Chapter 3: Crackers for Dinner

I took the dessert Chris didn’t eat and went home.

The sun was already dipping below the strip mall across the street, turning the parking lot gold. I kicked off my shoes and walked in barefoot, the cool hardwood grounding me in the emptiness of the apartment.

"Derek, I brought you dessert. Come out and eat."

No answer.

The silence prickled. My anger flared up again. I stormed to the bathroom and yelled, "Derek, are you pretending not to hear me?"

Still nothing.

I opened the door—he wasn’t there.

I went to the bedroom—not there either.

The bed was still made, his pillow missing its usual dent. "Told you, he must have someone else. Not even coming home at this hour."

I scrolled through my contacts, found his number still saved as 'Derek,' and dialed.

Busy signal.

"Great, now you won’t even answer the phone."

After a whole afternoon out, I was starving. I lifted the pot lid and rummaged through the fridge—nothing.

Did this guy take the whole house with him?

A half-empty bottle of ketchup, two slices of stale bread, and a container of questionable leftovers. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself.

Derek works for the county office, gets off work at five every day. Buying groceries and cooking is his job.

In six years, the kitchen had never been this empty, as if a thief had cleared it out.

I opened the dessert—the ice cream had melted, and the chocolate sauce had seeped out.

Couldn’t eat it anymore.

Finally, I found half a pack of crackers on the coffee table from last night, which I’d opened in a fit of pique instead of eating Derek’s dinner. Now they saved me.

I sat on the sofa, nibbling at the stale crackers, the TV on mute in the background, bored. I scrolled through my phone, opened Derek’s chat to ask where the hell he was.

But all those relationship advice accounts say you can’t spoil a man.

Fine, I’ll sulk. With his personality, tomorrow he’ll act like nothing happened.

I messaged my mom: [Your daughter wants to eat BBQ ribs tomorrow night, please arrange, Mother.]

Mom replied quickly: [Bring Derek back too.]

I took a screenshot and sent it to Derek.

The man who’d been silent suddenly replied with an [Okay].

I snorted.

Men are easy to handle after all. See? He still has to obediently go back to my parents’ with me.

I shut my phone off and tossed it on the table, trying to convince myself that everything would reset in the morning.

I pulled my knees to my chest, letting the quiet swallow me. A memory flickered—Derek at the stove, humming off-key as he made spaghetti, glancing over his shoulder to make sure I was watching. The apartment had never felt this empty. I wondered if it ever would again.