#3: The History of Anger
"If you view everything," Greg takes a slight breathe in knowing it'll add to the gravitas of what he's about to say, "through the prism of evolution, all feelings and sensations must have some value to the survival of the human race."
She leans in, slightly impressed, so to mirror her behaviour, he too leans in. He thinks he could bypass the bit about anger and go straight to the sex bit, but she has a slight tremble above her left eyebrow. She's not entirely sold. He tells himself to slow down. She'll be worth it.
"Take anger, for example." He picks up the fork and twists it between his fingers. "This sort of thing infuriated my mother. She'd slam her fist on the table. It didn't matter if we at home eating at the table or eating with the Queen, the table would shudder with her frustration that one of us had forfotten their manners."
Usually, at this bit, she should be asking if he'd ever eaten with the Queen, but there is this intense stare. Her blue eyes remain unblinking.
It unnerves him.
"Are you okay?" he asks in disbelief.
"I'm fine. Listening intently is all."
He wants to yell at her, but it's not fine. I need you to ask me about the Queen. The story goes no where without it. It all has been set up for this. If he had skipped the whole anger thing, then he'd not be in this predicament.
"What's the matter?" she asks. "Should I have asked you about the dinner you had with the Queen and her top button was undone?"
[This was hard to get into. I got latched onto the idea of anger and then the voice came to me and it went to a weird spot.]