The Lack of Color
"Hello?" she called out, as she closed the front door behind her. Hearing no response, she set down her briefcase and placed her small bag of groceries on the kitchen counter. Feeling tired from the day's work, she plopped herself down on the couch, and let out a long, measured sigh. He would be home any minute now, so she decided to hold off on the dinner preparations and wait for his arrival.
She allowed her eyes to wander, from the black leather sofa to the plasma screen television prominently mounted on his wall. Aside from the big screen, the walls of the apartment were completely bare. She allowed herself to smile briefly, "Boys...and their toys." She had made the suggestion, on several occasions, that they should paint the walls. Or put up a few prints. Or add a floral arrangement - she could even buy the flowers herself. And each time, he laughed and refused politely. After all, he told her time and again that he liked the clean, spartan look of a bachelor pad. Besides, what would the other guys think about a floral arrangement in his living room? Still, she continued to muse about the complete lack of warmth and welcome in his apartment. Every time it would come up, he'd find a way to defuse the situation and she'd relent, too much in love to let the lack of color stand in the way of their relationship.
Polite...was the perfect word to describe him. For as long as she could remember, he had always been polite, even when she tried to pick a fight. Sometimes, she'd bring up the future, and he'd flash a reassuring smile and wrap his arms her in a soothing, warm embrace. Other times, she'd bring up past loves, and he'd simply shrug and convince her that she was just mistaken. She wondered what really went on in that head of his.
The front door swung open and he called out, "Hello?" like he always did. She quickly abandoned her thoughts and rose to meet him.
"Hey, honey!" she said. She playfully went up to him and kissed him unexpectedly on the lips.
"Whoa! Did I do something right?" he answered reflexively, while planting a light kiss on her cheek in return.
She giggled and let him set down his things. He then moved to the fridge and grabbed himself a can of soda. He popped the top and took a small sip.
"So, what's for the dinner?" he posed to her.
"Well...I visited Trader Joe's and picked up some things to make lasagna. Wanna give me a hand?"
"Sure!" he replied, with feigned enthusiasm. He was being polite, yet again. She watched as he, almost mechanically, started reaching into the kitchen shelves and began removing pans and plates. She took her place by his side and began breaking down boxes of pasta and cans of tomatoes into the ingredients for their dinner. She stole a glance at him while he busied himself with chopping some mushrooms - his tightly controlled smile did not escape her. She wondered, for the briefest second, when he would finally build the courage to end it with her. She bit her lip and hoped that that day would never come. She loved him too much. She'd never let him go.
She allowed her eyes to wander, from the black leather sofa to the plasma screen television prominently mounted on his wall. Aside from the big screen, the walls of the apartment were completely bare. She allowed herself to smile briefly, "Boys...and their toys." She had made the suggestion, on several occasions, that they should paint the walls. Or put up a few prints. Or add a floral arrangement - she could even buy the flowers herself. And each time, he laughed and refused politely. After all, he told her time and again that he liked the clean, spartan look of a bachelor pad. Besides, what would the other guys think about a floral arrangement in his living room? Still, she continued to muse about the complete lack of warmth and welcome in his apartment. Every time it would come up, he'd find a way to defuse the situation and she'd relent, too much in love to let the lack of color stand in the way of their relationship.
Polite...was the perfect word to describe him. For as long as she could remember, he had always been polite, even when she tried to pick a fight. Sometimes, she'd bring up the future, and he'd flash a reassuring smile and wrap his arms her in a soothing, warm embrace. Other times, she'd bring up past loves, and he'd simply shrug and convince her that she was just mistaken. She wondered what really went on in that head of his.
The front door swung open and he called out, "Hello?" like he always did. She quickly abandoned her thoughts and rose to meet him.
"Hey, honey!" she said. She playfully went up to him and kissed him unexpectedly on the lips.
"Whoa! Did I do something right?" he answered reflexively, while planting a light kiss on her cheek in return.
She giggled and let him set down his things. He then moved to the fridge and grabbed himself a can of soda. He popped the top and took a small sip.
"So, what's for the dinner?" he posed to her.
"Well...I visited Trader Joe's and picked up some things to make lasagna. Wanna give me a hand?"
"Sure!" he replied, with feigned enthusiasm. He was being polite, yet again. She watched as he, almost mechanically, started reaching into the kitchen shelves and began removing pans and plates. She took her place by his side and began breaking down boxes of pasta and cans of tomatoes into the ingredients for their dinner. She stole a glance at him while he busied himself with chopping some mushrooms - his tightly controlled smile did not escape her. She wondered, for the briefest second, when he would finally build the courage to end it with her. She bit her lip and hoped that that day would never come. She loved him too much. She'd never let him go.
posted by Nathan at 11:41 PM
