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"You mean that thing you do where you just walk for hours and then come home again? Sounds pointless if you ask me."
He took another bite as Veronica lowered her eyes.
"Anyway, she said that today's her son's birthday. She's making him a pizza for dinner."
Greg snorted. "Pizza. Kids don't need pizza, they need diet and exercise. All the kids nowadays are spoiled, fat little brats."
Veronica put some food on her fork.
"I thought it sounded like a fun idea," she said under her breath. Greg didn't respond and she put the forkful in her mouth, chewing slowly, tasting nothing.
~~~
When they had both finished eating (Veronica's meal was hardly touched) she cleared the plates as Greg went to go watch the hockey game. She scraped the food from her plate into the garbage can, watching it fall over the dust and cereal from earlier. Grabbing the serving plate she turned to get a Tupperware container, but after a moment she scraped that into the garbage can as well. The muted sounds of cheering crowds floated in from the other room.
Veronica filled the sink and began washing the dishes, almost mechanically. Her mind wandered as she rubbed the soapy cloth over plates and glasses, rinsing them and putting them on the dish rack to dry. She remembered her life before marriage, before university. When she was a teenager she had so many fantasies about what life would be like when she was older. She remembered that she wanted to have children, something Greg put his foot down on very soon after their honeymoon. She had wanted to travel, and go on adventures out of the country. And at night, she dreamed about sitting by a crackling fire, soft music playing in the background, cradled in the arms of-
"Ow, fuck!" Veronica yelled as she pulled her hand from the water. She looked at the tip of her ring finger and saw that it was bleeding. She had sliced herself with a knife.
"Honey?" she heard Greg calling from the TV room. "Is everything all right?"
"Yes!" she called back. "I just cut myself on a knife and now I'm bleeding!"
"Well … be more careful next time!" Greg called back. That was it.
Veronica grabbed a piece of paper towel and held it against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. She looked down at the dishes, half-finished and soaking in hot, soapy water. She considered asking Greg to finish them, but she already knew how that conversation would go:
"Greg, sweety, I cut my finger on a knife and I can't finish the dishes. Would you mind doing them for me please?"
"Oh honey, but the game is on. Besides, can't you just wear gloves?"
"Please Greg, it would mean so much to me."
"Be quiet honey, I think someone's about to score a goal."
Veronica knew that she had to finish them herself. She went to the bathroom and grabbed a band-aid, putting it around her finger. With that taken care of she went back into the kitchen, put on a pair of rubber gloves, and finished washing the dishes.
~~~
It was about 7 o'clock when she finally drained the sink, the dirty, soapy water swirling down into the pipes below. Veronica heard the crowds cheering again and walked to the TV room. She sometimes sat with Greg while the hockey game played and he watched. She wasn't very interested in the sport, but it was better than being alone in the house that they shared.
She walked into the room and sat down next to Greg, tucking her feet underneath her. Greg didn't say anything, only kept watching. Someone scored a goal and he swore softly.
"Who's winning?" Veronica asked.
"Calgary," Greg answered, whatever that meant.
She watched the screen as the men in their uniforms flew past one another, keeping the black puck in front of them with sticks. Veronica felt her eyes start to droop down already and she leaned her head on Greg's shoulder. He lifted an arm automatically and put it around her, letting her settle against him.
The announcer said something and Veronica began to slip off to sleep. Greg played with her hair, running his fingers through it. It felt nice. She could hear the voices on the television merge into one. Her eyes finally closed and she fell asleep.
~~~
Veronica looked out over the edge of the pirate ship, her soft hands gripping the splintered wooden railing. The waters lapped up against the side of the ship, splashing and foaming, almost reaching her fingertips. The ship heaved on the ocean's surface, the call of the seagulls reminiscent of the land she once called home.
"Lady Veronica," came a voice from behind her.
She turned her head and saw Emmanuel standing, looking at her. He was bare-chested, the combination of sea-spray and sweat causing his hard body to glisten in the sunlight. The shorts he wore clung tightly to his body, leaving little to the imagination. Veronica kept her gaze at his eyes, of course. She was, after all, a woman of proper upbringing.
