"Opinions" -- July 7

Word count: 500

Opinions

“Maybe if you would have an opinion, we wouldn’t have this problem!”

“I have opinions!”

“Okay then. You pick dinner.”

“What do you want?”

“See!” A shake of the hands. “You pick something. You have all these opinions. Show me.”

“Honey, you’ll just get mad at me.”

“I just want you to express an opinion. One.”

A pause. “I’m not hungry. That’s my opinion.”

The tone was deathly quiet. “Your opinion is that you’d rather go hungry than make a decision.”

“Look, I’ve had enough of this.”

“So have I. Enough of this!”

“Did you…mean to point at me?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

More silence.

“So…are you hungry?”

“I don’t care.”

“Honey, come on. This isn’t really about food, is it?”

A frown.

“Come on, tell me. I don’t like this.”

“Now you’ll express yourself.”

“I think I do express myself when it’s important.”

A scoff. “Right.”

“Give me one example of when I didn’t.”

An explosive movement of hands, fingers counting off. “Remember when the upstairs toilet flooded and we had to replace the floors?”

“Yes.”

“No opinions on the contractor. No opinions on hardwood or tile. No opinions on the colors.”

“That’s unfair; you know you’re better at those things.”

“Unfair? How about when Brody wrecked his car? No opinions on the consequences.”

“I told you what I—”

“You didn’t say jack squat.”

Hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I still feel like this isn’t just about my opinions. Is it?”

A long silence, the honk of a car somewhere in traffic.

“I have to make all the decisions for us.”

“Wait—”

“Don’t you dare say it’s not fair. At least one of us can speak their mind. I’m the one who makes all the decisions for us and Brody. Little and big. And it isn’t fair.”

“I—”

“You could at least try! Giving input isn’t that hard.”

“I give input! I thought we were doing a pretty good job of raising Brody as a team.”

“I don’t feel like that. You know, when he started dating Kelli, he came to me and not you Because he knew you wouldn’t have an opinion. Don’t even get me started on Cheddar.”

“What did I do wrong about Cheddar?”

“You didn’t say anything.”

A sigh. “What could I have said? Cheddar was going to leave us, honey.”

“You didn’t have to watch him suffer.”

“I did say something; that’s why we—”

“After that! After the shot.” Tears. “And he was suffering. And you let him suffer.”

“Honey—”

“He looked up into my eyes. I will never forget the way he looked at me, suffering.”

“You never told me.”

“You didn’t care. You should have said something.” A sniff, a tissue thrown on the floor. Then, softly, “I should have said something.”

A hand reached out. A moment, and then another hand joined it.

“I’m sorry. I should have said something.”

“I should have.” Another sniff.

“Um…sandwiches for dinner?”

The hands squeezed tight and refused to let go.