We quarreled this morning. I threw a cup across the room, and it shattered on the hearth. I screamed “I hate you!” and slammed the door. I kicked the tire when I got to my car.
I’ve been angry all morning. Every time the phone rings, I’m sure he’s calling to apologize. Why hasn’t he called?
The afternoon drags. It’s 5:00 and I’m too proud to call him.
The traffic is terrible and I’m anxious to get home. It’s not that I’m sorry. He was wrong, but I’m tired of being mad. I want things to be the same between us again. The cars creep along the freeway and I check my watch.
He should be home by now, waiting for me, listening to music, drinking a glass of wine. I’m sure he bought me flowers.
It has started to rain and the wind whips leaves across the highway. It sounds like “hate-shoo, hate-shoo, hate-shoo,” as the windshield wipers swish back and forth. I wipe a tear from my stinging eyes. I reach for the cell phone in my purse, but the battery is dead. My fingers are covered with chocolate from a melted candy kiss. He gave it to me yesterday and said, “It signifies my love.” I licked the chocolate off my fingers and smile.
Now I yearn to say I’m sorry, even if he was wrong. I want his arms around me. I want his lips to caress my throat. I want us to be together.
I don't see his car. He must have parked in the garage. I know he heard me pull in the driveway, and even now, I can almost see him rushing to the door with a glass of wine in one hand and flowers in the other. In a minute, he will kiss me and whisper, “I’m sorry…”
I turn the door knob. Why is the door locked? I get out my keys, unlock the door and push it open, calling his name. There is no answer.
Where are the flowers? Where can he be? A chocolate candy kiss sits atop a single piece of paper on the mantle. A gust of wind rushes in and the kiss rolls off the mantle. The paper flutters and settles to the floor. The room is empty.