PULSE [H.S]

002

"Expectation is the root of all heartache." - William Shakespeare

I hate this stupid dishwasher.

It's been broken for over a year, but I haven't bothered to get it fixed. Instead, I just struggle for five minutes to get the door closed every time I open it. Because that's much easier than putting in a maintenance request, obviously.

I don't even think I like dishwashers. Sometimes it is easier to wash the dishes by hand and have them cleaned immediately instead of waiting for the dishwasher cycle to be complete. Hand washing them is even more appealing since I have the worst dishwasher in the entire world.

There's a knock on the door to my apartment, which startles me. I'm not expecting anyone tonight, unless it's my neighbor. I slam the stupid dishwasher door closed and dry my hands off with a towel.

I open the door to find Aaron, my boyfriend, standing there, still dressed in his work suit. He must've come straight from the bank to surprise me. He kisses my forehead and walks in, closing the door behind himself. We've been going out for a while now, but he works so much that I feel like I barely get to see him anymore.

"Hey, babe," he says as he takes off his jacket and hangs it up by the door, kicking off his shoes and asking, "What's for dinner?"

Oh, shit.

I tell him, "I just finished eating, actually—"

"Without me?" he says, his tone laced with frustration.

I explain, "I didn't know you were coming, so I made a frozen pizza."

The frozen pizza wasn't even that good, and I accidentally left it in the oven too long, so the bottom of it burned a little. It wasn't a very satisfying dinner, but it filled my stomach. He would have hated it.

He rolls his eyes at me with an attitude and says, "I always come here after work on Wednesdays."

His body language is tense, and I can tell that he is stressed. He's usually stressed after work, which makes it less enjoyable to see him on weeknights. I appreciate him making the effort to see me even when he has a lot going on at work, but he doesn't seem like he's in the mood for company.

I shrug, "You didn't come the last two weeks, so I assumed you were working late again."

Those weeks I actually did prepare dinner for two, but the second portion was left uneaten both times, and it ended up turning into leftovers. I didn't mind saving the food for lunch the next day, but I would've preferred to have dinner with him. Or at least a heads-up that he wasn't going to be able to make it.

"Maybe next time you could ask before I get all the way here and there's no food ready," he spits out, his voice sounding bitter.

I try to ignore his harsh tone. Judging by the creases on his forehead and the bags under his eyes, it looks like he's been having a long week. I think the last thing he needs right now is for me to argue with him and add to his exhaustion.

I say, "I can still make you something. What do you want?"

"No, it's fine," he says shortly as he types something on his phone.

I frown at him. I hate when he gets like this. He must notice because his face softens and he comes over to me, rubbing his hands up and down my arms gently. I look up at him, wishing he had a job that didn't do this to him.

He says, "I'm sorry, babe. I had a really long day at work and had to deal with a frustrating client. I didn't mean to take it out on you."

I know his job is hard. He's always working overtime and staying there late at night. When he's done with work for the day, he's so exhausted that he rarely makes it over here. His apartment is closer to work, so it's easier for him.