Unknown Title
by Unknown Author
It happens seven years into the marriage, while they’re both still working for the same genome splicing company, while her cat sits around getting fat off kibble, when Henry’s home far more than Laura is.
It happens on a Wednesday afternoon, when Laura’s sent home after cutting her hand open with a broken test tube. She fumbles with the keys and dumps her bag on the kitchen table, walks into the master bedroom and freezes, hoping what she sees isn’t real.
“Henry—” she says, “What the hell—”
“It’s not what you think, Laura,” he interrupts, sitting up in the sheets, and for an instant, she’s almost won over by his eyes. They’re grey and earnest behind the wire-rimmed glasses he’d bought from the shop next to the bookstore where they’d met, still the same after seven years. “We’re— she’s—” he starts, stops, starts again, “Jenny’s just—”
Laura shakes her head, hands fisted in her coat pockets. The cut stings where her nails dig into its edges, but she ignores it. “I’m sure it’s not, Henry.” She tries not to let her voice crack as she says, “Please. Leave.”
There’s a pause, her leaning exhaustedly against the wooden doorframe, him now standing barefoot in a pile of broken glass and what appears to be the fingers of several rubber gloves, Jenny still lying on the bed, half-covered by the sheets, eyes wide and innocent.
“Go,” Laura says, too tired to shout, too disappointed, “Both of you. Just go.”
So they leave, Henry first, Jenny following, still trailing the sheets from the bed, silent.
She watches without a word, and once they’re both in the hallway, she slams the door shut and scowls at the floor, raises her gaze, then, to a photo of her and Henry standing next to each other in the splicing labs. She smiles faintly, sadly, remembering. She’d been teasing him about having to wear safety goggles over his glasses, and he’d been pretending to do something very grand and important to a test tube of DNA.
They’d both been smiling then, and the camera had caught the feeling splendidly.
“But I don’t care,” Laura says to the empty room. “I don’t care if I’ve been married to you for seven years. If you try to splice random crap into my cat, I’m kicking you out.”
She flops onto the bed, careful now of her injured hand, and adds, almost absentmindedly, “Jenny doesn’t deserve such things.”
by Unknown Author
It happens seven years into the marriage, while they’re both still working for the same genome splicing company, while her cat sits around getting fat off kibble, when Henry’s home far more than Laura is.
It happens on a Wednesday afternoon, when Laura’s sent home after cutting her hand open with a broken test tube. She fumbles with the keys and dumps her bag on the kitchen table, walks into the master bedroom and freezes, hoping what she sees isn’t real.
“Henry—” she says, “What the hell—”
“It’s not what you think, Laura,” he interrupts, sitting up in the sheets, and for an instant, she’s almost won over by his eyes. They’re grey and earnest behind the wire-rimmed glasses he’d bought from the shop next to the bookstore where they’d met, still the same after seven years. “We’re— she’s—” he starts, stops, starts again, “Jenny’s just—”
Laura shakes her head, hands fisted in her coat pockets. The cut stings where her nails dig into its edges, but she ignores it. “I’m sure it’s not, Henry.” She tries not to let her voice crack as she says, “Please. Leave.”
There’s a pause, her leaning exhaustedly against the wooden doorframe, him now standing barefoot in a pile of broken glass and what appears to be the fingers of several rubber gloves, Jenny still lying on the bed, half-covered by the sheets, eyes wide and innocent.
“Go,” Laura says, too tired to shout, too disappointed, “Both of you. Just go.”
So they leave, Henry first, Jenny following, still trailing the sheets from the bed, silent.
She watches without a word, and once they’re both in the hallway, she slams the door shut and scowls at the floor, raises her gaze, then, to a photo of her and Henry standing next to each other in the splicing labs. She smiles faintly, sadly, remembering. She’d been teasing him about having to wear safety goggles over his glasses, and he’d been pretending to do something very grand and important to a test tube of DNA.
They’d both been smiling then, and the camera had caught the feeling splendidly.
“But I don’t care,” Laura says to the empty room. “I don’t care if I’ve been married to you for seven years. If you try to splice random crap into my cat, I’m kicking you out.”
She flops onto the bed, careful now of her injured hand, and adds, almost absentmindedly, “Jenny doesn’t deserve such things.”