She sits in front of my computer talking on Ian’s phone as I walk in from work; an empty bottle of merlot and a full ash tray in front of her. I wish I could have stayed home and enjoyed this small bacchanalia. She asks me if I’m alright; as if I have a reason to be upset. I’m confused at first (I’m just quiet for a moment is all) but I think I understand now why she asked. “You’re going to the store with me.” I say this line flatly, coldly. I spend most of my day dealing with people in a passionless, dismissive manner and I realize too late my mistake. Actually, it could have worked also as a joke. When she’s changed and put on her boots we approach the door. I peck her on the cheek and say “Honey, I’m home” to lighten the mood. Snapping into character, she replies “How was work?” I want to quote Heathers, the scene where Big Bud Dean is role-playing in front of J.D. and Veronica, explaining how his day at work went, but the words get stuck on the tip of my tongue and I miss a beat. We get beer and more wine at the drug store, narrowly avoiding death by Las Vegas traffic two or three times. Back home, we listen to music and talk. I’ve been watching too much television these past years and feel out of touch with the situation. This is all I used to do not so long ago; talk and drink. She grows hungry but all my prepackaged, microwavable food has been eaten. She asks for spaghetti. I have to make sauce from (almost) scratch. Canned tomato stuff, onions, garlic, dried peppers, olive oil, and (dried) Italian seasonings. It’s cheap and easy (no jokes, damn you.) We eat at the table. I haven’t used very much at all since facing the wild, wild world on my lonesome oh so long ago. She helps with the dishes. I wish I didn’t have to work the next day, the start of the Lunar New Year. Her family is having some celebration to honor the event. I was invited but since my schedule changed, I have to decline. We go to bed far too late, but I don’t mind. I’ll be off Thursday so I think I’ll make it.