trying not to let her luggage topple her over. "You just sit there and drink yourself into another coma. By the time you come to, I'll be a distant memory and you'll be sorry you ever let me go."
For a moment, I thought over her prediction. I'd feel worse about her being gone while nursing a hangover, that much was true. After my headache subsided and the queasiness in my stomach lessened, I'd want to go out and get eggs and fried chicken at Dinah’s, but she wouldn't be there to take me, thanks to the DWI conviction I still had. I guess I could always call a taxi, but that would get old real quick.
"Maybe you're right," I said, gauging her reaction. If my words moved her, I couldn't tell. That setting of her jaw and squinting of her eyes looked pretty final to me.
"Is that all you have to say?" she said, standing over me now.
I looked up at her and shrugged. "Where do you want me to forward your mail?"
She clenched her fists and for a moment, I thought she was going to hit me. On one level, I hoped she would so I would feel something, anything. Instead, she gave me a look that fell somewhere between hatred and pity, which is pretty much what I deserved, then she struggled to the door.
"Hey, you want some help?" I asked her, standing up and putting my bottle on the glass coffee table.
Sherri stopped and turned toward me. "Don't you have any regrets about me leaving? Aren't you even going to try to talk me out of it?"
She started bawling, her body shaking with each sob. For a moment, I began to reflect on all the unkind things I had ever done to her over the years. I reached out to touch her shoulder, but she pulled away from me as though I tried to infect her with some fatal disease. She wiped her eyes on her jacket sleeve and made her way to the door.
"Good-bye," I managed to say in a soft voice. If she heard me, she didn't respond and left.
I stared at the closed door for several minutes before returning to the sofa. The golf match no longer seemed very appealing anymore, so I turned off the TV and lay down for a while. As I drifted off to sleep, I thought to myself that I'd be pretty pissed off at myself later, but I couldn't keep my eyes open long enough to care at the moment.
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