It started over nothing.
That is the thing about real arguments between people who are just learning each other honestly. They rarely start over the actual thing. They start over something small and surface level and ordinary and the real thing, the one that has been sitting underneath waiting for a way out, comes up through the small thing like water through a crack.
The small thing was dinner.
Helena was having a better day on Wednesday. She had eaten well at lunch and the colour in her face was closer to normal and she had made two sharp observations about the book she was reading that had made Damien almost laugh. By late afternoon she was asking about dinner and whether anyone had thought about what was happening with it.
Mrs. Park had the evening off.
I offered to cook.
It was
