The coffee cup slammed down creating an earthquake on the landscape of the kitchen table. Paul’s pancakes tumbled. Angeline’s usually pretty face was pulled taught and twisted by her scowling mouth. She slammed the second cup down on the counter, although Paul was able to keep his food upright.1
Angeline pulled her chair out. Slowly. The legs squealed against the tiles. The muscles in Paul’s jaw twitched.2
Paul picked up his fork and jammed it into his pancake stack. Then, like a coroner dissecting a body, he cut a precise square of pancake from the stack, removed his fork and used it to lift the newly cut portion. Angeline picked up her cup, sipped quickly, and slammed it back down on to the table before the portion reached Paul’s lips. The pancake on the fork wobbled in the aftershock and fell off. Angeline raised an eyebrow. Paul raised his, then skewered the fallen piece and popped it into his mouth. He raised his other eyebrow. Angeline narrowed her eyes.3
Silence. Paul’s gaze travelled the terrain of their kitchen table until it reached the second coffee cup near Angeline. He looked at her, at the cup, and back at Angeline. Angeline picked up her own cup and slurped her coffee.4
Paul pushed his chair back. The grinding squeak it made was short and sharp. Paul walked over to Angeline, stopping quite close, and grabbed the cup. It jerked upwards. Coffee sloshed and spilled over the side and onto Paul’s hand. The muscles in his jaw twitched again. He walked back over ti his side of the table. Long screech from the chair. Short thump from the coffee cup. Paul sat down. 5
Angeline stood up. Screech. She picked up her cup and drained it, the slurp sounding like a death rattle. She walked over to the sink and dropped the cup in. Thunk. A tsunami of dishwater washed over the side.6
Click of the front door. Angeline has left the building. Paul finished his breakfast in silence7
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