Mabry Morris walked through the front door and smelled the fresh basil and fish sauce. She remembered it was Thai night.
“Good timing,” her husband said from the edge of the couch. Rice and noodles steamed from the Styrofoam containers on the coffee table.
Mabry fell onto the cushion next to him and pulled the rubber band from her cropped ponytail. “I’m starving,” she said, peeling open the sweet and sour sauce. “How was your day?” She dipped an eggroll and took a bite, catching the flakes of shell with her other hand.
“Ah, nothing special.” He cracked a beer and took a sip. “Actually,” he remembered, “some guy brought in a Maserati.”
Mabry wiped her mouth. “Did you drive it?”
“No, I was in the pit all day.”
“Oh, right. It’s Tuesday.”
“Yeah,” he leaned back into the couch. “You should see my coveralls.”
“Greasy?”
He nodded with the beer at his lips. Mabry put the last bite of eggroll in her mouth and pointed to a black spot on her scrubs. “If it makes you feel better, I’m pretty sure that’s blood.”
He stared at it. “Gross.”
“Please.” She stuck her chopsticks into the noodles. “We’re both a couple of filthy children.”
He chuckled and put his hand on her thigh, covering the spot. “I guess there are worse things we could be.”
Mabry laughed but it faded all too fast.
“What?” he asked.
She held the noodles midair and shook off the thought. “It’s nothing.”
“Come on. What?”
“You know the kid from the motorcycle accident?”
“Yeah.”
“He died today.”
Her husband’s face softened. He rubbed her leg with his broad hand. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I hate those things. Promise me you’ll never get one.”
Her husband scratched at his beard. “Hadn’t planned on it.”
“Good.” Mabry took the beer from his hands and drank some. “You know what?”
“What?”
“I think I like the other Thai place better.”
“Fiction is the lie that tells the truth.” Neil Gaiman said that. Sometimes I write short stories (instead of essays). It’s nice to forget the facts once in a while, you know?
If you liked this one, try another . . .
The Fisherman
Tom Chesterfield left his phone on the desk and snagged the fly rod from the corner of his cubicle.