A Glass Act

He didn’t like to say “sorry.” At all. Not after stepping on someone’s foot, because “it’s not a big deal,” and not even after saying something rude, because “you annoyed me, so it’s all your fault.” If she kept insisting, he would just give her silent treatment until she’d let it go and be friendly with him again.

She finally had enough and decided not to utter a word in his direction until he could offer an apology. That morning she had merely asked for a ride to work and he exploded saying she should get a car, knowing all too well that a lot of her money was going towards supporting her elderly parents.

She came home, sad and hungry, and went straight to the kitchen, without saying hi or giving him a kiss. He looked at her in surprise, but didn’t say anything. She washed her hands and put dinner on the stove to warm it up on a slow fire.

It took her about ten minutes to change into her home attire, remove her makeup, and use the restroom. When she came back to the kitchen, the dinner was gone, with only the dirty empty frying pan sitting in the sink.

She opened the fridge and took out an expensive bottle of Chardonnay he was saving for his birthday and opened it. Then she made a salmon sandwich for herself, with a thick chunk of that smelly French cheese he really loved.

Attracted by the sound of pouring wine, he walked through the kitchen, and then rushed back within a minute, carrying two pillows and a blanket taken from their bedroom. He threw them on the living room couch and lay down.

She left the pan unwashed, adding a dirty wine glass to keep it company and walked to the restroom, wine bottle in hand. She really didn’t want any more wine, no matter how exquisite it was. She had to work the next day, after all.

She poured the rest of the wine into the toilet and left the empty bottle right next to it. Then she brushed her teeth and went to sleep.

The next morning the pan and the glass were still in the sink, except now the glass was broken under the weight of a dirty coffee cup. She wanted to pick the shards up with some paper towel but it was gone from its usual spot in the kitchen.

She walked to the restroom to grab some toilet paper and was met by a less than attractive pile of facial hair all over the the restroom sink and a repugnant smell that made her eyes water.

He had already left for work with his keys but hers were somehow missing too. She looked inside her purse and in all her pockets: nothing.

She had to go to work too, so she grabbed her jewelry box and all the available cash in case a robbery could happen and walked to the bus stop, leaving the front door unlocked.

When she came home in the evening, she had to knock, and he took forever to open and then didn’t make any eye contact with her or say a word. A silver laptop, his Christmas gift to her, was gone from her desk. The pan, the coffee cup, and the broken glass were still sitting in the sink, with an addition of a plate with traces of pizza sauce. A huge empty pizza box was dumped next to the trash can in the kitchen.

While he was taking a shower, she needed to use the bathroom sink, but it was still covered with hair. She grabbed his towel and wiped it all off. Then she took his towel and all the other ones in the bathroom plus his pajamas to the laundry hamper.

Five minutes later he walked by her, naked and wiping himself with toilet paper, leaving traces of water behind him and throwing paper on the floor. He went straight to the bedroom, pulled a bedsheet off the marital bed, wrapped himself in it, walked to the living room couch, and turned the lights off.

Seemed like he grabbed her phone on the way too, so now she couldn’t do her emails and texts and just went to sleep in an armchair, exhausted and unwilling to change the bedding. In the morning she packed her bag, planning on calling her Mom from work and then going by train to stay at her place to figure things out. He was still asleep because it was his day off.

Later in the afternoon, when she opened the office door before leaving for the station, he was standing there with one of his hands bandaged up, and with the other, holding a bouquet of flowers and a sign “Sorry, okay???”…