Grace had texted Peter a few last-minute things as Matilda was having a friend come over to study, and this friend was vegan, so adjustments needed to be made.
All she got from him was 👍. He never used emojis, so naturally she read too much into it.
She looked over at the message once again. She was now convinced he'd been sarcastic, and imagined him doing his Fonz impersonation from when they were still dating, designed to let her know that no, he would not cut his hair, or stop wearing flared jeans.
Back then, she respected his independence. But now, some twenty years later, there was nothing endearing about it.
Matilda and Bella were giggling away in her bedroom, and Rory was safely cocooned with his X-box.
She grabbed the keys, safe knowing that Peter would not get the items needed for dinner.
Peter had the music up full volume. The bell tolling in the AC/DC classic was what they would play at his funeral. It somehow calmed him, allowed him to transition from his work life to his home life. The bass vibrating his bones settled him, soothing any anger he might feel later at the domesticity of his very sedate life.
A stray car headlight lit up the post-it note he'd placed on his windscreen. He'd almost forgotten to stop off at the supermarket.
He hated the local shopping centre at this time of night. All those families are desperate for something to eat.
He pulled into the last spot when another raced towards him, indicator waging imminent war. He stopped, incensed the other driver had the audacity to think the spot wasn't his. Ready for the outburst, he recognised Grace as she slammed her fist against her steering wheel.
Grace honked her horn.
Peter wound down his window so that his wife could see him. She froze the moment their eyes locked. He wanted to know so many things at that moment, but most of all, why she didn't trust him to buy a few last-minute grocery items?