{"id":1380,"date":"2019-08-11T01:12:32","date_gmt":"2019-08-11T01:12:32","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/?p=1380"},"modified":"2019-08-06T15:19:34","modified_gmt":"2019-08-06T15:19:34","slug":"moving-on-by-jack-wildern","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/2019\/08\/11\/moving-on-by-jack-wildern\/","title":{"rendered":"Moving On by Jack Wildern"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Jack Wildern is from the UK. He writes short fiction and lives in Hampshire with his wife and two children. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n


Moving on<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

She\nsays \u2018Thank you for cooking.\u2019 Not, \u2018thank you for dinner,\u2019 because that would\nimply, we were meeting socially. This isn’t social, it\u2019s an argument wrapped\ninto six tortillas. Two for her. Four for me. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Did you get the email from my solicitor?\u2019 <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018No.\u2019 I did actually but I’m being a twat on account that\nI’ve heard she’s fucking someone else. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Well he sent it to you yesterday.\u2019 <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018I’ll be sure to keep an eye on my inbox.\u2019 She looks at me\nlike I had spat in her fajitas. I’ve got the laptop open on the table and she\nknows damn well Yahoo is running in the background.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018So, I made a list,\u2019 I say through a mouthful of Old El\nPaso. She raises an eyebrow that is way more shaped than it was when we were\ntogether.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018A list?\u2019 <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Yeah. Well I thought now the house was sorted we should\nlook at what’s in it.\u2019 She takes a deep breath and exhales through her nose.\nHer eyes widen just a touch. She’s like a small angry bull but with perfect\nmicroblading.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018We’ve been through this.\u2019 <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018No. You\u2019ve been through it in your own head. Half of the\nshit in that place is mine.\u2019 <\/p>\n\n\n\n

To confirm the fact, I turn the laptop around. A crappy\nspreadsheet glares on the screen turning the skin on her face a pale green.\nColumns with shit like, \u2018cushions in spare room\u2019 and \u2018Shawshank on Blu-ray\u2019,\ntwitch left to right in her pupils. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018This is a joke, right?\u2019 <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I shrug my shoulders and stuff the second fajita down my\nthroat. She hasn’t touched hers. Can’t say I blame her. I always make them too\nspicy. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018I just thought it was the fairest way,\u2019 I grab the sriracha\nsauce and send a couple of good thick squirts into a cavern of over spiced\nchicken. I want to make this one a proper bad boy. A real gut burner. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Fairest way?\u2019 She slams the lid of the laptop down and\npushes her chair screeching across the lino. I wonder if it will leave a mark.\n\u2018You wanker.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Now wait a second-\u2019 <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018How dare you. Is this why you asked me here?\u2019 <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I’m acutely aware that my answer will define the rest of the\nevening. I contemplate saying something like no babe it’s because I miss you.\nThen again, she’s already pissed off over the email and the shitty dinner so-<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Well… yes.\u2019 <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Have you ever seen pure rage? It’s white of knuckle and\nstill as stone. If you look closely it trembles ever so slightly. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018What the fuck<\/em>,\u2019\nshe screams.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

One of the two dinner plates I own splits in half as it hits\nthe wall behind me. The guts of my Mexican compadres explode across a magnolia\nsurface which I doubt is cloth friendly. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018I just thought I could take the PS4 and the forty-six\ninch.\u2019 <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018The PS? You get nothing.\u2019 <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018That’s hardly fair-\u2019 <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Then you shouldn’t have had sex with a nineteen-year old.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was a hand-job and she was twenty-two. But we believe\nwhat we want to believe. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Well what are you going to do with it?\u2019 <\/p>\n\n\n\n

She’s about to go completely mental when her phone rings.\nThe new bf. Has to be. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Hi.\u2019 <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her voice is suddenly like velvet. Definitely the new bf. I\nget up and start peeling bits of onion and red pepper from the wall, vaguely\naware of my name being slandered in the background. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Ok. Yes please, I may need some wine first.\u2019 She giggles\nand I feel a hot swell of tears behind my eyes. I push them away; I’ve always\nbeen good at that. She hangs up and watches me stack the broken porcelain on\nthe work top. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. You can have the\nPS4.\u2019 <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I should be grateful. It’s more than I deserve. But then\nagain, I liked that fucking plate. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018It’s ok. Give it to your new boyfriend.\u2019 <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I’m expecting an onslaught. I’m wondering how much damage\nshe could do with a bread knife. Instead I get a look. It’s something like how\nyou might stare at a dying dog that’s been in the family for years but won’t\nstop pissing itself. There’s sadness but it’s mainly frustration. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her phone rings again three times and goes silent. \u2018I’ve got\nto go.\u2019 <\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018Ok.\u2019 <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Here.\u2019 She opens her bag. I get a waft of perfume as the\ncontent of her life gets tossed about. All of a sudden, she’s in my bathroom\nfor the first time. Bottled flowers and makeup overpowering the gym bag\ndeodorant of my room. \u2018You’ll need this. I had the locks changed.\u2019 She puts a\nlittle silver key on the table. \u2018Let yourself in. Take the PS4 and the bloody\ntv. But do us both a favour and check your junk mail. Sign the paperwork.\u2019 <\/p>\n\n\n\n

She turns and heads for the door. I can hear her footsteps\non the stairwell as I make my way to the window. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ever seen pathetic? It’s a bloke in his mid-thirties wearing\npyjama bottoms and watching the love of his life disappear. If you look closely\nit even trembles. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

My heart sinks as she emerges and runs into the arms of a\nstubbled face. He’s all muscles. I can see his triceps through his shirt. I can\nfeel my own puffy gut starting to creep out towards my slippers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He holds the door of his car open and she gets in. I watch\nit pull away, adjacent to the promenade and the fairy lights that sway green,\nblue and red between the lamp posts.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Jack Wildern is from the UK. He writes short fiction and lives in Hampshire with his wife and two children. Moving on She says \u2018Thank you for cooking.\u2019 Not, \u2018thank you for dinner,\u2019 because that would imply, we were meeting socially. This isn’t social, it\u2019s an argument wrapped into six tortillas. Two for her. Four … Read More<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[3],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1380","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/pa867U-mg","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1380","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1380"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1380\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1381,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1380\/revisions\/1381"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1380"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1380"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1380"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}