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She made Kevin breakfast on Monday morning, just as she always
did. Four slices of bacon, eggs over medium, and two pieces of
toast. He was grumpy and distracted and he read the paper
without saying much to her. When he was about to leave, he put a
coat on over his suit and she told him she was going to hop into
the shower.
“Must be nice,” he grunted, “to wake up every day knowing you
can do whatever the hell you want to do whenever you want to do
it.”
“Is there anything special you want for dinner?” she asked,
pretending not to have heard him.
He thought about it. “Lasagna and garlic bread. And a salad,” he
said.
When he left, she stood at the window watching as his car reached
the corner. As soon as he turned, she walked to the phone, dizzy
at the thought of what was to come next.
When she called the phone company, she was directed to
customer service. Five minutes passed, then six. It would take
Kevin twenty minutes to get to work, and no doubt he would call
as soon as he arrived. She still had time. Finally, a rep got on the
line and asked her name and the billing address and, for purposes
of identification, Kevin’s mother’s maiden name. The account was
in Kevin’s name, and she spoke in a low voice as she recited the
information, in the voice she’d been practicing. She didn’t sound
like Kevin, maybe not even masculine, but the representative was
harried and didn’t notice.
“Is it possible to get call forwarding on my line?” she asked.
“It’s an extra charge, but with that, you also get call waiting and
voice mail. It’s only—”
“That’s fine. But is it possible to have it turned on today?”