Stan's Decision

Celia loved the feeling of the weightless heat all around her, but she didn't know how she had ended up in the tub. She heard footsteps on the wood floor in the bedroom and turned to see Stan walk through the bathroom door in his undershirt and suspenders. She loved the way he looked in his undershirt and suspenders, his hair slick and black with gel.

"Did I drink too much again?" She cringed up at him from the tub.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

She looked at her bright red toenails sticking up from the suds at the other end of the tub. She wiggled them to be sure they were hers.

"Did I make a scene?"

"Yes."

"Oh, Mary Mother... I'm sorry."

Stan shrugged and headed back out the door.

Celia scrambled to her feet.

"Stan."

He turned. Water ran in rivulets down her body. She didn't speak right away. He waited, looking down. He knew she wanted him to look at her naked, to feel desire.

She cocked a hip.

"Could you be a doll and get a girl a night cap?"

Stan's sad eyes flashed to Celia's face. Only then did Celia see the open suitcase on the bed behind him. Her languid smile turned to a grimace of disbelief.

"You're leaving me?!"

She stepped angrily out of the tub toward him. Her foot touched the ground for only a second before it slid on the wet floor unbalanced by the alcohol. She fell in a heap back into the tub, splashing water over the sides, drenching the walls and floor. She sputtered up, gasping for breath. She rubbed her eyes and looked for Stan. He was still standing motionless as water spread toward his wingtips.

Celia slapped the water with both hands in frustration.

"You're such a coward...," She began, but Stan turned, left the bathroom and shut the door behind him. He'd heard that speech before.