Oliver Pratt slammed the freezer door with such fury that a handful of frozen peas nearly scattered across the shelves, and a stray magnet clanged to the floor.
Eleanor stood opposite him, pallid, knuckles white around an invisible fist.
Feeling lighter now? she drawled, lifting her chin in a challenge.
Youve really gotten under my skin, Oliver rasped, trying to keep his voice even. Is this what lifes reduced to? Endless drabness and not a speck of sparkle.
So its my fault again? Eleanor smiled ruefully. Of course, nothing ever goes the way you want.
Oliver clenched his teeth, opened a bottle of sparkling water, gulped it down in one go and then slammed the empty bottle onto the table with a thud.
Oliver, stop the silent treatment, Eleanors voice trembled with a sharp edge of hurt. Tell me exactly whats bothering you.
Whats there to explain? he sneered. Youll never understand anyway. How long am I supposed to endure this hopelessness? Pack it all up and go!
They stared at each other, wordless, for a moment. Eleanor took a deep breath and drifted toward the bathroom. Oliver collapsed onto the couch, and from behind the closed door came a loud splash of waterperhaps shed turned the tap on full blast to drown out his sighs.
He didnt care.
Three years earlier theyd tied the knot, moved into a flat that Eleanors parents had left her when they retired to the countryside. The place was spacious, but still smelled of a bygone era: battered furniture, peeling wallpaper, bits of linoleum that had seen better days.
At first Oliver didnt mind. The flat was central, the neighbourhood charming, and the office was just a short walk away. Soon the novelty wore off. Eleanor felt cosy in her family nest, while Oliver complained that the whole place was stuck in a time warp, suffocating him.
Eleanor, admit it, hed prod. Doesnt this oldfashioned setting irk you? We could change the wallpaper, replace the linoleum, bring in a few modern touches.
Of course Id love that, Eleanor would reply calmly. But we need to wait for a raise or save up gradually.
Wait again?! Your whole strategy is to sit tight and hope!
Oliver used to brag about a budding project that would someday blossom and leave everyone amazed. Now he was convinced that the bud had long since withered, never showing a single petal.
Eleanor lived for the simple pleasures: a fresh cup of tea, an evening of reading, a new kitchen towel. To Oliver it all seemed a tedious standstill.
He couldnt bring himself to leave herhe didnt want to move back under his parents roof, a situation that had always been awkward. Besides, his mother, Margaret Harper, was ever the champion of Eleanor.
Son, youre being unreasonable, she chided. Eleanors a wonderful, sensible woman. If youre living in her flat, why are you so dissatisfied?
Mother, you and Eleanor are two drops of water stuck in the Stone Age, Oliver snapped.
His father, George Harper, merely waved his hands dismissively.
Let them sort it out themselves, Margaret.
Watching Eleanor, Oliver sometimes thought, Shes like a shadow, yet she anchors me to this flat.
Eventually his patience snapped.
Eleanor, I cant do this any longer, he whispered, standing by the window.
Because of what? she asked evenly, though tears glimmered.
Because of this monotony! You spend all your time with pots and rags while Im wasting my life away!
Without a word, Eleanor grabbed the trash bag, slammed the door shut and walked out.
Oliver stayed, convinced shed soon turn around and beg him to stay. When she finally came back, she was astonishingly calm.
Perhaps you really are better off living apart, she said coolly. So gather your things.
Youre leaving me here while you go? Oliver protested. This is my home too!
Youre mistaken, Oliver, Eleanor replied with a frosty smile. This is still your parents property.
A few weeks later he finally moved into his own place, and they signed the divorce papers.
Three years passed. Oliver, still holed up in his parents house, kept telling himself that soon hed get his own flat and everything would sort itself out. It never did: work was mediocre, new acquaintances never turned into steady relationships, and his parents kept reminding him that he was an old man now, not a bachelor.
One spring evening, as he trudged home late, a tiny café with soft lighting and gentle music caught his eye.
He paused at the doorright there stood Eleanor.
But the Eleanor he remembered was nothing like this sleek woman now before him. She wore a stylish coat, her hair was impeccably styled, car keys dangled from her hand, and her gaze held a quiet confidenceperhaps even happiness.
Eleanor? he blurted.
She turned, recognized him in an instant.
Hello, Oliver, she said evenly.
Hey you look amazing, he managed.
Thank you, she smiled. Im finally living the way I always wanted.
Still at the old job? he asked.
No, I opened my own flower shop, she replied, a hint of pride in her tone. I hesitated for ages, but then someone gave me the push.
And who was that? he asked, genuinely curious despite himself.
A man stepped out of the café, wrapped an arm around Eleanors shoulders.
My love, a table has just freed up. Shall we?
Eleanor turned back to Oliver.
This is Vadim, and this is Oliver, she introduced.
Its lovely to see you, Oliver, she added. I hope youre managing alright.
Oliver gave a silent nod. His mouth opened to say more, but the words froze. He watched as Eleanor took Vadims hand, smiled, and disappeared through the café doors. A bitter sting of envy swelled inside him.
He had once muttered, Im living with a bud that never blooms
Turns out the bud did blossomjust not with him.
