I've just taken the roasted chicken out of the oven and set it to rest when you come through the door. You're still on the phone, speaking authoritatively about some issue. There's always some escalation. Always some emergency. Almost every day.
You wave me off, barely even acknowledging me as you enter. I'm furious at being dismissed once again. We had agreed to make time for dinner together, if just for tonight. I'd made your favorite meal, chilled a nice bottle of pinot slightly, and held the faintest of hopes that we'd end the night as we used to so often before the promotion.
I make a frantic gesture at you to hang up the call. Once again, you dismiss. I point at the dinner. At the wine, already decanting in eager anticipation of your arrival. You whisper, "5 minutes" before turning from me and walking towards the window. You ask a complicated question to a colleague that surely requires a long explanation. You sit down for the reply, faced away from me. Same old shit. 5 minutes, my ass.
Seething, I finally decide to act. I march over to you, yank the phone from your hand, and hang up the call without any warning. My anger surprises me as much as it does you. After recovering from the surprise, you start to ask me what the fuck I'm doing. I quickly shut you down.
"IT'S A CONFERENCE CALL. THEY CAN HANDLE IT WITHOUT YOU. YOU NEED TO TURN OFF WHEN YOU WALK THROUGH THE DOOR. YOU CAN'T CONTINUE AT THIS PACE EVERY SINGLE DAY."
You offer your rebuttal, "YOU KNEW IT WAS GOING TO BE LIKE THIS. YOU KNOW MY JOB IS STRESSFUL. I GET PAID TO BE AVAILABLE 24/7. I CANT TURN OFF. YOU KNOW THAT. I HAVE TO BE ON ALL THE TIME."
"WELL, I'M GLAD THAT YOU'RE ON BECAUSE NEITHER ONE OF US IS GETTING OFF THESE DAYS!" I shout. "YEAH, I SAID IT. I NEED TO FUCK. I NEED TO FUCK YOU. DO I NEED TO MAKE AN APPOINTMENT WITH YOU SO WE CAN FINALLY HAVE SEX?" I lowered my voice. "Look, just once I'd like you to come home in the mood to fuck my brains out like we used to do. All the time, by the way. Oh, and I made dinner, by the way."
Your eyes are watery. Your body has loosened, your own anger starts to subside. You know I have a point.
I start to calm down too. I feel my pulse go down and I take a few deep breaths. I walk towards the wine and begin to pour us some glasses.
Just as my anger begins to subside, your cell phone rings and I feel myself become enraged all over again. You move towards the phone as I clench my fists in frustration. All I can do is stare at the phone and then at you, giving you my best "don't you even dare" face.
Amazingly enough, you don't hesitate. You still haven't learned your lesson apparently. You pick up the phone and begin talking, walking away and turning your back from me as you do so.
You begin the call in a rush to cut it short, answering with just a short "yes" or "no". As the call continues, however, you quickly revert to your work self, always more eager to please your boss than you are to do the same to me. You settle in for a longer call and sit on the edge of the couch as you launch into a long explanation of how the latest problem needs to be solved.
Meanwhile, I stare in disbelief, slowly working myself into a lather as the call goes on and on. I pace the kitchen looking for something to take my anger out on. I reach for your favorite vase and I'm this close to throwing it at the wall. Something inside myself stops me right before I throw it. I look at you sitting on the side of the couch and suddenly I know how to take out my anger.
I walk over to you and calm make me demand, "Get off the phone." Distracted, you don't hear me the first time.
"I said, get off the phone." I raise my voice just a little to get your attention.
You turn towards me, look me in the eyes, and give me a sincere "I'm getting off" look. I do believe you this time but my patience has worn too thin.
"GET OFF. THE PHONE. NOW." I'm not yelling but I say it loud enough that I'm not sure if the person on the other end could hear me.
Something tells you I'm serious this time. Maybe it is my eerie calmness. Maybe it is the confident tone in my voice. Maybe it is the hard cock brushing up against my pants.