“I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which you were probably saving for breakfast. Forgive me they were delicious so sweet and so cold.”

Slowly he made his way from the top of the staircase. When he finally reached the kitchen, William turned away disinterestedly. Without looking at her in the eye, he wandered over to pour himself a cup of coffee and sat at the table.

“Did you hear what I said?” She asked mildly.

“Yes. You ate the plums. What else do you want?”

The young woman walked to the opposite side of the table and yanked the chair out and plopped down nosily. Resting her cheeks against her hands, she stared at William. She twirled a lock of hair furiously around her fingers and tried to whistle. Which, of course, she did very poorly indeed.

“Can I not just drink my coffee in peace?” he muttered through clenched teeth. William turned to his side to look out the window.

The girl silenced and pursed her lips. The tip of his nose had reddened in annoyance. Watching his profile in the morning light reminded her of the pictures that his mother had shown of William as a toddler. She had immediately hated that adorable self-smug boy, yet his unbearable mother had continued to coo over her son. The grown son enjoyed any attention from his mother immensely.

She cleared her breath extensively.

“I can go buy some more this afternoon if you would like,” she offered. “They will be chilled and ready for after dinner.”

“Well, that’s not the point is it?” he snorted while remaining completely still.

“I was just saying,” the woman muttered into her chest. She sighed with a sideways puff of air, blowing strands of hair away from her forehead.

Struggle stared at the plum pit she had left on the table. The thin knobby piece looked like a tumor upon the wooden table stained a similar color. It flattened itself out against the surface, refusing to cast a noticeable shadow. The cavities created miniature faces that grinned at her, egging her on. It was nice, almost, to have some fleeting company.

“What can I do to make it up to you, Will?”

“Don’t call me Will,” he snapped avoiding my question. William drowned the rest of his coffee in a large gulp. “Well, I can’t dawdle around here all day. I have to get ready for work.” He got up and stalked back up the stairs to get ready. She continued sitting there. After a few minutes Struggle reached out a hand and began stroking the texture of the pit with her forefinger.

William came downstairs, grabbed his suitcase and headed toward the garage without saying goodbye.

“See you later, darling!” she cried in a too-sweet voice, adding a giggle to the end for good measure. When he slammed the door she had to suppress a sudden urge to laugh. She got up, twirling herslef around and sang while washing the dishes. The sponge squished in the mug and she snickered to herself.

Struggle picked up the plum pit and carried it upstairs with her. After making their beds and smoothing out every wrinkle, she carefully placed the pit on top of his pillow. It would be waiting for him when he got home.