Why We’re Not Together Now…

I came across his Facebook page the other day, his face grinning confidently out at me, a bit fatter perhaps, but still handsome in a way.  I couldn’t help quickly searching out his status… hmm …‘in a relationship’.  Not married then.

My mind drifts back – how long now?  More years than I care to remember, years that look as though they might have been kinder to him than me.

Dinner’s ready,” I shout turning out the light under the potatoes. It isn’t, but it will be by the time he finally reaches the table.

There’s no response, as usual.  A minute passes.

“Did you hear me?” I bellow.

“Yes,” he hisses from the other room. “I’m coming, woman.”

I hear the cloakroom door close. Another five minutes then.

 I drain the potatoes and place the pan back on a low light.

After the flush, I begin to mash. Time a plenty yet.

 Now he’ll go back to the sitting room and rummage amongst the remote controls littering the coffee table until he locates the one for the television.  Then he’ll stand there, pointing it at the set while he watches the current news item through to its conclusion.

“Dinner’s on the table,” I call, though I haven’t yet drained the vegetables.

“I said, I’m coming,” he yells.

I take the warm plates from the oven.

“Have you moved my slippers?” he demands from the doorway.

I stare at his reflection in the kitchen window, close to boiling point now.

“Upstairs where you left them” I hiss.

He’s watched television for three hours in his shoes, why does he now need to have his slippers on to eat his evening meal?

He trudges heavily up the stairs and I begin to carve the lamb. Down the stairs he comes, one at a time, and back into the lounge to check he’s turned the television off.

I dish out the meal, take both plates to the table and start eating, watching the steam rising from his plate opposite me.

“No wine?” he mutters accusingly, before rummaging in the fridge, and then opening cupboard doors searching for the one that holds the wine glasses.  They’ve only been in there three years, so it’s still early days yet for it to have permeated his consciousness.

He finally returns with the wine glasses and sits down, surveying the table.

“No mint sauce?” he queries, half rising from his seat.

I spring up, grab a jar of mint sauce from the fridge, and slam it on the table.

 “Your neck’s all blotchy,” he observes helpfully, before opening the jar and spooning some onto his plate.  He peers at it suspiciously.

“This is very green,” he says accusingly.

“It’s mint sauce,” I replied, “it’s supposed to be.”

He lays down his knife and fork and begins to read the contents of the label.

“Hmmm,” he declares triumphantly, “artificial colouring. I thought so.”

“You’re pushing it now, you know,” I warn, and he looks up all wide eyed innocence.

 “Is this your hormones playing up again?” he asks.

 He pokes around in his meal for a few seconds, lifting up the slices of meat as though I might have concealed something beneath them. 

 Images of ground glass and weed-killer race through my mind.

 He takes a mouthful of potato, and then lays down his knife and fork and looks at me accusingly.

 “Did you know this dinner’s cold?”…

  It wasn’t our last night together, there may have been a few more bust ups still to get through.  But we were pretty close to the end by then.

Handsome is as handsome does, my grandmother used to say.

“Dinner’s ready,” I call.

“Be right with you,” comes the response, and I smile. Some learn more quickly  than others.

I’m linking this to Yeah Write.  (At least I hope I am)

About Sandra

I used to cruise the French waterways with my husband four or five months a year, and wrote fiction and poetry. Now I live on the beautiful Dorset coast, enjoying the luxury of being able to have a cat, cultivating an extensive garden and getting involved in the community. I still write fiction, but only when the spirit moves me - which isn't as often as before. I love animals, F1 motor racing, French bread and my husband, though not necessarily in that order.
This entry was posted in By the Way ..., Just Sayin' and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

41 Responses to Why We’re Not Together Now…

  1. Stephanie says:

    Yuck. What a passive-aggressive jerk. I”m glad you’re with a better man now! The way you wrote made my stomach tense up…I felt like I was right there with you.


  2. Great pacing in this story. Sounds like you moved on for all the right reasons. Erin


  3. christina says:

    boy, he sounds like a peach.


  4. Loved this but whew…glad you found a better man!


  5. Robbie says:

    very well written..but so glad you moved on.


  6. PhaseThreeOfLife says:

    Glad you got the one you deserve now!


  7. Good riddance. Good to get that out of your system. Huzzah to you for getting the heck out of there. Nicely written.


  8. heidi says:

    Can I just say how happy I am he’s out of your life? This was very engaging and well written. I’m just sorry he was such a jerk to you.
    How wonderful to be with someone who respects you now. And what a great ending to this piece.


  9. Emily says:

    Ugh. Awful. I think I might have thrown the mint sauce at him. So glad you’re with someone nicer now!


  10. Donna B. McNicol [@donnabmcnicol] says:

    Loved this, very well done!!


  11. Mayor Gia says:

    Ooof. What an ungrateful jerk. This one sounds much better!


  12. Great writing! I loved the way you interspersed the past with the present. That initial connection from facebook to the memory and then the reconnection to the present. I’m so glad that you’re present is better than the past. He sounds like someone who doesn’t deserve to be in your life or eat your dinners.


  13. Whoa. Loved this. Great post – sorry you went through that, but great story!


  14. sue Cottrill says:

    See how well written this is, everyone assumes its about you Sandra.But how like so many peoples lives this is. I love this


  15. Sandra says:

    This was about me Sue 🙂 A long time ago I had quite a different life to the one I have now. Maybe I’ll tell you about it if our paths cross again, but then again maybe there wouldn’t be enough time! 😦


  16. A really well paced, precise piece. You did so well setting the mood and taking me right there with you. looking forward to reading more!


  17. Good riddance to that fool! My husband would be so grateful to actually have a dinner that someone cooked (instead of pulled out of the freezer where most of my dinners reside). Glad you got rid of him! I enjoyed the way you told the story. I could feel myself there.


  18. Delilah says:

    He’d have been wearing that mint sauce for sure! Good for you for finding someone who appreciates you!


  19. Good things come to those who wait. Or so I’ve been told.


  20. Sandra, I love your story. It encourages me that I deserve better in a relationship/marriage 🙂


  21. Sandra says:

    In the interests of ‘balance’ perhaps I should say that there are always two sides to a story. No doubt he tells people about ‘the neurotic bitch’ he once lived with. (That’s always supposing he talks of me at all.) 🙂
    I hope you get the very best!


  22. dadofthedecade says:

    It’s sad and frustrating how the years are always kinder to the other.

    Well written, very vivid. Thanks for sharing!


  23. Wow! So it is a true story. I wasn’t sure. I’ve been married to a man like that for 36 years now. Why stay? That’s another story.
    Thank you for sharing!


  24. Sandra says:

    Well, all these events didn’t take place on the same night, otherwise I’d have been up for homicide. I just pulled them all together into one episode. And why do women stay … well how long have you got?


I'd love to hear your views; it reassures me I'm not talking to myself.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.