"Is there something wrong?" her husband asks, as she stares down at the plate. Their sons are blowing straw wrappers at each other—banging knees under the table. "Quit it!" one of them says. "Screw you," says the other.
The wife, gazing down, knows it is a sign; blowback from that time with the guy who cleaned the rugs. The delivery men who lugged in the fridge—the three of them filling that king size bed.
No," she reassures. "Nothing." The husband watches as the syrup she pours spills over the sides. Her fork cutting into a sandaled foot, up an ankle—along His holy robe. "Good," she mutters, her mouth fuller than he's ever seen it.
"Simmer down," the husband chides, swatting at a son without looking. Her fork reaching for the center now—chopping out a juicy red heart. "Umm," she says. "Yum."
Robert Scotellaro's poetry and short fiction have appeared in a variety of literary journals and anthologies, including: LITSNACK, Fast Forward (A Collection of Flash Fiction) Vol. 2 & 3, Houston Literary Review, DOGSPLOT, Willows Wept Review, BULL: Fiction for Thinking Men, Clockwise Cat, Ghoti, Storyscape, Battered Suitcase, Boston Literary Magazine, and others. He is the author of several literary books and chapbooks, and the recipient of Zone 3's Rainmaker Award in Poetry. He currently lives with his wife in California.