“You don’t need an extra strainer to drain the meat,” I said.
Shouting bounced off the kitchen wall. It wasn’t about the meat at all. It was our personal idiosyncrasies; like water boiling at a temperature diffused in the air.
“Put the top on the toothpaste when you finish using it!”
“Pick up after yourself!”
“Clean the sink after you shave!”
“Clean the bathtub after you bathe!”
The reverberation of our voices echoed in the stairwell, into our bedroom, and into bed with us…him on his side and me on mine. All after we ate the lasagna.