Friday, April 13, 2018
Jon comes home and he’s angry and shivering.
“What’s for dinner?” He says, like I know, or I’m keeping it a secret.
“I just got home too, Jon,” I say, and he doesn’t like that. He opens and closes the fridge a few times. Same with the pantry cupboards.
“Can ya make something hot? It was all icy on the rig today.” Jon fills the kettle, which I can’t say I’ve ever seen him do.
“How about spaghetti?” I lean back in my chair.
“Spaghetti?” A small smile curls over his lips, like fog.
“No?” I watch him turn on the wrong burner, and then realize and move the kettle.
“Spaghetti sounds good.”