The steady rhythm of the passing redwood trees offers no solace against the sickening tension that now hangs in our car. We only made it about a quarter of a mile from the picnic site, with more park and more city road to navigate before we arrive home. This is not a conversation that can be managed in a moving vehicle. I quickly activate my turn signal and pull into a small parking lot beside an unused gazebo. The privacy here should be adequate. I put the car in park and turn to face Lucy. She hasn’t said anything else. She continues to stare at me, her steady breaths belying her rapidly beating heart and racing mind. I gaze back at her, wearing as neutral of an expression as I can while I gather my own thoughts. Of course, I’m not cheating on her. That’s a ludicrous notion. The problem is… I was hiding something from her. And there won’t be a clean way out of this situation without bringing that fact to light. There may not be any clean way out at all, but my hand is forced. I can’t get defensive, accusatory or try to play this off as a non-issue without everything spiraling out of control. Honesty is the only option now. “Lucy, I am not cheating on you.” She sharply inhales as her eyes widen. Her voice quakes as she speaks. “I smelled it on you. I smelled another woman on you when you came home that night. I thought it must be a mistake, or something else, but I-” I speak authoritatively to cut her off. “Lucy. I am not cheating on you.” She stops and stares at me once more, her wide eyes quivering and her lip trembling as she hears my words. I continue, “... However, I have not been entirely truthful with you. That day, I met with Reed… and Trish. I went to their house over my lunch break. Reed originally invited both of us over Faceboop, but due to your work schedule and your reaction when I tried to bring him up to you, I decided to visit with the two of them alone, in secret. When I was there, Trish poured out her soul to me. She apologized profusely for everything that she did, everything that happened at Volcano High. She broke down crying, and I hugged her as she wept. That’s why I had a female dinosaur’s scent on me, and why I washed my work shirt discreetly. I didn’t want to upset you or set off another panic attack by bringing Trish up before you were ready to talk about it.” Lucy continues scanning me with her eyes, searching for any crack or discrepancy in my story or my expression. I remain vigilant, returning her look with all the intensity and honor I can muster. I am telling the truth; if she believes it to be a lie, this will be a lot more difficult. Finally, after an agonizing period of silence, she averts her gaze slightly. She processes my words carefully. After a moment, she looks at me again. Her voice is less broken than before. “... How did Kevin know about it?” “Same way you did. I still had half a shift to work after lunch; he wandered into our cubicles and started smelling the air like a damned bloodhound. I thought he was just being an asshole as usual, but he picked up on the residual smell of Trish’s tears. It’s part of what set the entire ‘cupcake incident’ into motion, though Bill didn’t know about my meeting with our old friends.” Lucy does not react besides glancing to the side to consider what I’ve said so far. After another moment, she looks at me once more. The accusatory look on her face has been replaced with one of brokenness. Her voice trembles again. “Why didn’t you tell me?” My shoulders involuntarily drop and my head cocks to the side slightly. My gesture wordlessly asks Lucy if I actually need to explain this to her. Her expression does not change; she merely meets my eyes with a look of despair. I exhale slowly through my nostrils before I answer. “Lucy, I had just two nights before then prevented you from preening and held you while you cried on the kitchen floor, and that was all because I brought up Reed. Just Reed. What would it have done to you if I also told you about Trish and the fact that I secretly met up with them?” Her expression instantly shifts to one of accusation. Her answer is immediate; her voice is harsh. “You did tell me about Trish, on the night we were discussing having a child.” I unconsciously rub my temple with my fingers. “I… yes, I did. And… I don’t know. Maybe I should have told you about it then, or sometime over this past week. I just-” Lucy has heard enough. She repositions herself in her seat, looking straight ahead through the windshield. “Lucy, I’m sor-” She abruptly raises her hand with her index finger rigidly extended between us. She doesn’t look at me, but I see the scowl on the side of her face. She’s warning me to not finish that sentence. I don’t. In silence, I continue our journey home. No music from the radio eases the journey, no small talk with the woman I love passes the time. Only the sound of passing cars and a bustling early afternoon city keep us company as we travel the paths back to our house. We arrive home safely. Lucy wordlessly exits the car, not making eye contact with me or speaking to me. I wish so desperately to just tell her I’m sorry, but her expression still keeps me at bay. One wrong word, hell, one word at all and she may go off like a bomb. Once I unlock the front door and we enter the house, she swiftly makes her way to the bedroom and closes the door behind her. With little recourse left to me but to simply wait it out, I take a seat on the couch and mull over my own thoughts. Where did I screw this up so badly? I mean, I know I shouldn’t have been keeping a secret from her, but it was for her own good, wasn’t it? I didn’t want her to hurt herself again or get dissuaded from meeting with Reed and Trish. I only wanted what was best for her. I put my head in the palms of my hands. Of course, this would have had to come up at some point. There’s no way I could have gotten her to meet with Reed and Trish and then expect neither of them to bring up our lunch rendezvous. Better sooner than later, but… damn it, not like this. In the back of my head, I hear the most unwelcomed voice I’ve ever heard in my conscience. “KYA HA HA! You really blew it this time, spear-chucker! ‘Honesty is the best policy’, but not to a skinnie retard like you! KYA HA HA!” Even after literally hospitalizing the motherfucker, Kevin continues to torment me. I silently curse him and push the phantom back to the recesses from which it emerged. Suddenly, a new thought emerges, throwing me into a panic. What if Lucy is packing her bags? What if she’s leaving to go stay with her folks or, worse, considering divorcing me?! My heart pounds so hard it threatens to burst from my chest. I didn’t cheat on her! I only kept a secret from her! She wouldn’t do that to me! She CAN’T do that to me! I grip the sides of the couch cushion as hard as I can, straining my ears to listen for any sounds emanating from the bedroom. Rustling wardrobes, zipping luggage, latching suitcases… any of it, and I’ll kick that door down and throw myself face-down on the floor to beg her forgiveness. Please, Lucy. I can’t hear a goddamn thing over my own heart beating in my ears. I rise from the couch and take a few tentative steps towards the bedroom. I peer around the corner at its door. … I don’t hear anything. No clothes being gathered, no items being broken… nothing. My heart twists in half in my chest as my brain posits a new possibility. What if she’s hurting herself? What if she’s preening again? I can’t do it. I can’t stand by and let this happen. I rapidly move to the bedroom door and bring my hand to the knob. I anticipate it being locked, in which case I’ll very quickly break it from its hinges. However, the apparatus twists with no resistance, granting me access to the room. I slowly open the door. Lucy is laying on the bed. She didn’t change out of her clothes or even remove her shoes; she merely rests on her side on top of the comforter, her left wing draped over top of her. I don’t see any blood or strewn feathers. I only see her form slowly rise and fall with her breath. I stand at the door for a moment, observing but unsure of what to do, when I hear her speak softly. Her voice doesn’t sound angry… only hurt. “I’m not ready to talk yet, Anon. Please leave me be.” My only response is to nod, a fruitless gesture as she doesn’t look in my direction. I grant her wish and close the door. The next several hours are agony. I can’t do anything to keep my mind busy besides pace around in the living room. There’s nothing that needs doing around the home that wouldn’t involve significant racket; pushing the vacuum cleaner around is out of the question, and the kitchen is spotless. I occasionally glance at the small collection of books perched on the bottom of the end table next to the couch, but shake off the thought as soon as it appears, knowing I’d be doing less reading and more staring at black lines on paper as I repeatedly review my mistakes in my head. A handful of times, I entertain the thought of doing something “romantic” to try to mend this bridge. I consider going to Rosa’s flower shop again to buy Lucy more flowers, but that would involve me leaving and I don’t want to be anywhere else when she’s ready to talk. I could grab a notebook and pen and write her a poem, or just a list of all the reasons I love her, but quickly shoot the idea down when I realize I’m nowhere near creative enough with my writing to get anything on paper that wouldn’t be retarded gibberish. I even consider looking around for one of her old guitars in the storage room, but that would involve a cacophony of noise as I rummage around in the mountain of boxes in search of an item that might not even be there. Despite all my thinking, despite how many different scenarios and possibilities I play out in my head, the only solution I arrive upon is to apologize to her. I tried to do it in the car and she wasn’t having it, but I still owe her an apology. What I did was stupid and short-sighted, and she’s understandably angry at me about it. All I can do is apologize and try to make things right. I just have to give her the time she needs. As the sun begins setting, my stomach lets out a small gurgling sound. It’s been several hours since we had lunch, and the combined stress of our battle with Kevin and this afternoon of anxiety has driven up a hunger inside me. I know Lucy must be getting hungry too, if she’s not sleeping. I make my way to the kitchen, hoping that dinner might function as a stop-gap towards the apology I owe her. I rummage about in the fridge and cupboards for something adequate. I don’t want to be too fancy or overreaching, but I also don’t want to give her a bowl of cereal. As I open the freezer, I see the usual bag of dino nuggies, a number scrawled on the front of the packaging. It resides next to several other numbers that have been blacked out with the permanent marker and replaced, with the current non-scratched digits reading “19”. This woman literally counts how many dino nuggies are left in the bag in case I dare to sneak even one away. It’s a strange habit, but it’s another item on the ever-increasing list of reasons I love her. For a moment, I consider making dino nuggies for her, but think better of it so as to not associate her preferred treat with this miserable day. Instead, I withdraw a pair of thawed chicken breasts from the fridge and a package of rice from the cupboard. It’s not much, but it’ll get the job done. As the seasoned chicken breasts near their appropriate internal temperatures, the switch on the rice cooker pops, indicating it has completed its task. I remove the bowl from the cooker and stir the sticky rice to loosen its grip from the alleged “non-stick” sides. As I set the bowl down, I give the chicken one more turn in the pan to evenly brown each side. I’m no master chef, but I can at least handle simple bachelor meals like this. Lucy’s the one that really shines in the kitchen. Stereotype or not, it’s another entry on my list. As I set the two plates at the table, I glance over my shoulder to see if the smell lured Lucy into the open. It did not. I won’t press the issue too hard, but I still feel it wise to at least invite her to dinner. If she doesn’t accept, I can wrap her food up and put it in the fridge for later. I make the trek down the hallway and reach the bedroom door once more. I give a soft knock and speak through the wooden barrier. “I made dinner… if you’re hungry.” No verbal reply is offered, but after a moment I hear rustling on the bed. So as to not crowd her as she exits the bedroom (if she decides to exit the bedroom), I make my way back down the hall and into the dining room. A minute later, Lucy enters and takes a seat across from me. She looks exhausted. Her makeup has been wiped away and her tear ducts are puffy and red. Her eyes are bloodshot and her hair is disheveled. It makes my heart rend in half all over again seeing her look so downcast, but a very brief gesture offers the tiniest glimmer of hope. After staring at the plate of food before her for a few moments, she furtively glances up at me and offers a faint smile. Her eyes are still sullen, but she has at least offered a tiny olive branch. I return her smile with one of my own, reserved and gentle. We eat in silence. We were both hungry, but neither of us wolf the food down with fervor. The meal is deliberate, with both of us being cautious to not scrape our fork too loudly on our plate or rattle the ice in our glass too vigorously upon taking a drink of water. Though we have peace, it may still be tenuous. As we finish our meal, Lucy rises from her spot and clears the dishes from the table. She brings them to the sink and begins rinsing them and loading them into the dishwasher. Even if she’s still upset at me, at least she’s keeping our standing deal of cooking and washing duties. As she does this, I take the opportunity to enter the newly vacated bedroom. I turn the light on and glance around, ensuring that everything is as it should be. Besides a Lucy-shaped imprint in the top of the comforter and a wad of tissues in the garbage can next to the bed, nothing is out of place. I open the closet and withdraw a spare blanket and pillow. This’ll be my first time having to sleep on the couch since we’ve been married. As I carry the items back to the living room and set them on the side of the couch, I hear the dishwasher close. There weren’t enough dirty dishes yet to warrant running it, so it isn’t powered on. I expect Lucy to make her way back to the bedroom… but she doesn’t. She stops at the threshold of the living room and looks at me. I glance up at her and my breath catches in my throat for a moment, unsure as to what’s about to happen. She slowly makes her way across the living room and takes a seat on the couch, leaving a few feet of space between us. She stares at the carpet for several moments as she gathers her thoughts. I patiently wait. Once she has adequately prepared herself mentally, she takes in a deep breath and turns to me. “I’m ready now.” I unconsciously cock my head. I don’t know exactly what those words mean here. She’s ready to talk? If so, where do I even start? She clarifies. “I’m ready to hear what you wanted to say in the car.” Realization sets in. “I’m sorry, Lucy. I’m so sorry for putting you through this.” Tears begin welling in her swollen eyes again, but she inches closer to me on the couch. I continue, “I shouldn’t have kept this from you. I don’t want to keep secrets from you. It was stupid and unnecessary, and I should have told you sooner. I’m sorry.” Her lip quivers as she looks at me with pleading eyes. She inches closer still. “I never meant to hurt you. I wanted to keep you safe from that pain, but it was selfish of me to go behind your back, despite my intentions. I want you to be a part of my life and everything I do in this life. I love you.” The floodgates open. She chokes out a sob as she throws herself at me, wrapping her arms around my midsection. I instantly return the embrace, cradling her in my arms as she weeps into my shirt. It feels strangely reminiscent of the event that incited this entire argument, except the woman who cries in my arms now speaks words I wish to hear from no other woman. “I love you. I love you.” Tears begin forming in my own eyes as I gently rub her back, encouraging her to let out all the hurt she has bottled up inside. After a few minutes, her sobs become more spaced out and her sniffles less severe. Once she has regained enough composure to do so, she looks up at me. Her eyes are more bloodshot than ever and they no longer emanate anger or sadness. The emotion they radiate is… something I haven’t seen before. A mix of love and something else I can’t identify. As she wipes her cheeks with her forearms, she sits back up and gazes at me. She almost looks apologetic, though she has nothing for which to apologize. I take her hand in my own and stroke the top of it with my other hand, reassuring her that I’m not upset. At this, she smiles at me. It’s been too long since I’ve seen her smile, and it’s only been half a day. I want to protect that smile. I want to cherish it and hold it close. After a moment, Lucy leans over and looks past me at the folded blanket and pillow on the other side of the couch. She cocks her eyebrow at me, to which I reply by awkwardly scratching the back of my neck. “Erm… well, I didn’t know if… I thought I might be sleeping out here tonight.” She scoots closer to me and leans her head against my shoulder. “Anon, I’ll never make you sleep on the couch. My parents taught me that a married couple should never go to bed angry. They never did.” I smile as I gently rub her back. I’ve seen Ripley and Samantha have disagreements from time to time, but I’ve never heard of Ripley having to sleep on the couch. They love one another and their children fiercely. They are the parents I always wished I had. The thought of them reminds me that tomorrow is Sunday. I’m not exactly clamoring to attend again, but it might be a good opportunity to offer some good will. “Lucy… would you mind if I went to church with you tomorrow?” She perks up and looks at me, a slight smile working across her face. “That would make me happy.” I glance down. “I’m still gonna make people cry with how tone-deaf my singing is.” She lets out a miniscule giggle. “It’s the thought that counts.” Thoroughly exhausted from the events of the day, Lucy and I mutually decide to go to bed a bit early tonight. There is no love-making to be had; not only are we both physically and emotionally drained from the tribulations of the day, Lucy also seems to keep a slight distance from me. She’s not giving me the cold shoulder as she was before, but she’s obviously still not in a great mood. The warm embrace of slumber is the only embrace I feel tonight. We had a nasty argument, our first one as a married couple, but at least we got through it. … So why do I still feel this pit in my stomach? — Getting ready for church the next morning is a stale affair. It holds none of the usual playful banter and romantic teasing that most of our mornings together do. I chalk this up to feelings still being hurt and emotions still being mended. I do take the opportunity to tell Lucy she looks beautiful this morning as we prepare to leave our house. A long night’s sleep did her a lot of good; gone are the bags under her eyes, replaced with a conservative application of eyeliner and mascara. The pointed, vertical markings that descend from her eyes give her face a natural beauty to it even without the use of makeup. She still enjoys wearing it, though not in the same quantities as she did back in high school. I’d remark about her beauty even if she never wore any. In response to my compliment, she blushes slightly and gives me a small smile. I desperately want things to go back to the way they were before, but I know it’ll take a little more time. Numerous handshakes and greetings are bestowed upon me at the entrance of the church and as we make our way to the pews. Ripley and Samantha are delighted to see me return, enveloping me in their usual parental welcome. Worship goes as poorly as it did last time, complete with my tone-deaf caterwauling being blessedly drowned out by Lucy’s heavenly voice. The sermon itself is fine. Nothing stands out to me in particular. I thumb through the leaflet, being met with several verses that pertain to the pastor’s words. I’m sure they have some deeper significance to those who look hard enough, but all I can focus on at the moment is how cold my hand feels not being held by the woman I love. I glance at her a few times over the course of the half hour sermon; she keeps her eyes forward. After the service, I stand off to the side of the lobby as Lucy is once again bombarded by her preschoolers. She showers them with smiles and adulations as before, expressing how impressed she is with the macaroni art they crafted today. I watch her from a good fifty feet away when a familiar fatherly voice catches me off guard. “In the dog house, huh?” I turn to Ripley who gives me a toothy grin through the side of his mouth. Part of me doesn’t want to discuss this with him right now… but then again, wasn’t that part of the reason I asked to come to church today? I sigh. “Is it that obvious?” He claps a hand on my shoulder as we both look towards Lucy. She’s busy entertaining the kids, unaware of our discussion. “Son, remember that I’ve been married to Lucy’s mother for 22 years. Those two aren’t that different, when it comes down to it. I can tell when they’re upset.” He peers down at me. “Is it related to what we talked about last week?” “Yep. Remember that thing I told you about that I wasn’t telling her about?” He closes his eyes and nods knowingly. “No use trying to keep a secret from one of those two, son. I think they might actually have psychic powers…” I knew it! He continues. “I bought a new bowling ball once. Didn’t talk to Sam about it before dropping the two hundred smackers for my new toy. I figured, hey, we’re doing fine financially, and I haven’t bought anything for myself for a while.” He shivers. “Big mistake. She tore me a new one when she found it in the closet. Of course, I admitted I shouldn’t have kept it from her, but I didn’t get what the big deal was? It was just a bowling ball.” Ripley pauses for a moment as several of the children perform a small song and dance routine for Lucy. Their voices are mismatched and chaotic, but through the poorly organized performance I can pick out the words to that corny song, “Raptor Jesus Loves the Little Children”. Of course, Lucy is delighted by the display, clapping and singing along with them to keep them on rhythm. As they finish their song with laughs and cheers, Ripley resumes his story. “Sam later explained to me that she wasn’t upset about the bowling ball, or the money. She was upset that I didn’t trust her enough to let her know about it first.” He scratches the side of his head. “Made me feel like a dumbass, for sure. Got in a big fight over something I could have just as easily told her about, but decided not to for my own selfish reasons.” He looks over to me with a compassionate smile. “You had your reasons for keeping that secret, and I don’t think your reasons were ill-founded. That said, it’s a lot easier to keep no secrets at all. Especially around women like ours.” I nod in acknowledgement of his wisdom as the last of the children disperse from around Lucy and she makes her way over to us. Ripley invites the two of us over for lunch, but Lucy declines the offer. He fakes a pout and bids us farewell, turning back towards the interior of the church to hunt for his gossiping wife. The journey home is not unpleasant. Lucy makes some small talk, asking how I enjoyed the service. I answer truthfully, telling her I thought it was fine but that the verses referenced didn’t make much sense to me. She explains that some of the selections help to reinforce the sermon, but can be explored further by reading the surrounding scriptures. I nod, remembering having seen a Bible in our small selection of books in the living room. Might be worth thumbing through. The next hour is par for the course with the current mood. Lunch is tasty but unexciting. Our usual joking and laughter is absent. It’s starting to grate on me how uncomfortable this all is. I understand that I need to give her time, but I want things to go back to normal. Around one o’clock, I’m stationed on the couch paging through our Bible, looking up a few of the verses from the pamphlet I kept from this morning’s service. None of the text surrounding the passages in question is helping to clarify anything. Everything is “love your neighbor” this and “trust in the Lord” that. Where’s the part about how to get your wife to stop being upset with you? As I flip back to the first few pages of the scripture to yet again use its table of contents to find the page that another one of these books starts on, I feel a vibration in my pocket. I set the tome down on the coffee table and withdraw my mobile device. A familiar green light pulsates, and when I unlock the screen I see a notification: a small letter “F” inside of a bubble. Reed S. [ 1:04 PM ] [ heya anon hows it goin ] While I wasn’t expecting to hear from him, I guess it has been over a week since we last chatted. [ Afternoon, Reed. Things are… going. ] [ right on ] [ … ] [ u get a chance 2 check w fang yet about meeting me n trish? ] I sigh. I could give him all the gory details, or I could keep it simple. It’d still be truthful. [ Yep.] [ … ] [ awesome! you 2 wanna come over 2moro for dinner? ] Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so curt. It seems he misunderstood me. I lift my thumbs to type out a lengthy response when I’m interrupted. “Who’s that?” I flinch and look up from my phone. I didn’t hear Lucy come into the living room. Shit. Just what I need, another reason for her to be upset at me. But… why would she be upset? She knows I’ve been talking to Reed as well as Trish at this point. Why wouldn’t I just be honest with her about this? What am I going to do, lie that I’m texting my boss on a Sunday? Not like I have any other friends with whom I’d be chatting. I take a deep breath, preparing for the worst. “... I got a message from Reed.” Lucy doesn’t seem to react. She simply looks from me down to the phone, a neutral expression on her face. “How is he?” I’m a little surprised. I wasn’t expecting her to just jump in and engage like this. I blink a few times, then respond. “Uhh… I think he’s doing well, hasn’t said a whole lot yet, though. He only messaged me a minute ago.” She sits at the loveseat kitty-corner to the couch. “Did he just message to say ‘hi’?” I glance down at the phone, seeing his last message. Even if I tried to lie about this, which I don’t want to, she could very easily snatch the phone from my hand and read the message herself. We’ve only got one way to go here. “... He asked if you and I would want to come over for dinner tomorrow with him and Trish.” Lucy barely reacts. She shifts her eyes from me to the phone, then to the floor as she contemplates. She wears an expression I can’t qualify. I only notice her eye twitch slightly, perhaps an indication that she’s fighting back her urge to preen. I tense up, ready to bound forward to stop her from doing so if necessary. Thankfully, she doesn’t reach for her feathers. She only thinks. After a moment, I relax myself a little and speak up. “I’ll let him know we’re not-” “I’ll do it.” … The air hangs dead between us. I’ve been blind-sided by statements in the past, but this is a whole new level of shock. I can hardly even think straight, let alone formulate words. Is she… serious? She’s ready to meet them? After everything… … Is that it? Is that why she’s been so weird the past day? Aside from our fight, which I thought she accepted my apology for, has it been this elephant in the room that’s been distracting her and keeping her thoughts so preoccupied? I finally respond. “Are you sure?” She doesn’t instantly answer, but eventually she nods to me. Now that the moment’s finally here, I almost don’t know what to do next. I realize I should probably respond to Reed with the good news, but I don’t excitedly move my fingers across the screen quite yet. Instead, I keep watching Lucy. She has a stern look of determination on her face. Her eyes don’t waver, her breath doesn’t become more rapid, her wings don’t twitch. She merely awaits my affirmation of her decision. Okay then. I give her a smile and a nod, and turn my attention back to the phone. [ As a matter of fact, yes. We’ll be there. What time? ] [ … ] [ awesome bro! 6pm good? ] [ Sounds good. ] [ cu then ill let trish kno right away! ] I set the phone down and look back up at Lucy. She awaits my words. “It’s official, then. 6pm tomorrow.” — Monday is an absolute slog. True to my word, I came into work. While it would have been nice to have some time off, a day at home doing nothing would have literally driven me insane. On top of that, Lucy didn’t take any time off from her preschool teaching, so I felt like it would have been stupid if I stayed home. Despite being mindless work, at least the spreadsheets keep me busy. Unfortunately, I’m granted very little time to actually process them as coworker after coworker stops by our cubicle, both inquiring as to what happened on Saturday between Kevin and I, and congratulating me for sticking it to him and getting his ass fired. After I recount the event a few times, my summary of things being no more in-depth than “He was harassing my wife and got shown the ground for it,” Bill becomes my bard, eloquently and thoroughly recounting the tale of how the brave Sir Anon defended his fair maiden from the wrath of the evil Prince Kevin of Fuckingham. I let him take the mantle of storyteller from me, not being interested in the office’s adulation of my actions. The way I see it, I put a piece of shit in his place, and that was that. In the few brief moments throughout the day when the cubicle isn’t filled with Bill’s voice, my mind launches back to the most pressing item of the day. I’m still shocked that Lucy actually said yes to going, feeling a small flutter in my chest when I think that she may finally be over her self-doubt and pain, ready to reconnect at last. Of course, this isn’t a sure bet. So many things might go wrong: she could get cold feet and decide to cancel, or maybe her and Trish won’t be able to reconcile their differences and I’ll have to take her home in tears. I wish she talked to me more about it last night, but she kept to herself. When I tried to prod the conversation in the direction of our meet-up, I’d only get one word answers. For all I could tell, she was still on board, but I’ve got no clue what’s going on in her head as we move closer and closer to the tolling bell. The end of the day finally arrives. I grab my things and scoot out the door a few minutes early; building up a good work rapport and showing up on time every day affords the occasional extended break or early clock-out. I arrive home at 5pm on the nose, plenty of time to make sure both Lucy and I are ready and can arrive at Reed and Trish’s house by 6. Even when I get back from work a few minutes early, Lucy has beaten me home by a margin. I find her seated in the living room as I enter the house; she stares ahead at nothing in particular. She’s deep in thought, or perhaps mentally jazzing herself up for the evening ahead. I speak to her as I close the door. “Hey, honey. All set for tonight?” She looks up at me and offers a weak smile. “Yeah.” I glance at her attire. She’s wearing her same outfit from school, a green dress adorned with prints of small frogs on lily pads, a personal favorite of the children. It requires frequent cleaning, often being smeared with various craft supplies, food items and the odd booger or two. Despite its many trips into the washing machine, it still looks very nice. And today, it appears to be devoid of any preschooler gifts. “Is that what you’re going to wear?” Her eyebrows flick up as she looks down at her dress. “Oh, no. I’ll change into something a little more appropriate.” I smile as I take off my tie. “Well, this is Reed and Trish we’re talking about. I don’t think your best dress will be necessary. Also, keep in mind they’ve got a rugrat of their own that might launch a spoonful of food at you.” She nods. “I’ll pick out something nice, but not too nice.” I head into the bathroom and freshen up. I shower every morning, and as my desk job isn’t exactly physically taxing I’ve got no reason to do a full clean. All the same, I touch myself up with a little more aftershave and a quick dab of deodorant under each arm. I place the toiletries back into the left side of the medicine cabinet, close its door and head over to my wardrobe. My work shirt is fine, but it’s also pretty boring. Plain white, pressed and dull. I sift through the options and settle on a nostalgic color: a green button-up that’s a very similar shade to that of my prized jacket back in high school. I smile as I tug the item off its hangar and switch into it. Before I leave the room, I glance at the ties dangling from the door of the wardrobe. I’m not sure if tonight is a “tie” kind of night; after mulling it over for a few moments, I decide against it and close the wooden doors. Lucy slides past me as I exit the bedroom. We don’t exactly have to wait our turns, but sometimes it’s nice to have the room to ourselves when changing and prepping for a night like tonight. Feeling adequately dressed and gussied up for the big event, I take a seat on the couch and glance at my watch. 5:21 PM. Plenty of time. My office is about twenty minutes away, and their house was only another five minutes from there, so as long as we leave no later than 5:35 we’ll be fine. I like being punctual. I rap my fingers on the back of the couch and tap my foot to the beat of a song I can’t recall the name of. It was catchy, whatever it was. I run through my mental checklist once more of what I plan to do for each of the numerous contingencies I considered for tonight’s events. I certainly hope for the best, but it’s never a bad idea to plan for the worst. I highly doubt I’ll have to pull Lucy off of Trish as she throws fists and screams obscenities, but all the same I’d prefer to not be caught by surprise by anything tonight. I glance at my watch again. 5:31 PM. We still have a few minutes. Though, honestly, there’s no big rush. If we had invited the two of them over for dinner, I wouldn’t be surprised if they showed up a half hour late, with Reed giving some lame excuse. “Sorry, bro. We were on the way here but I saw this, like, super important tree and I knew I had to gaze at its majesty or else I’d never get a chance to do so again! The universe speaks to us that way sometimes!” Well, no reason to throw imagination-Reed under the bus for an offense he hasn’t yet committed. My eye twitches and I glance down at my shirt. Suddenly, I feel naked.. I knew I should have put on that black tie, it’ll look classy as hell and I’ll feel more comfortable. I can use the opportunity to check on Lucy’s progress as well. I rise from the couch and make my way into the bedroom. I glance around as I enter. Lucy’s in the bathroom. The door is ajar and she stands at the sink. Must be taking care of something last minute. I head to my wardrobe and pull the black tie I want to wear from its hook. I throw the length of cloth over my shoulders as I lift my collar. As I pull the tie into position and place one end of the black fabric over the other, I glance through the ajar bathroom door again. The left side of the medicine cabinet hangs open. I absent-mindedly sniff as I continue tying the tie, looping one end of the object behind itself and tucking it through the small opening. I didn’t know how to operate one of these things back in high school. Funny enough, it was Lucy who taught me how to tie one. “You serious, dweeb? You don’t know how to tie a tie? Geez, I’m a girl and I’m gonna have to teach you? I smile as I remember her words. Yeah, it was a bit embarrassing, but it meant I got to be closer to her, feeling her breath and smelling her perfume as she reached around my neck to demonstrate the technique. I had to be shown several times, because for some reason I just couldn’t remember the instructions. Funny how that works. I take another look into the bathroom. I see a green dress adorned with frogs perched on lily pads, still affixed to the woman standing at the sink. I scrunch my face in confusion. Didn’t she say she was going to change out of that? I glance at my watch. 5:36 PM. If we don’t leave soon, we’ll actually be pretty late. I step over to the bathroom and push the door open. “Lucy, we need to get going soon. Were you still going to change?” She doesn’t respond. Her hands are braced on either side of the sink, seeming to hold a significant portion of her weight. She’s looking down towards the drain, her hair obscuring her face. “... Lucy? You okay?” She tries to turn my direction, but the movement causes her hands to slip. In an instant, she crashes onto the tile floor. Her arms slam into the countertop as she falls and she lets out a pained gasp. “LUCY!” I dash forward and grab her, hoisting her up to face me. Her eyes are open, but she isn’t looking at me. They dart around frenetically, viewing incorporeal images beyond my form. What the fuck is happening?! “Lucy! Lucy! Talk to me!” “An… Anon… help…” She paws at me with her hands, unable to grasp any part of me. Her fingers do not cooperate with the commands her brain sends to them. I desperately scan the room, trying to identify what could have- A small brownish bottle lies on the counter next to the sink. It has been knocked on its side, the remaining contents spilled out on the countertop. Oh my God. Oh no. God, please, no. I grab the now empty bottle from its resting position and frantically read the label: Anon Y. Mous Trimipramine Tricyclic Antidepressant 100mg Take one tablet daily as needed. What else, what else, what- In fine print so diminutive I have to squint to read it, the bottom of the label reads: Warning: Not for dinosaur or pterosaur use. If ingested, contact emergency services immediately. No, no, no, please, no. I drop the bottle on the ground and scramble for my cell phone. I know the digits, but my trembling thumb struggles to punch them in. God damnit, Anon, you need to focus right now. The line rings twice before a voice answers on the other side of the device. “9-1-1, what is your emergency?” “It’s my wife! She’s… she’s taken medicine she shouldn’t have! I think she’s overdosing or poisoned!” “Okay, sir. Is your wife human, cro mag-” I cut her off. “Pterosaur, she’s a pterodactyl!” I hear a keyboard clicking. “It looks like you’re calling from 1405 West 86th Street. Is that cor-” “Yes! Yes! Please send someone!” “Alright, sir. I’ve contacted emergency services, they’re sending an ambulance right now. Stay on the line with me, okay?” Lucy’s movements are slowing. She continues trying to operate her limbs, but nothing behaves the way she wants it to. Her wings extend and retract in a horrible desynchronous rhythm, bending against the bathroom wall and sink cupboard. Her legs kick and strain as she attempts to escape the living nightmare she’s trapped in. I use my free arm to pull her closer to myself to try to comfort her. “Oh, God. Please, Lucy!” The voice on the other end of the line continues. “Sir, what did your wife ingest?” I desperately scan the floor for where I discarded the empty bottle. It rolled under the lip of the cupboard beneath the sink. I pin the cell phone between my ear and my shoulder as I snatch the bottle and quickly read off its label. “Trimipramine, it’s an antidepressant. 100 milligrams. I don’t-” I cut myself off as I turn my attention back to the sink counter. Hoisting Lucy up slightly, I adjust my body so that I can examine the strewn pills. Based on their position, I don’t think any went down the sink. I look up at the medicine cabinet; the other four bottles remain where they were, unopened. I had only taken two doses from this particular bottle, and there are fourteen pills per bottle. I quickly count the remaining tablets. … Eight. There’s eight left, which means… “I think she took four. Oh, God.” More clicking of the operator’s keyboard. “And how long ago did she ingest them?” I throw the bottle down again and jerk my wristwatch towards my face. 5:39 PM. “I don’t- I think it was twenty minutes ago. Less than twenty minutes ago!” “Okay, sir. I’ll need to ask you to try to get her to purge. Can you do that?” Lucy’s lips move as she attempts to articulate words, but all she manages are throaty gurgles. A thin stream of foam begins oozing from the side of her mouth. I toss the phone aside and grab the top and bottom of Lucy’s snout, one in each hand. I pry it open with some difficulty; she involuntarily tries to clench her teeth amidst her manic convulsions. Once I have her mouth open wide enough to fit my hand, I force it into the back of her throat and grab at whatever I can take hold of to trigger her vomit reflex. In an instant, a stream of liquid and stomach acid comes forth. I quickly twist her body to allow her to puke as much as her body will allow her to, holding her waist so she doesn’t lie face-down in the vomit accumulating on the bathroom floor. Amidst the fluid, I hear the faint clicking of a few hard objects. Looking past her wings, I count two- no, three half-digested white pills. After several heaves, her body goes limp. I can’t tell if she’s lost consciousness or… God, please. No. I spin her around to face me. Her eyes are glazed over, no longer attempting to focus on anything at all. A dribble of vomit seeps from her partially open jaw. “Lucy! Lucy, wake up! Stay with me, Lucy!” I hear the tinny voice of the operator emanating from my phone which lies on the floor behind me. I can’t understand her words. I pull Lucy’s body into an embrace that she does not return. “LUCY! GOD, NO! PLEASE! LUCY!” The distant sound of a siren makes itself known, piercing the peaceful silence of the evening neighborhood air. Her shallow, pained breaths become quieter and quieter. Her tensed muscles begin to relax. Her heartbeat slows. GOD! PLEASE! PLEASE, DON’T! LUCY!