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JOE
Aloud clanging noise echoes down the hallway and the closer I get, the more I realize it’s coming from our apartment. The door’s unlocked, so I know Jane is home and a strange, twisting sensation spasms in my stomach when I throw the door open.
“What is wrong with this thing now?” Jane snaps, clearly not in any danger.
I toss my stuff on the entry table and kick off my shoes. She’s in the kitchen, glaring at the stove, leaning against the opposite counter.
“What’s going on?” I ask, stepping closer.
She startles, as if she didn’t hear me come in and her glare shoots up to me. “Oh. Hey. It’s this stupid oven. It’s not working.”
“Did you turn the knob a few times?”
“Yes.”
“Did you check the fuse box?”
She rolls her eyes and her exhale cuts through the room. “Yes, Joe. This isn’t the first time I’ve done this. We need a new stove.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing. Hang on.” I roll up my sleeves, catching the way her gaze lingers on my forearms a little too long and how her breath catches. I pull the stove away from the wall and lean over the counter to peek behind it.
“Are you checking if it’s plugged in?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“The clock still works, Joe.”
When I look at the front of the stove, I see the digital display working just fine. “Shit.”
She giggles. “Did you really think that was the problem?” Her giggle turns into an actual belly laugh.
I shove the stove back into place. “Guess I’m tired.” I pull out my phone. “I’ll find a repair guy.”
She lays a hand on my arm, and I glance down at her delicate fingers. “I think it’s time to let go, Joe.”
My brow furrows. “Let go of…?”
“She’s lived a good life,” she says, nodding toward the stove. “But she was here when I moved in. She’s past her prime. Time for a new one.”
With a heavy sigh, she pulls out a glass and reaches into the fridge for her bottle of wine. I watch her pour the yellow liquid, but then notice the deep v between her eyes.
“Everything okay?”
“Sure. I’m just bummed we’ll need to spend money on a new stove.”
I know she doesn’t make a huge salary and has insisted we split things half-half, but this doesn’t feel right.
“I’ll pay. Don’t worry about it.”
“Absolutely not.” She sips her wine, shaking her head. “Nope. I’ve got the money. It’s just… today of all days, I wanted to come home and not have to deal with any more shit.”
“Want to talk about it?” I reach into the fridge and grab a beer, then rummage for some other things.
“Not really.” She watches me as I put the jars on the counter. “Are you making peanut butter and jelly?”
I take out a plate, glancing over my shoulder. “Want one?”
“No, I’m fine. I’ll whip something together.”
