Nicole returned home after school and found the house empty. She’d always find Timothy hunched over his laptop, typing incessantly. Now he wasn’t home. It was as clean as he said earlier on. 

He was probably out for some drinks with friends. A part of her kept nagging that he’s absence was due to the row they had in her class. She told herself not to think about it as she kicked off her shoes. She put a Lana Del Rey vinyl on the gramophone. Then she grabbed the remaining bottle of red wine from the cupboard and popped it open. 

Lana always made her feel relaxed. She laid on her back on the couch, crossed her legs on the armrest and sipped. Lana’s voice came off sweet and pillow-y. Nicole dozed off in a nap, the glass stood unfinished below. Later she got up and sighed. The sun had dipped; the lighting in the room was now dark golden, like an Instagram filter. 

How long had she been off? Her wrist watch said the time is 18H32. Time to cook. She got up from the couch and tipped the glass with her feet. She forgot about that glass. Red wine spilt on her white carpet. “Shit.” She picked the glass and went to rinse it in the sink, then she turned the stove on and took out the pots. 

When was Tim coming back? Where was he? Nicole had been trying not to think about his visit to her class. But that seemed impossible now that she was home. Was he really out with friends for a drink? Or was he somewhere else? 

Nicole decided to cook one of his favorite meals. The thought of him coming home to the steamy smell of mashed sweet potatoes seemed fitting. It might please him. Her silent apology.

At about 20H37 Nicole finished cooking. The food was hot and ready. She waited and drank more wine. The bottle of Merlot was near empty and it hadn’t lasted for a week. She drank a lot these days. She poured another glass but hesitated to take a sip. Her head was beginning to feel light. And what would Tim think when he comes back and finds her drunk? Lana sang the hook for Fuck It I Love You. Three songs later there was still no sign from Tim. 

Nicole looked for her phone. She had pressed his name for a call when a call came through from him. Talk about timing. “Tim?”

“Nicki, hey.” His voice slurred like Lana’s singing in the background. Nicole decreased the song’s volume.

“Where are you?” she asked.

“At Jason’s,” he said. “I’m afraid I won’t make it home tonight.”

“What are you doing at Jason’s?”

“Hanging out with the boys.”

She could hear a snatch of laughter and music at the back. It sounded like a small party. That meant Sarah, Jason’s wife, was also away.

“I needed some air,” Tim said.

Before she could say anything else she heard someone call out his name. Someone at the back. “Yes, it’s her,” he responded. 

“Greet her for me. Say hello!”

Tim’s quiet voice returned on the line. “Jason says – ”

“I heard that,” she said. 

“Oh, okay. You sound mad.”

She didn’t respond. She was mad but she couldn’t bring up the words. She couldn’t say it.

Then she heard him sigh before he spoke. “If it’s about earlier then I’m sorry.”

“We’ll talk when you get back.” 

“For sure.” The loud voice which belonged to Jason called out for Tim again. 

“Listen, I gotta go,” he said. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

“Okay,” she said.

“Love you.”

He waited, but she didn’t say I love you too. They hung up at the same time. Nicole still held the phone dumbly against the ear, thinking. She tried to form a picture of Tim and the others. Hanging out. Just hanging out with the boys. Would he tell them about her? Tell them she’s been nagging him for attention, accusing him of binge writing? It would make for a fine topic. A bunch of guys sharing drinks and stories about their women. The thought struck Nicole. Even though she couldn’t imagine Timothy to be the type to express his marital problems to others. Perhaps this is what he needed. What they both needed. A break for the night. Him to vent to his friends. Her to sit alone and contemplate. 

She sighed and looked at the whole living room. How clean yet lonely it appeared to her eyes. Lana was singing Summertime Sadness. 

The smell of the mashed sweet potatoes lingered in the air but she had no appetite. She’d made that meal specifically for Timothy, to share it with him. Now that he’s away for the night it seemed pointless. She wasn’t that hungry anyways. The sandwich he’d brought for her still occupied the tummy. And the rest of the space was filled by the wine.

I needed some air, he said. She knew it was his way of saying he needed space from her. She also knew it wouldn’t have mattered if he spent the night here. He would’ve been on his laptop, working on his novel. The only time he would’ve spared for her would be dinner time. She’d cooked him one of his favorite meals after all. They would’ve talked while eating. Afterwards he would shut everything from him and his book. Nothing should ever disturb him when he’s writing. He’d be sucked into the world of his story, ignore the real one he’s in. Ignore her.

Nicole poured a last glass of the wine, finishing it. She took a shower then went to bed. Her wide, cold, empty bed. 

***

Brandon spent most of the evening covering his textbooks. He browsed them thoroughly. They resembled the ones he used in his previous school, all of them for every subject. They reminded him of his failure and the repetition of the grade. The whole scandal of cheating in the exams. How he got caught. His dad had to bail him out. Brandon put the books away and watched some TV with his dad. The two hardly spoke. Father and son. The silence had become a norm. Brandon had long realized that he’s gotten his taciturnity from him, his dad. Brandon Senior spoke a little, even to his son. His son, in return, did the same. It’s who they were, weird as it seemed. When the show they were watching ended, this mafia crime series starring Johnny Depp, they both got up. Brandon yawned. His father stretched his long gangly arms. 

“Good night,” he said. 

“Night.” Brandon watched him shuffle to his room, adorned in his black night gown. The next program on the TV began. A reality game show in an island where the contestants had to survive for six weeks. The start of it looked appealing. They showed one contestant, an emaciated woman. This reminded Brandon of The Hunger Games book he once read. But he couldn’t watch anymore. His eyelids felt heavy, plus he couldn’t stop yawning. He too had to sleep. 

But once he got under the sheets, sleep evaded him. No matter how long he chased it. He closed his eyes, imagined one of those fake scenarios. He listened to the subtle radio somewhere in a room next door. He thought about Skitzo and the drugs. How one day he might be busted. After the cheating scandal his father had been anything but taciturn. No doubt he’ll be physical once he finds out about the coke. Or worse, besides getting busted Brandon thought he might die dealing. Getting shot by the rival gang. It didn’t seem like a far-fetched thought, seeing how he’s always with Skitzo nowadays. He had to sell all his load real fast, before things get ugly. 

He turned the lights on and found his phone. As he clicked to the internet he thought about that game show. Survivor. He thought about The Hunger Games, thought about the author. Suzanne Collins. He thought about Tim Gardner. Another author. And then, finally, his mind settled on the author’s wife. His new English teacher. Mrs. Nicole Gardner. Her pretty face. Joey telling him she’s the most beautiful woman in the school. How accurate was he. Though Brandon reckoned she’s one of the most beautiful woman anyone who’s seen her has ever seen. Totally unforgettable.

He looked her up on Google. He spent more than a minute on each of her images, swiping left. She was only a teacher, so her fame came from her husband. On most of these images she posed with him. Both of them were like puzzle pieces that fit well together. Timothy Gardner had high cheek bones with small sea-green eyes. He had a long curtain haircut that brushed into a side parting. His signature appearance. Sometimes they’d parody him in mascots and cartoons. The famous author. The hair looked grunge-like, messy but clean.

And, on his side on most of these pictures, stood his woman. Her arm wrapped around his. Nicole Gardner. So beautiful, she looked like the famous one between the two of them. Like she was an actress or a model and he was an unknown regular citizen she did the favor of marrying. Brandon found it hard to believe she was a teacher. Not that being a teacher was degrading. Nicole simply looked too damn hot for it. She must love her job, Brandon thought. Or else Tim would’ve retired her. His books sold like a hit record, more than most hit records in fact.

And Brandon, if he was Tim, would turn Nicole into a house wife. The thought of it made him smile. Nicole Gardner as his house wife. God. That face. That body. He remembered seeing her get up from her chair and walk to the front of the class. He remembered how she humiliated him. Everybody say hi, Brandon. The memory made him frown. After too much scrolling he finally slept.