Whatever you want."
"Ah, of course. You'll need a wife if you're going to be a big
shot at ICP. Might as well stick with the one you've got, save
yourself some money that way, and keep the young thing in an
apartment." She offered a scornful chuckle. "Christ, Matthew. You
still don't want to face it?" She shook her head sadly. "It's too
late. We're through. Broken."
"But it's going to be easy from here on in," he pleaded, trailing
her to a black lacquer display pedestal. "My job at ICP will be a
cake walk."
"Cake? Darling, the only cake walk I see is the one between you
and your little girlfriend." Enough of this nonsense. She had
work to do. She wanted to have her most prized possessions safely
packed, to give her a sense of assurance that she was getting
closer to her future with her lover.
Gingerly, she raised her crystal salmon bowl off its pedestal.
"Greta," Matthew cried, gripping the bowl.
She gasped in surprise, then shrieked, "What's gotten into you -
let go!" The quartz ceiling lamp accentuated the bowl's
precarious plight.
"Wait. Oh, Greta. Don't you remember the day you brought this
home?" he said.
Her eyes fixed on his thumbs squashed white, firm and unyielding.
The piece was too valuable to risk losing. She gave in, and he
carefully settled it back onto the pedestal. She stared at him
with a resigned frown, catching her breath.
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