The dog doesn't wag her tail when I open the door, and all I feel is relief: if she'd barked, growled, treated me as a stranger -- but she does not, just looks puzzled. Waits for a biscuit while I don't remove my shoes. The mirror of the vanity beside the door is uncleaned, a stack of bills sits on it: all red and yellow primaries, final warnings.
"Where have you been?" she says, too tired to not be calm, so empty she almost cares.
"Work," I say.
"Did you bring home money?"
I think of her, and him, and coffee, try to frame epiphanies into dollar amounts, settle on, "No."
She barely looks disappointed this time.
I think of her waiting at the coffee shop, of the man coming in. I wonder if I'm both of them.
"You're smiling," she says, "are you having an affair again?"
"I never, and no." I head up to shower, alone.
oooh... nice taste :)
ReplyDelete