Time is Relative

Her foot tapped against the coffee table, firing contact tremors through her cold cup of once hot tea. “It’s 12:15 and he’s late,” she hissed through tightened lips as her husband calmly watched ESPN.

“Yes,” he agreed as the TV replayed the day’s football highlights.

She glared at the door and said, “Aren’t you worried?”

“Yes,” he answered.

“You don’t look it,” she accused.

“You’re conflicted enough for us both,” he responded.

Abruptly she stood up, stomped to the window and stared outside. “What is he doing?” she demanded.

“The same things we did at that age,” he answered knowingly.