Refrigerator

The moment the door closed, I stopped thinking about her. 

I got a Stouffer's out of the freezer, put it in the microwave, and turned on the game.  She would have called me a fat tub of lard, told me to eat a Lean Cuisine and go to the gym.  But she didn’t matter anymore, so I had the mac and cheese and settled for watching other people exercise. 

Once I was in bed, though, I started to think about her again: the feeling of my arms wrapped around her body, her warmth against my cold skin in the night.  I finally got to sleep around 1am, and then woke up again at 5, still hungry.  I rolled over and over, marveling at how much room there was in the queen-size bed without her next to me. 

It was a week ago she told me she was leaving.  For a couple of days, she didn't say anything else about it; but then she began to pack her things into cardboard boxes.  It took me a couple of days too, but then I decided.  I told her Let's have dinner, and she said Okay.  I made broccoli casserole like my mom used to make, and she said I hate broccoli, and I said I know.  And I thought I would do it then, but instead we sat down and ate; and she finished her plate, even though she knew I knew she didn't like it.

Finally, at 6, I got up for a snack.  I wandered into the kitchen, letting my feet hit the ground hard, since there was no one to wake up.  And then I opened the door and there she was, the light shining on her hair, and her feet, and her hands with fingernails painted blood red.