The day is unrelenting, and yet it’s still early morning.
His alarm sounds way too soon. She is tired of waking up at the crack of dawn, in complete darkness, the daylight reducing. She’s just tired. Period.
The acrid smell of the recent San Bernadino wildfires lingers. How did she end up here? She misses the fall colors, the soft peaks of the Presidentials.
“Did you have time to make my lunch?” he asks. His suit looks new, pressed, hair groomed, sweeps off his forehead, like George Clooney. Well, maybe more like Jay Leno. She points at the lunchbox, thinking does he ever eat this crap?
She wonders how many trips she’ll make to the pantry, a room she’s considered locking. Lose the key. She misses sitting in the hot tub. Can’t do that now, doctor’s orders.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says, pulling her close. Her massive stomach, swollen with eight months of child causes him to arch forward to give her a kiss. She smells his overpowering cologne, nearly sneezes.
“Any big plans today?” he asks, grabbing his briefcase.
“Oh yeah. I’m running the Left Coast marathon.”
“Ha, ha, sweetie.” He laughs, his adam apple bobbing. “You’re a riot.”
A riot. She feels more like a failure.
A big, fat, heinous, gross, unattractive blob.
“See you tonight,” she says. Swallows her emotions.
He opens the garage door, starts to get into his Lexus. Turns around. “Oops. I forgot my lunch.” Turns back to grab it off the kitchen counter.
The kitchen is empty. It’s as if she’s disappeared.