“Calm down.”

Shorts and t-shirts come flying out of bureau drawers like frightened seagulls.

“This is absurd.”

A ten year old National Geographic lands on the floor near your feet with a heavy plop. A pair of brass knuckles gleams at you from a photograph on the page.

“I don’t understand why we can’t have a normal conversation.”

She slams a drawer shut, then reaches for a box on the top shelf.

“Be careful–”

At the emergency room, three stitches later, she speaks.

“I’m going to find proof.”

“A box just fell on your head. Take a break.”

“I know you’re having an affair.”

You take the last sip of coffee. The bottom of the cup looks like the inside of an office microwave.

“Prove it.”

Back at home, the search resumes. The television is tuned to paid programming for some reason. A woman in shorts and a bikini top shows off a treadmill which boasts a spacious tray up front for storage. The workout system is only five easy payments of ninety-nine dollars.

“Turn that off,” she says.

You turn it up louder as she tears off the bedsheets. She holds them up to sunlight pouring through the window and examines the fabric as if she were an antique dealer trying to find value in someone’s garbage.

“We should take a cruise,” she says as she inspects a corner.

You laugh.

“We’ve barely left New Jersey in five years.”

“You keep saying we need to save money. What the hell are we saving for?”

“How should I know? Isn’t that what people do?”

“What people do,” she screams. Strands of auburn bangs are hanging over her eyes. “Is explore the world around them. They look forward to things. They don’t just mope around–”

“Whose moping? I’m not the one on a fruitless search.”

She ignores the question and empties a tissue box. A silver bracelet falls out.

“Happy early birthday,” you sigh.

Her frown remains. She throws the box to the carpet where it bounces a few times.

“Clever. This has been worn. It would be shinier if it was new. I can see smudges.”

“The saleswoman tried it on. She seemed to be about the same size as you. I wanted to see how it would fit.”

“Bullshit.”

“You’re impossible, Claire. Why do I even bother talking to you?”

She shoves past you and enters the kitchen. You watch her from the doorway. She is an avid jogger, still wearing her windpants from this morning. Her hair is wavy and bunched into a ponytail. The silverware drawer slams to a close as she tosses a spoon into a bowl.

“Your bandage–”

She turns on the faucet and lets water drizzle against her hand.

“It’s falling off.”

She turns off the water. The neighbor’s lawnmower outside destroys what would be a short silence.

“Let it.”

You roll your eyes. She shakes her head and looks over at you.

“How hard would it be to compliment me?”

“I compliment you.”

“Yeah?”

“Like all those times I told you what beautiful cheekbones you have. Or how nice your hair looks during a sunset.”

She opens the refrigerator.

“We’re out of milk.”

“I can go get some.”

You grab your keys from the counter.

“You sure?”

You nod.

“You need anything else?”

“Some butter. And maybe an extra bottle of conditioner if its on sale. You know the kind I like.”

She gives you a kiss on the cheek and grabs the remote. The neighbor starts the lawnmower again, and the sun is slowly ascending in the sky.