"She home?" asked Greg.
"No. Machine's not picking up, either."
"Boy, you must've really pissed her off. What'd you guys fight about this time anyway?"
"Nothing. She was being a butt, and I said I wasn't her doormat," I grabbed his iced tea and took a swig. "Oh man, this is gross, what is it?"
"Peach, kiwi, guava. A veritable utopia of tastes for your mouth."
"It's disgusting. Where's the beer?"
It was almost 3:00 o'clock. I hadn't seen Christine before I left the apartment this morning, so I wanted to get home. The fight last night wasn't any different than any other fight. We have a real fiery thing, me and Christine. We fight, we make up, have great sex...fight, make up, have great sex. Greg says it's unhealthy. Well I think that's rich advice coming from Mr. Bodily Obsession-sleep-with-anything-with-big-pecs.
"Gotta go, guys," I said, gathering the junk I bought from Drew, including the boob-like cheese holder. "Making up is hard to do, but someone's got to do it."
"Thanks for helping me out," said Andrew. "You gonna be okay?"
"Yeah," I said. "I'll be fine."
'So what if we fight a lot,' I thought as I rattled home in my VW. 'There's nothing wrong with a little passion, a little fire in a relationship, right? I mean, who wants to be in total Beaver Cleaver domestication? Look at Andrew and Eric. They're Mr. and Mr. Perfect. They never fight, they never argue, they never have a disagreement. They're like the Stepford fags or something. Okay, so Christine and I are different. Opposites attract - like hot magnets. And the sex, well, the sex is tremendous! Especially when we're making up after an argument. It's like the fire and emotions just combust and...'
I rolled down the window all the way! I was making myself all hot just thinking about it.
Her car wasn't in the driveway when I pulled into the apartment building. I took the stairs two at a time and flew in the back door.
"CHRISTINE?!" I called out. "I'm home, baby. Honey?" No one's home.
No one's home. Where could she be? She didn't have to work and she didn't have a game. And then I saw. Where the hell did the wingback chair go? The CD rack was half empty. My heart began to race as I looked around. The Charlie Parker poster was gone. Hers. The bookcase was gone. Hers. The coffee table was gone. Hers. I bolted into the bedroom -- her bureau, her clothes, her toothbrush. Oh shit.
The thing hit me like a wave, and I had to sit down on the bed. The bed. The bedās hers, and itās still here!! I hugged the bed -- she hadn't left!
And then I saw the note:
