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The Couple by Lelia Thomas

Ever notice how much easier life would be if you just said what you really felt?

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Truly, it was oatmeal and toast hell.

Harold and Agnes sat at the kitchen table, quiet and reserved as always. Before Harold was his bowl of oatmeal, with the obligatory chunk of butter melting to one side, and before Agnes was her toast and jelly. Harold loved toast himself, but he’d be damned if Agnes ever offered him any. He hated her jelly, though–that nasty strawberry flavor with its tiny little seeds that got caught in his teeth. Hated it. Absolutely hated it.

He stared down at his oatmeal in silence.

Agnes happened to look at him then. Her eyes were bleary from sleep or, rather, lack thereof. Harold always turned in the night, pulling away her covers at first and then rolling straight on top of her. For the first ten years of their marriage, she had considered it cute and slightly frisky. Now, it was just damn annoying. Pig.

And look at his unshaven face. Couldn’t he try at least a little harder? She hadn’t seen a smooth chin from him in years. As for a scented candle? Hell no. A warm bath? A backrub? Only if cutting on the hot tap and scratching her own back could be considered as much.

Harold put down his spoon and looked up. She still looked good after forty years of marriage, or so he thought. But when had he last seen more skin than her ankles? Only on anniversaries. Even that was more of an obligation to her, it seemed. It was one of those: All right, I’m naked. Do it. Get it over and done with. I’ll close my eyes, thank you. things. Oh, and of course, Don’t touch me there, Harold. “What are you looking at, Agnes?” he asked with a sigh.

“Oh, nothing.” She bit into her toast and nasty jelly. “What are you thinking?”

That it’ll fall off if it doesn’t get used. “Big day today.” Not really.

“Oh?” If only he’d wine and dine her a bit, they’d be on the table. Screw breakfast. She needed emotional feedback. Hell, any feedback would be nice.

“Yeah. Gotta mow the lawn.” Mow the lawn? Mow the lawn? What the hell was wrong with him.

“I see,” said Agnes. Mow the lawn? He did that yesterday.

Harold thought for a moment. “You know, we should do something. Take a trip or something.” Maybe it was the atmosphere. Maybe she’d wear that little gown again. The one with the lace and the tie in back. Yeah, that was nice.

“That sounds like a plan.” Hawaii, Hawaii, Hawaii.

“We could go up to the old cabin. You know, for some hunting and fishing.” And then sex. In the woods. And skinny dipping. Lots of it.

Hunting and fishing? So much for romantic. “I don’t think so.” Damn.

“Oh.” Damn.

Agnes rose from the table with her empty coffee cup, dragging her feet as she headed for the coffee pot.

“Would you mind getting me a cup?” asked Harold.

Agnes looked back with a deep frown. “Get it yourself, you old fart.”

Harold frowned as well. Cold fish. “Fine.” He didn’t need a sex life anyway.