The Purchase

Prompt 2: Two people are having an argument over an item bought yet unnecessary. Dialog/conversation- action/reaction- visible character emotions- show don’t tell story

I watched an unfamiliar vehicle pull into the driveway from my vantage point at the kitchen table and rolled my eyes in annoyance, wondering who was going to be knocking on the door and making my husband park on the street. How rude! I mean the nerve of some people. It’s bad enough they constantly use my driveway as a designated turn around, or block the entrance for no apparent reason while taking a call. I sighed and took another sip of my now cold coffee, wondering what could be taking Robert so long from running a simple errand. Men. As I headed into the kitchen to dump the remnants of coffee down the drain and get a fresh cup, I heard the familiar sound of the key in the front door.

“Sweetie,” Robert called, “I’m home.”

After pouring a steaming cup for myself, I reached into the cupboard and happily grabbed a second cup for him. “Sorry you had to park on the street. Some idiot decided to use our driveway again.”

I heard that light chuckle as I moved from the kitchen counter with both cups in hand. The second I laid eyes on him my heart plummeted, making my chest ache. I knew that look, those mischievous brown eyes glinting with excitement, that no good, halfhearted smile and the way he moved his head side to side doing his best to avoid making eye contact with me.

“What did you do now?” I questioned, bypassing him and setting my mug down. That audible intake of breath is what did it. That sound that grated on my nerves and told me that he was now running elaborate stories through his mind trying to decide which version I should get. In an instant my blood boiled, the torridness of anger that shot through me like a thunderbolt and had me setting his cup down on the table harshly.

That gleaming new car in my driveway caught my attention again, and I spun around glaring at him. “For God’s sakes tell me you didn’t buy that car!”

Again with that slight laugh. Involuntarily my hands went to my hips and planted themselves there, my fingers digging into my skin to suppress the rage, while my ever loving husband moved forward with a proud smile now on his face and set the new keys on the table.

“You spilled the coffee,” he said, as if that were the topic up for discussion. Nice aversion tactic, not that it was going to distract me one bit.

“I did,” I muttered, annoyance thick in my voice dropping it a few octaves lower.

He looked at me, and I swear he winced, which brought me a tiny amount of satisfaction. I knew he hated that tone I used, but the man drove me to it.

“Are we not financially strapped? Aren’t property taxes due next month?” I inquired, recent arguments filtering through my anger of how I had to wait to buy things we needed, yet here he was, making this huge purchase without even discussing it with me.

“I got a great deal,” he began, picking up my cup of coffee and taking a drink. “Besides, aren’t you the one who said yours needs work? For months you’ve done nothing but complain about the engine running rough and the exhaust leak getting louder. The tire light, check engine light and oil light keep coming on.”

He had me there, I definitely had been complaining about my vehicle, but I loved my car. “All of those things can be fixed.”

“It’s eleven years old,” he stated sweetly, one hand resting on my forearm in a smooth gesture to calm me down.

“So? You know how much I love my car.” It was then that the realization hit me. He left in my car, had returned in that thing in my driveway. Fire swept through my body, the outrage making every joint in my body stiff and pulse. “Where is it?” I demanded.

“Now sugar,” he began, emphasis on dragging out suh gar, even knowing how much I despised him calling me that. Every time he used that word in that way it was like chalk screeching down the chalkboard, but this ripped right down my spine. “Don’t get all upset.”

“Upset?” I scoffed. “You think I’m upset? Try again.”

As if on cue, his cellphone went off. He of course answered it, which infuriated me even more. His lighthearted conversation with one of the guys began and I was brushed aside again, having to wait. I hated waiting. Hated his friends. Oh hell, at that moment I hated him too. He sat down at the table, happy, smiling, joking around and drinking MY coffee, while I stood waiting feeling like a fool.

He took one of those sips, you know the noisy kind that pierces your ears and grates on your nerves. The kind of slopping that makes you want to cover your ears and scream at the top of your lungs, shaking your head to make it stop. I took two steps forward, grabbed my coffee cup, marched into the kitchen and dumped it down the drain.

“I was enjoying that,” he whispered upon my return, his hand over the mouthpiece of his cellphone.

I couldn’t even look at him and did the only thing I could. I snatched his cup of coffee from the table as he reached for it, marched back into the kitchen and dumped that one out too. That ought to give him a clue about how pissed he’d made me today, but did it? Nope. He went right on merrily with his conversation, his voice never sounding the least bit agitated. I knew then that one of two things were about to happen. One, he would get off that phone and do his best to persuade me that he did a wonderful thing. Or two, that his anger was bubbling just below the surface and the second he hung up that phone it would be a battle between us.

I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to figure out which way this was going to go so I could prepare myself, but he refused to even glance in my direction. A few minutes later he finally hung up the phone and tossed it on the table. Instantly his demeanor changed, his eyes no longer dancing, but pinning me in place with red hot daggers. I knew what was coming my way. He was going to turn his impulse buy, his decision to add to our bills and lay it right at my feet. I hated when he did that, hated when he blamed me for things because he had no control.

“Why do you have to make me feel like shit for doing something nice for you?” he questioned, his voice filled with bitterness.

An urge to scream raced up my throat, yet I controlled it. “Why do you make big decisions by yourself that affect me?” This common practice never sat well with me. “You’re not single anymore,” I spat, patting myself on the back for that dig, knowing it would hurt.

He stood from the chair and headed into the kitchen with me right on his heels. “You needed a new car. You have a new car.”

“I didn’t need one. I needed you to fix mine that’s all.”

He kept his back to me, grabbing a mug and pouring a fresh cup of coffee, making it impossible for me to see those wheels turning in his head.

“Consider it fixed,” he mumbled.

My brow raised, not understanding what exactly that meant. “Where is my car?” I asked again.

“In the driveway,” came the reply, as if it were so bloody obvious.

This was getting us nowhere. Spinning on my heel I headed back to the table, picked up those new keys and spun back around. Our eyes met, neither of us saying a word, our rapid breathing filling the silence. After what felt like forever, I raised the keys in the air. “Take it back. I don’t want it.”

His eyes drew together into little black slits as he glared at me again, the heat from that stare making sweat.

“I can’t, it’s a done deal.”

I closed my eyes, not believing this, not wanting to hear it. “Sell it, I want mine back I opened my eyes, doing my damnedest to look at him just as intensely. “Today!”

He groaned. “You’re being ridiculous. Why can’t you ever just be happy when I buy you something? You always have to complain. Nothing is ever good enough. Every I do is wrong as far as you’re concerned.” Without even letting me say a word, he stormed out of the room leaving me there in silence.

I swallowed hard, moving to the chair to sit down as the shock of his statement set in. Was I really ungrateful? I never saw myself that way, but now he had me wondering. And once again I was the one to blame for not being happy about having a new car because it’s what he wanted. I buried my face in my hands and cried, exhaustion setting in, knowing that no matter what I said or did now, it wouldn’t matter.

WC: 1552