Leftovers.

Marie was wearing two different socks. I hadn't noticed until then. It was late and the kitchen was dark except for the light from the fridge glowing around her as she stood nude considering the Chinese leftovers.

“What do you think?” she asked.

I was in the doorway. I wasn't particularly hungry. She leaned gently toward the fridge with her feet crossed.

“Should I pan fry it?”

“The Chinese?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“I suppose,” I walked up behind her and put my hands on her hips and pulled her back to me. She pushed gently. “It'd probably be better than the microwave.”

She leaned back against me and stood and I ran my hand up her side and cupped her breast as she looked up and under now tired eyes, kissed me slow.

“You should make it for me,” she said.

“Okay. You have to stay in here and keep me company though.”

“Okay.” She leaned against the counter and I took the Chinese out and set it on the counter. I turned on the burner and found a pan and dropped only a little butter in it and then dumped the Chinese into it. It sizzled and popped occasionally.

“Eight years,” she said.

“Yep.”

“You ever get tired of me?”

“Sure. All the time, but what can I do?”

“Oh? Well, fine then. Don't think I don't get tired of you too, mister.”

“Is that right?” I turned to her wrapped my arms around her waist and she pulled me close behind my neck and kissed me again.

“Yes,” she said pulling away, “that's right. I'm just right full up of your shit.” She smiled at the corner of her mouth.

“And what shit would that be?” The smell of Chinese filled the kitchen and now I was hungry.

“What shit? What shit, you ask?” she said.

“Yep. You're so sick of it,” I kissed her again and ran my hand down her back with my fingers spread and digging gently into her. “What is it all then?”

Her brown eyes had a smoking excitement behind them and under tired lids.

“I hate your...” She touched a finger to my chest. “Face, and your...” She walked her fingers to my stomach. “personality, and...” She continued to the top of my thigh. “Your whole brain.” She ran her fingers gently up and down my thigh and I began to stroke with one finger the backs of hers.

“I,” I said, “hate your shitty attitude.” I kissed her neck.

“Oh yeah?”

“I hate your taste in books.” I kissed the top of her chest. “I hate the way you wear your socks mismatched.” I kissed her breast.

The Chinese was popping.

I pulled away and took a spatula from the drawer and flipped the food around some. Then I went back to Marie.

“Why are you still with me then if you hate me so much?” she asked.

“You have your qualities.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Oh. You need me to stroke your ego now?”

She dug her nails into my lower back.

“You know exactly what,” I said.

The Chinese burned.