She knew I was lying the minute I saw her eyebrows raise while eating her banana. Two pools of green emeralds that saw everything I did from morning to night whenever we were together, never missed a thing. I tried to hold my pose of innocence, leaning on the kitchen counter, my back to the microwave.
She took another bite of banana, and I could see her slowly chewing it up, hesitating and then gently swallowing.
The stare remained as she bore into my own eyes with discrimination; why was he lying?
After 8 years of marriage, the routines of day to day life were ingrained and no chance of variation. The same verbiage was exchanged at each departure and arrival. The bed was only a sleep device, not the throne of passion it once was.
How had she discovered I was lying? I was very careful in planning every intricate detail so that I wouldn’t find myself in this predicament. Yet somehow, she knew. Did I forget or overlook something in my well thought out plan? At least I thought it was well thought out. I didn’t write it out as I didn’t want her to inadvertently discover it while cleaning house or rummaging through my garage, like that would happen. It is a total mess, waiting to mangle or injure someone who was derelict in paying attention to exposed sharp edges, like circular saws lying upside down.
But I digress, I methodically planned every detail to the smallest minutia. How? Where did I go wrong? My mind raced through the thought process I meticulously organized to prevent this from happening. Her mouth took on a wry smile. She knows she’s got me and now she’s just playing me.
“That doughnut in the microwave is mine,” she said.