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Chapter 1
Veronica stood in front of the toaster, waiting for it to pop. Her face was expressionless as she stared at the wall, the plate in her hands, waiting. Behind her she heard the sound of the breakfast she'd made being eaten by her husband, Greg. The scrape of a knife and fork as he cut up some egg; the smacking of his jaws as he chewed; the slurp of coffee, no cream, just a bit of sugar.
"Boy honey, these eggs sure would taste better if I had some toast to go with them," he said in between bites. Veronica put a smile on her face and turned around.
"I know sweety, and I'm sorry again."
"I just don't understand how you can forget to put the toast in at the right time," he said. "I mean, you've been doing it the same way for years now. It's not new to you, is it?"
The smile remained.
"No sweety, it's not new to me. I just forgot, that's all."
"Well, what made you forget? Hmm? What were you thinking?"
"I don't know, sweety," Veronica said just as the toaster popped. "Ah, here we go, all ready for you!"
She turned and grabbed the pieces, putting them on the plate and bringing them to him. Just as she approached the table Greg stood up, wiping his face with a napkin.
"Nah, you're too late, I'm already finished. Just throw them out or something."
He walked out of the kitchen, leaving everything where it was. Grabbing his briefcase he made his way to the front door.
"Have a great day, hon!" he called out as he opened it. "I'll let you know if I'm going to be late coming home!"
"Goodbye!" Veronica called. "Have a great day at -"
The door slammed shut. Veronica closed her mouth, her face falling back into its expressionless position. She looked down at the plate in her hand, two pieces of dry toast, sitting alone. Veronica sighed and walked over to the garbage. She pressed on the foot pedal and dumped the two pieces in, letting the lid fall back as she went to the fridge to get started on her own breakfast.
~~~
Things didn't used to be this way for Veronica Callows. She didn't used to be so ... empty. She and Greg married when they were just 21, and they celebrated their 13th anniversary just the month prior. Thirteen years. Lucky number 13, she thought to herself as she poured milk over her bowl of Cheerios. Their marriage had started out as all marriages do: happy; excited; full of love. But after the years started falling off the calendar, things between them had started to change.
The main difference between now and then, Veronica thought as she sat down at the table, is that Greg's become a lot more domineering than he used to be. There wasn't a morning where he woke up and was suddenly different. It had happened gradually, like the way the sun moves gradually across the sky.
For example, Greg would sometimes mention off-hand that he should spend time with his buddies after work because he needed to "unwind". He had slowly stopped helping out with the house chores, citing that he was the one who did all of the "big" jobs (like renovating the upstairs bathroom that hadn't happened yet).
And in the mornings, since Greg needed to get to work on time and Veronica just "stayed at home all day anyway", she was to make his breakfast for him and wait for him to finish (in case he needed anything) before cleaning up and making her own breakfast.
Veronica stirred the Cheerios in the bowl, watching the milk slowly seep into the pores. How did things end up this way? How did she find herself stuck in this place and with nowhere to go? She still loved Greg or, at least, loved what Greg used to be. And a part of her really believed, deep down, that he could be that way again. That he could be romantic.
She remembered how he used to write her poems when they were first going out, and read them to her under the stars. He would call when he knew she was away and leave silly messages, sweet nothings on the answering machine. When they were celebrating their second anniversary, they drove all night together to a spot on the coast just to watch the sunrise.
But Greg's romanticism had slowly dwindled the older they got. Their lives began to fall into a routine, and the thrill of just seeing each other began to slip away. When Greg got home from work now, he no longer threw his briefcase aside and swept her up in his arms like he used to. Instead, he would head straight to the kitchen for a drink, sometimes not even saying hello as he passed Veronica in the hall.
Veronica looked down at the cereal, the milk absorbed in the uneaten O's. Sighing, she stood up and carried the bowl over to the garbage, pouring the food on top of the toast. She went to the sink and began filling it up, stacking the breakfast dishes on the table as the water level rose.
