OWWWWWWWW! Damnit, my head -- what the hell -- he's hung a mobile here in the hallway! What is he thinking! Mobiles! The place is looking like a pre-school...God, did he have a garlic festival tonight?
He was sitting on the couch, drinking a glass of wine. The bottle was on the coffee table, nearly empty. "I can't believe you didn't even call."
"Honey, I'm sorry. I was in surgery..." I tried to explain.
"You knew I was cooking tonight Eric!"
"I said I'm sorry, Drew!" I shot back. I didn't need him whining after the day I had. "It was an emergency! Jesus, I'm bleeding. I cut my forehead on your hanging art. What impulse were you working off of when you hung that mobile in the hallway -- were you purposely trying to kill me? And can I just say that lava lamps are fine if you're twelve but -- "
"Go to hell, Eric. You're doing a real good job at turning the issue away from the fact that we have a commitment -- and you blew it tonight. You blew it, not me."
"I said I was sorry."
"Sorry....sorry costs absolutely nothing. How late are you going to be next week when Mark Fitzgerald comes to dinner?"
I stopped cold. My stomach rolled over. He found out....damn, that Hugo. I told him to keep his mouth shut! Here I am standing here, looking at Drew. He's angrier than I've ever seen him....my energy disappears, my equilibrium going fuzzy...what have I done? What the hell have I done?
"Andrew..."
He's up and out of the room, down the hall (ducking the mobile) and into the guest room.
"Andrew!" I yelled after him.
