It was the takeout

A short story inspired by a couple I don't know. [drama]

“Ahh what a day I’ve had. I’m starved.” Molly said as she walked through the door of the apartment she shared with her fiance Dave. Molly and Dave had been engaged for 6 months and living together for two years. The apartment was coined as cosy by the real estate agent who sold it to them. A simple 2-bedroom, one bathroom apartment that took four years worth of savings to manage the deposit. A good investment they had been told by the agent, but since their purchase, the value of the apartment had depreciated… significantly.

Dave stood in the small hallway and watched Molly as she took off her shoes before the small step separating the front door entrance from the rest of the apartment. “Hello my dear,” Dave said “You can tell me about your bad day over dinner. What do you feel like eating?”

Molly stepped up into the short hallway and slipped into her slippers that were waiting where she had left them this morning. She moved onto the coat rack to her left and hung up her bag and her dark green wool coat that was covered in small specs of water from the rain outside.

“I’m so hungry. I only had a granola bar at my desk for lunch. Let’s order takeout. How about Indian food?” Molly replied in a huff as she moved to where Dave was waiting in just two steps, placed a peck on his cheek and continued down the hallway to the kitchen area, which doubled as the lounge area.

Molly slumped herself on the beige, two-seater couch and put her feet up onto the wooden coffee table, grabbing the television remote and pressing the ON button to watch the early evening news.

“I was thinking of cooking. I could do a curry if that’s what you’re craving? Dave replied as he walked over and sat down, joining Molly on the couch.

Frustrated with her fiance, Molly said “Dave, the Indian spot down the road will be here in 20 minutes. Let’s just order in.”

Dave sat facing Molly as she watched the evening news. There was something on about a man who scaled a building that day. Apparently, he did it because he was bored in the office and wanted to see if he would make it from the 5th floor to the ground before his lunch break was over.

Dave interrupted the broadcast—not that Molly was really paying much attention. “But I feel like cooking you a nice homemade meal after you’ve been working in an office all day. Don’t you want that?”

“Dave, I’m not in the mood for this. I’m starving and tired. If you wanted to cook for me, then you should have cooked for me before I got home.” Molly’s frustration was growing as she looked Dave in the eyes. Dave stared back and replied “I’ll get started.” and he got up swiftly and took two steps towards the kitchen.

Molly stood up from her relaxed state on the couch and threw the television remote where she was sitting with a strong overhead slam. “If you start cooking, I’ll be fucking furious. I don’t want to do the dishes. I just want to relax.”

Dave turned around and took the same two steps back from the kitchen, meeting Molly face to face. “Molly, I’ll do the dishes. I’ve been thinking about doing the dishes all day. I have nothing to do all day but sit here.” Dave replied with animated arms, pleading with his fiance “All I want to do is the dishes.”

“You’re being ridiculous. I’m ordering on the app now. Same order as last time so it’s quick.” Molly picked up her phone and started pressing on the screen. “Ah yep here it is, two curries, papadum, mango chutney and naan.”

Dave reached to grab Molly’s phone but she quickly threw her arms to the side avoiding his attempted snatch. “Done. It’s ordered.” Molly exclaimed with one final push on her phone screen. She sat back into her original position on the couch, put her feet up and turned up the television louder.

“Why would you do that?” Dave asked.

“Seriously. Enough. Food is ordered. Come sit with me.”

Dave sat next to Molly on the couch and stared at her for a few moments. He waited a full minute before Molly turned to him. “What is it?!” Molly yelled frustrated.

Dave replied with wet eyes, choking back tears “I wanted to cook… and do the dishes… and… and… have a real home… a purpose.”

Molly turned back to the television and stopped looking at Dave. “Well why don’t you get a job? It would be nice for someone else to pay the bills once in a while.” Molly added a hint of disrespect, knowing that this comment was a low blow.

“I’ve been trying to work, Molly. You know this. For months now.” Dave said, still staring at Molly as she stared at the television. Dave had been looking for work for 6 months but lately, his anxiety-disorder had made it difficult to hold a job for longer than a week—he never showed up to shifts. He wasn’t always like this. There was a time where Dave worked in an office and had lots of friends without a worry in the world. Now, the smallest of his worries seemed to end the world.

“I pay the bills so I should get to decide what we eat, don’t you think?” Molly replied, flicking through the channels with the remote. “I like takeout. I don’t want to do dishes and cook. It’s convenient. Can’t you see that?”

Earnestly, Dave replied with animated eyes and scrunched fists in his lap “Life isn’t meant to be about convenience. It’s meant to be messy, filled with life. I imagine a life full of homemade food shared among our future family in our cosy apartment.”

Molly sat upright and turned to Dave. “Do you really think we would start a family in this tiny apartment?”

Dave didn’t reply so Molly continued looking him straight in the eyes “Well I imagine a nice house with a maid and takeout whenever we want. Not living in a shitty apartment with a husband who doesn’t work to look after a brood of children he wants.”

Dave’s eyes swelled with tears he could no longer hold back. They streamed gently down his face as he held back sobs, creating quiet cries through his running nose. Molly didn’t care that she had hurt him. She was telling the truth. Her truth. Molly turned back to the television.

Through sniffles, Dave choked “Well it seems we don’t want the same thing anymore.”

“Well… maybe we never did Dave.” Molly replied without a speck of remorse, crossing her arms over her chest.

Molly and Dave sat in silence for 10 minutes watching the story continue about the man who scaled the building.

Buzz. Dave jolted at the noise of the doorbell—like someone had just woken him up from a nightmare. But it wasn’t a nightmare. This was real life. A life Molly and Dave had spent five years building. And all it took was one takeout to end it.

Buzz buzz. The doorbell rang again but Molly and Dave stayed sitting on the couch assessing what had just happened.

Impatient, the delivery person rang the doorbell endlessly. Buzz buzz buzz. On loop.

Molly and Dave still stayed sitting on the couch.

It was the takeout. It was the fucking takeout.