I do not like them
anywhere
It was a Wednesday night, and since they began dating, they always made sure Wednesday nights were free. They always worked around their schedules, Richard choosing early classes on Wednesday, or turning down jobs that required night shifts. Wednesday night was date night, and it's one of their little traditions that have kept them going for almost a year now.
Today is a Wednesday and Richard is lying on the sofa, watching a late night talk show with a half-empty bottle of beer in his hand. It was almost 11 o'clock. The pasta he cooked was now cold and soggy, her favourite pesto sauce swimming in too much oil. He had put the plates and silverware back to the drawers and left the bottle of wine in the fridge.
She had deadlines today, she said, coupled with back-to-back meetings with her manager, and mountains of reports to file. It was impossible to finish them all in a day, much less within the allotted 8 hours. She'll attempt to come home early, but told him to not wait up for her so he won't get tired. He had to finish checking papers for Dr. Ninna's Literature 301 class, and they were long and seemingly endless essays about pre-war short stories for children.
But like in the many instances, he didn't listen, and here he was, counting the minutes 'till she got home, checking his phone every 3 minutes for a follow-up text to the one she sent four hours before. The last thing she said was that she already ate, a piece of sandwich she bought at a diner before heading to work this morning.
He didn't tell her he cooked for her today, that he learned her favorite chicken pesto pasta recipe, that he had to be on the phone with her mother for two hours just so he had the right measurements for each ingredient he put in the bowl and pan. It was supposed to be a little surprise, one of the few that he has done since she got promoted as the lead of a cosmetic brand's R&D team.
He chugged down the remaining contents of the malt, and reached to place the now-empty bottle among the five he finished within the last hour. He was feeling just a wee bit dizzy, the ground seemingly moving and shifting under his feet when he'd stand to walk to the bathroom across the hall. Richard was not a hard drinker and a few shots of tequila would send him on a frenzy. This would mean Nicomaine had to stop consuming alcohol so she can take care of him on the few nights he would forget his limits.
He presses a button on his phone and its brightness blinds him for a few seconds. As soon as he recovered, he sees his screen: No new messages, no missed calls. 11:29 P.M. Wednesday.
His finger taps on the messaging icon, and begins typing his 10th message to his girlfriend tonight, hoping that this one will finally be noticed.
Leaving key in left plant in case you don't have yours. There's pasta in the fridge, might need to add more cheese to sauce. Please call me once you leave the office. Drive safe.
Richard threw his phone among the empty bottles, packets of potato chips, and the stack of term papers he hasn't even begun grading. He loosens the red necktie around his neck, the only one in his collection that Nicomaine approved of, and undid the first two buttons on his black long-sleeved polo shirt. He then turns on his side and closes his eyes, in an attempt to sleep the lightheadedness away.
A few hours later, he is woken up by a set of fingers running through his hair, a familiar touch that automatically turns his mouth into a smile. He turns the other way and sees her, head laying down near his. Her eyes are fixed onto his and her hair is in a beautiful, ponytail mess.
