Raj stared at the screen, but said nothing. Fridays always made him happy, but not this one. It was like a corpse of a day to him now, a filthy reminder of better things.
Beth finished typing another line, then let her hands slide from the keyboard. They didn’t make eye contact, kept a careful space between them, despite sitting so close.
“What do you think about voice transmission?” she asked, voice almost a whisper.
“It’s already a phone.”
“To the remote space, I mean,” she said, swallowed slowly, proceeding carefully. “So you can talk through the Wheelies or maybe some on-site speakers.”
He shrugged. It was a good idea, but he felt conflicted about saying so. A big part of him wanted to trash it, tear it apart, leave it in ruins, make her cry.
“Sounds good,” he said instead.
She nodded, kept typing. Neither one spoke for another ten minutes, until his stomach started to growl, and the menubar chimed another hour gone.
“Beth,” he said softly, “about yesterday. I—”
“Let’s just… let’s not, okay?”
“But—”
“It was a bad day, right? Everyone has bad days. Let’s just forget it. It’s not who we are.”
Raj had to fight to avoid laughing. Laura kept typing, and Raj left for the kitchen, threw some frozen chicken strips in the oven, and came back to the computer. She hadn’t moved at all since he left, the only sign of life were her fingers dancing ably across the keyboard.
“I’m sorry,” he said, almost to himself.
She stopped typing, turned halfway.
“Quit it,” she said, then made proper eye contact. “I called Sam and Laura again, asked about your access card.”
Raj nodded, dug his hands into his pockets.
“Sam found it in between the cushions on the couch.”
“Oh my god, yes!” Raj gasped, smiling for the first time in days. “Yes! Thank you! Yes!”
“He said to call tomorrow to arrange to pick it up. They should be around all weekend.”
Raj was busy doing a happy dance into the kitchen, fetching a pair of beers from the fridge, and twirling his way back to Beth. He handed her a bottle, clinked his, and say down next to her.
“You’re the best,” he said, and downed half the bottle. “You really are.”
“I’m angry and irrational,” she said, looking at the screen but not typing anymore.
“Sometimes.” he said. “But who isn’t?”
She wiped a tear from her eye, drank a mouthful of beer.
“I’m sorry,” she cried.
“Quit it,” he said, wiping tears from her face. “Let’s just forget it. It’s not who we are.”
She smiled, nodded, and he kissed her. It was the best kiss he’d had in a long time. It felt real. They were both real for a change.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered between kisses, but he didn’t hear her. They slid out of their clothes, fell onto the sofa, and didn’t hear a thing but each other until the chicken strips set off the smoke alarm.
