Hands on hips, furious, pleading, she is at the end of her rope. “I know you have it. It was here just a second ago, right on that coffee table.”
He looks up at her from their communal couch, brows raised, close mouthed, hands clasped and resting in his lap.
“We agreed we would always share, always leaven any conflict with mutuality of purpose.” With effort, she lowers her voice, drops her eyes, and begins again. “Yes, I understand we want different things here, but is all this worth destroying the good life we’ve made? That we want to continue making?”
He lifts his hands, palms up, shrugs his shoulders, tips his head to one side and offers a wide, close-lipped smile.
“The foundation of our relationship has always been equality and respect…and truthfulness!” She begins to cry softly, then stops. Rage tightens her shoulders, balls her fists. “C’mon, cough it up! Where the hell did you put the remote?”
He tips his head back, opens his mouth, and sticks out his tongue. And there it is.
Liz Husebye Hartmann (November 12, 2016)