Page 24 of Fling

Colin let out a deep performative sigh as he picked up the microwave dinner.

‘Colin, if you want the steak then cook the steak. There’s no problem,’ Tara said.

‘Sure,’ Colin muttered. He didn’t want to come across as brash but he had taken out the steaks for a specific reason: to get them out of the perpetual pattern of microwave dinners so things could go back to normal. He had planned to open a bottle of wine, but Tara had already poured half the bottle in her glass. It seemed as if they would be stuck in this loop forever. He put his half of the pasta bake onto a plate and threw the plastic container into the general waste bin.

‘Colin, for God’s sake, you know you’re supposed to rinse them out and put them in the recycling bin,’ she said, for the millionth time.

‘Well, maybe if we ate less microwaveable dinners, we would produce less waste,’ Colin said, putting his plate in the microwave to reheat it and slamming it shut a little too loudly.

‘I just cooked that, why are you cooking it again?’ Tara asked, confused.

‘You didn’t cook it, you microwaved it. There’s a difference. It’s not healthy to microwave everything,’ he said, rambling.

‘Well, if you hate the microwave so much, then I’m buying an air fryer!’

‘An air fryer is just an Easy-Bake Oven for grown-ups! You can’t fry air, it’s a scam!’ he said.

‘OK, just so we’re clear, you’re annoyed that I’m not spending enough time cooking you dinner? Is this really the hill you want to die on?’ Tara said, trapping him.

‘It’s fine, forget it. I was just trying to break the cycle of microwave dinners every evening . . .’

Tara took another large gulp of wine and had a visible fury in her eyes. He saw the feminist switch flip within her. Her claws were officially out and Colin knew he had already lost the battle. But he still wanted to put up a decent fight. If only to prove he could.

‘Well, why don’t you start with the dishwasher cycle? Because you said you’d empty it this morning and it’s still not done!’ Tara began to rant. ‘You don’t lift a finger around here. I asked you to clean out the shed months ago and it’s still not done. And trying to get you to go to the bottle bank with the wine bottles is like pulling hens’ teeth!’

‘Oh, so it’s a game of tit-for-tat, is it?’ Colin said. ‘Well, I do plenty of other things around the house.’

‘Do you? You don’t do the laundry or the mopping or the dusting . . .’ she said, listing them out.

‘You never ask me to do those things!’

‘I shouldn’t have to ask.’

‘Oh that’s right, I forgot I’m supposed to be psychic. I’m supposed to just magically know what you want without you telling me,’ Colin said, throwing his hands up in the air.

‘I want you to want to do housework.’

‘WHY WOULD I WANT TO DO HOUSEWORK?’ Colin yelled, dumbfounded.

‘Nobody wants to do housework, Colin, but you could offer!’ Tara said.

‘No, because you’d prefer to complain about nobody helping you than ask someone for help. Typical martyr complex. Like asking Celine to put us in contact with that fertility specialist. You’re cutting off your nose to spite your face.’

‘HA!’ she laughed. ‘What’s Celine going to do? Give us a promo code for twenty per cent off egg retrieval? Give me a break.’

‘She’s an influencer, Tara. We should use her influence!’ Colin said, trying to make her see reason.

‘Having ten thousand followers doesn’t make you an influencer!’

‘Well, Jesus only had twelve followers and he had a fairly big influence!’

‘Oh look who’s suddenly a devout Catholic,’ Tara said, rolling her eyes.

‘There is no shame in asking for help. No man is an island.’

‘Yeah, well, every woman is. I don’t want any help from Celine and that’s the end of it.’

‘You know what, Tara? Green really isn’t your colour,’ Colin said.

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