The fork stabbed at a bite of syrup soaked pancake
and scooped it upward. The triangular bite disappeared in three seconds. The
fork floated down to the table. Then the coffee cup floated up and an audible
slurp filled the IHOP booth.
Jack hadn’t gotten used
to eating with Helen since her accident eight months ago. Watching her eat was
skin crawlingly creepy, like a surrealist painting.
“What did you want to
talk about, Helen?” Jack asked, wishing she would stop eating. He hoped that
the gooseflesh prickling on his arms would die down.
The
coffee cup floated down. “Jack, I don’t want this,” she said.
“The
meal? We can send it back.”
“Us,
Jack. I don’t want this anymore,” Helen’s voice was pointed. She seemed angrier
these days. Jack wasn’t entirely sure why.
The
coffee cup floated up again. Slurp. “It’s like you can’t stand me anymore,” she
said.
“That’s
absurd!”
