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cheese. She brushed four pieces of sourdough bread with butter,
garlic, and oregano and diced everything she needed for the salad.
She showered and dressed sexy, and at five o’clock, she put the
lasagna in the oven.
When he got home, dinner was ready. He ate the lasagna and
talked about his day. When he asked for a second serving, she
rose from the table and brought it to him. After dinner, he drank
vodka as they watched reruns of Seinfeld and The King of Queens.
Afterward, the Celtics were playing the Timberwolves and she sat
beside him, her head on his shoulder, watching the game. He fell
asleep in front of the television and she wandered to the bedroom.
She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, until he finally woke and
staggered in, flopping onto the mattress. He fell asleep
immediately, one arm draped over her, and his snores sounded
like a warning.
She made him breakfast on Tuesday morning. He packed his
clothes and toiletries and was finally ready to head to
Marlborough. He loaded his things into the car, then went back to
the front door, where she was standing. He kissed her.
“I’ll be home tomorrow night,” he said.
“I’ll miss you,” she said, leaning into him, putting her arms
around his neck.
“I should be home around eight.”
“I’ll make something that I can reheat when you get home,” she
said. “How about chili?”
“I’ll probably eat on the way home.”
“Are you sure? Do you really want to eat fast food? It’s so bad for
you.”
“We’ll see,” he said.