"I can't drink it warm," he says from across the table.
"So, what do you want me to do about it?" I watch a cardinal fly behind him from my kitchen window, wondering why he announces every simple fact or function, from belching to scratching his ass.
"Get me some ice. My throat's dry," he says.
The cardinal lands on the bird feeder in my garden. As it pecks at the seeds, I try to decide if it's the same bird that came by yesterday.
"Well?" he grunts.
"I'm still waiting for it to freeze."
Michael looks at me in that sour way of his, as if it's my fault water takes an hour to solidify. He's the one who never fills the ice tray, but he expects me to fix everything. He sips on his Stolichnaya, making a big deal about its temperature without even saying a word. He tightens his face at me, rolls his eyes backwards, and spits a little moisture from his lips.
"How long has it been, Rachael? It's got to be an hour by now."
"It's been twenty minutes. You know, sometimes talking passes the time."
"What do you want to talk about?"
"I don't know. I was thinking we should get out to the coast." The words sort of tumble out softly; then I go back to sipping my Chianti.
"What do you want to do in California?" he asks.
I was hoping for a better response. "I don't know? Be together? Something different?" I try to be subtle and sexy. I put my elbows on the table, letting a spaghetti strap slip to the side.
"I don't think I can take off from work." Michael surfs through the channels, rubbing a hand through his short, bristly hair. He loosens his tie, takes a sip from his martini glass, and rolls his eyes again.
"So, how long do you think it's been?"
"Twenty minutes and five seconds."
"Why didn't you fill the ice-tray?" He lights a cigarette, flicking the ashes on a paper napkin because he knows it pisses me off.
"If we don't get away for a while, I think I'll go insane." I suppose honesty might work, although it never has before.
"I told you. It's tax season. Now why is there no ice?"
"You used it when you got home early and made your strawberry shake."
Michael rubs his spare tire, inhales deeply, and pretends he wasn't talking. I guess when you don't think when you're speaking your comments tend to lose weight.
I walk to the kitchen counter to get a cigarette and to pour a fresh glass of wine. When I sip it, I feel my face getting flushed and the booze going right to my head.
"God damn it, Michael. If you don't wise up you're gonna lose out big."
"Do you think Buffy can really fight? Or do you think she has a choreographer?" He turns up the volume on the twelve-inch Sony I got when my grandmother died.
"Just give me a light." I sigh. I'm feeling tipsy and really not up for a fight. There's plenty of time for that. Besides, I don't think he's listening. Buffy just dusted a vamp.
"Can I have a light? Please?"
Then he launches his Zippo at me. It hits the cupboard with a loud thump. I light my smoke off the stove.
"How about that ice?" he asks.
I open the freezer and put the half-frozen cubes in a glass. The ice cracks as it hits bottom and the cup fills with water. I straighten out the short yellow sundress I put on before he got home, and slam the freezer door before heading towards the stairs.
"Where are you going?" he asks.
"To bed. Got any better ideas?"
"What about dinner?" Michael's forehead crinkles with his question.
I wish I had a camera to document his surprise. "Your eggplant's in the microwave. You should learn to heat it yourself."
I walk the wooden steps with the cigarette in my lips. The way it's pointed upward forces smoke to sting my eyes. My face feels kind of heavy now. My feet are aching hard. I sit down on the bed, take off my sandals, and watch the brown blades on the ceiling fan spin into a blur. The hypnotic cadence of the rotation doesn't seem to change. It remains even and monotonous, along with the persistent hum of the motor that is coaxing me into sleep. For a second, I indulge the fantastical, imagining the fan as a mystical portal to a bright and distant world, but the muffled noise from the vampire slaying downstairs reminds me that it's just a fan.