We Can Just Be Friends

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750 Word Project 2023

)

Story Sentence:

After all, it is the twenty-first century, dear.

Author's note:

Another 750 word story not to be taken seriously.

Story:

It was another typical Wednesday night dinner in the Jensen home. Just chili dogs and tater tots for the family that included four teenagers and her husband Tom. Her kids wouldn't have known the difference if she had served Chateaubriand with bearnaise sauce anyway. And Tom? 44-year-old Tom pretty much went along with the program. Marie felt lucky to have him as a husband. He was, well, a little dull, but dependable. And a great father too.

Normally, Marie was relaxed and talkative during the evening meal, but she seemed a little pensive tonight. "Oh, honey I almost forgot. I have a new friend at work, and ahh, we are going out to dinner Friday night."

Tom casually and innocently said, "Oh, that's nice. What's her name?"

Marie stuttered and paused for a split second. She stole a furtive glance at her children who weren't paying attention, as usual, then said, "Rickie."

Tom may have been steady and dull, but he saw and heard the slight hiccup in her delivery. Not to mention her stealthy glances. It was a tell that only a professional poker player, or a long-term married man, could have picked up on, but it was there. And there was no mistaking what it was.

Interesting. She makes sure to mention this innocent outing in front of the kids, then chokes up on the delivery?

Tom just stared at his wife, searching for any other signs. She quickly broke eye contact.

Ok then. Looks like a long night ahead of us.

Marie came to bed naked. A sure sign that she was looking for a long night of loving. Or at least twenty minutes anyway.

"Tell me more about Rickie, Marie." It was a challenge not a question, they both knew it.

"It doesn't mean anything, Tom. It's strictly platonic. After all, it's the 21

st

Century. A woman can have men friends."

"Uh, huh. And how old is Rickie?"

Marie gave a way to effusive description of 'Rickie' to suit Tom. She blathered on incessantly about this modern age, trust, freedom, finding one's inner-self, and other complete piles of bullshit.

"Ok, I think I understand, Marie. But, if it's a completely virtuous need, why does your 'friend' have to be a guy off the cover of GQ?" Marie started sputtering some sort of nonsense about the actualized-self, being separate from the physical being.

"Ok." Tom interrupted. "If having a male perspective is so important, I have a few suggestions for you. How about ME! I'm supposed to be your best friend. I'm the guy that you can share all your hopes, fears, and dreams with!"

"Oh, Tom, you are my soul mate. But how can I bounce ideas off you that are about you?"

Tom thought a psychiatrist would have a field day with that response.

"Ok, Marie. How about the widower Roberts down the street? He's 75. He's charming, witty, very intelligent, and articulate. I'm sure he could help you find yourself?

"Or, how about a gay guy? He will be happy to share feelings, emotions, decorating, and fashion tips. He will probably understand your cosmic self. I think you would have a blast with him."

Marie was slowly shaking her head.

"No? Tell you what, find a married guy with kids about your age to be your friend. Just make certain his wife is good with the 'platonic' relationship."

Tom knew he was talking to a wall. He snatched Marie's phone from the table. A quick search and, presto!

"Hi, Marie. It's good to hear your sexy voice..."

"Sorry, Rickie, this is Tom, your girlfriend's husband."

"Ummm, I-ah, I think you, ah...misunderstand..."

"Yeah, listen I don't have a lot of time, so I thought we might talk a little bit before your date." Marie started to whimper. "I understand you are divorced. Can you tell me what happened?"

"Ahh, that's pretty personal, I think..."

"SO'S WANTING TO FUCK ANOTHER MAN'S WIFE, ASSHOLE!" Marie started screaming obscenities and making thinly veiled references to killing Tom. "But, hey, we're getting off track here. I just wanted you to know, I don't have a problem with it..."

"You're kidding? Listen Mr. Jensen, I certainly don't want to wreck anyone's marriage..."

"Not at all, son. Don't give it a second thought."

"Well, thank you sir. That's most understanding of you..." There was a loud thud when Marie collapsed to the floor unconscious. "What was that noise?"

"Nothing important. Something fell. Goodbye, Rick."

Their divorce was final six months later.