You’re not going to cry, are you?” Roy was sitting on the edge of the bed. He was pulling on his socks.

“No.” She was watching him. “I know you’re moving. I know you’re taking that new job. I know you’re getting that great raise.” She took a breath. “I know you’re taking your wife.” She looked over at him sitting on the edge of the bed, buck naked, pulling on his socks. His socks, she thought, he’s pulling on his goddamn socks!

“Take the rest of the Scotch.” Victoria buttoned her purple blouse and tucked it into her gray skirt. “You forgot I like rye.” When she turned around, Roy was pulling his khaki trousers up.

“I’ll take the umbrella if you don’t mind. I prefer to walk.” She had stepped into her shoes and walked to the window facing a red brick wall. It was still raining.

“You take care of the key?” Roy was at the door.

“Sure.”

Roy looked at her, turned, and left.

Victoria was not going to cry this time. No, she told herself with a quick grin, not this time. She went over to the bed, picked up her purse, and dropped the key in it. With all the others.

 

 

Anthony Herles has taught English at both the high school level and college level. His poems and short stories have appeared in various literary magazines such as Chronogram, The Lyric, Barbaric Yawp, and Trajectory.