Wednesday, September 27, 2006
The words have been few and far between in our apartment, lately. I hear him running the dishwasher, and sometimes he hears me slam the door by accident when my hands are full of the laundry basket or the mail. So when he asked if he could pick anything up for me while he was out, I remembered how to say, "No, thank you," and he was gone, the door clicking quietly behind him. But when he returned, he had a bag full of aromatic takeout from the Greek place. "I brought you a spinach pie," he said. I couldn't eat it right then because there were too many other variables at play, but I knew what he meant. I was glad that he had done it, but I couldn't figure out how to tell him. Later, I heard him put some music on his stereo, and I put my empty water glass in the sink. I think we are ok.