Sixteen Boxes

“Is there some blizzard coming I don’t know about?”

         “But it’s Corn Pops, hun. You love Corn Pops.”

         “I’m not saying I don’t like Corn Pops. I’m simply asking—in a commendably reasonable voice, mind you—why there are sixteen boxes sitting in our cupboard when there were two there this morning.”

         “You’re not going to let this go, are you? Fine. We’ll talk about it after dinner.”

         “There will be no dinner until you take every last one of these fourteen extra boxes, that we did not discuss, back to Walden’s.”

         “But my manuscript. I’m less than a thousand words from the end. I was hoping to eat dinner in my study tonight and finish it, love.”

         “The last thousand words took you a month, Denny. To the store.”

         “Someone wants to end up in my book.”

         “You’re lucky I love you.”

         I am, Ashley. But do you love me enough to forgive me for what I’ve done?

         Okay. Denny, you can do this. Take the cereal back to the store, make it up to Ashley, then…

         “One thing at a time.”

         She’s trying not to laugh. This short woman with the dimples and the dark eyes is trying not to laugh at me. “And you accidentally bought fourteen boxes of cereal?”

         “Turns out we didn’t need that much.”

         “Uh-huh.”

         Hey—try telling her about your plan. This cashier. Maybe it won’t sound as crazy out loud as it does in your head.

         “Wow, so you’re like really doing it?”

         “Yeah.”

         “No backup plan or anything?”

         Why can I suddenly not swallow? I didn’t even text Ashley before I quit.

         “Well good luck to you. Swipe your card when you’re ready.”

         Look at the way her lips are super-glued shut. She’s still trying not to laugh.

         But I’ve already taken the plunge. Time to face reality and just tell her. And Ashley and I are going to have to stock up.
         
         “…No.”

         “Huh?”

         “Sorry.”

         “So you’re keeping the cereal?”

         “Uh-huh.”

         “All of it.”

         “Um—where are your flowers?”

         “By the sign that says ‘Flowers.’”

         There we go, one lavender orchid.

         Six. Six lavender orchids for my dear, unassuming wife.

         Has the drive home always been this long? You can do this. How many times has she told you she’d support whatever you decide? Granted she wanted you to go part-time at the radio station, not quit, but she loves you. She’ll understand.

         I hope so. I don’t even like Corn Pops.

         All right. Deep breath, deep breath, and…open the door.

         “Ashley…I can explain.”

         “Good, you’re back. I’m starving. I—why do I still see cereal boxes?”

         I’m a writer. How can I not find the words?

         “I, uh. Got you these.”

         “Orchids? Oh, Denny. Tell me you didn’t.”

         “Didn’t what?”

         “We’ve been through this.”

         “It was from HarperCollins, Ashley. The real deal.”

         “Oh my poor, sweet, tortured little writer. How many times do I have to tell you? It was a form letter.”