Dear Emily by Fern Michaels

drinking her coffee.
    Emily peeled off her nightgown and was about to step into the shower when Ian banged on the door and tried to open it. “Where’s the coffee, Emily?”
    “I drank it,” she shouted as she lathered up under the warm spray.
    “A whole pot?” Ian said in outrage.
    “I only made one cup. If you want coffee, make it yourself. And on your way out, drop off your shirts at the laundry. And your other laundry too. I’m on strike. You can start eating out for all I care. Make sure my car is back here by noon or I’ll tell the police you stole it.”
    “When are you coming out of there?”
    “When I feel like it. Probably after you leave. I don’t want to look at your face, Ian.”
    “You screw up your own vacation and you don’t want to look at my face. God, Emily, that’s just like you. How long are you going to pout this time?”
    “Forever,” Emily shot back.
    She stayed in the shower until the water ran cold. Then she stepped out, but let the water continue to run. She applied light makeup, struggled with her curly hair, brushing it till it was smooth enough to twine into a neat bun. She was dressed five minutes later, at which point she turned off the water. Her ear pressed to the door, she listened for some sound in the apartment. Her watch said she’d been in the bathroom for ninety minutes. Ian wouldn’t dillydally that long. Usually he gulped a cup of coffee and ran.
    Coffee cup in hand, Emily wandered around the small apartment. First she checked the laundry basket. Ian hadn’t taken his shirts with him. She counted them, looked in the closet. Two clean ones. He’d probably go out and buy more. His suit was thrown over the back of a chair, ready to go to the cleaners. Ian probably didn’t even know where the cleaners was. She set her coffee cup down and made her side of the bed.
    Petty, childish behavior. She didn’t care.
    “Enough, Ian, I’ve had enough.” Two and a half more days until her “vacation” was over and she had to go back to the clinic every morning. Maybe she wouldn’t go back. Ever.
    It was a full three days before Emily found out Ian’s reaction to her behavior to be no reaction at all. She sighed heavily; it was business as usual. He didn’t even comment on the money she’d left on the kitchen table with the list he’d ordered her to prepare. On Monday morning the list was crumpled and in the trash, the money gone. But things weren’t right between them even though they were both trying to act as though nothing had happened. Ian spoke in quiet tones, left early, and was asleep when she got home. At the clinics when he met her in the hallway or stopped by her desk, he smiled at her, but that was because there were patients milling about. It was clear to Emily that Ian was avoiding her and she did her best to avoid him, staying at Heckling Pete’s as long as possible.
    On the fifth day of what Emily considered their armed truce, Ian approached her and said, “Enough of this crap, Emily. We’re like two tired warriors and I for one have had enough.”
    “I’ve had enough too,” Emily said as she packed up her oversize pocketbook. It was one o’clock, time to get ready to head home to change her clothes and go on to Heckling Pete’s.
    “Then give me a big kiss and let’s get back on track here.” Emily dutifully held up her face and Ian kissed her on the cheek. “What is it you want, Ian?”
    “Well, now that you ask, I think the fridge needs to be replenished. I couldn’t find a grain of sugar or anything sweet in the whole apartment. I really hate to mention this, but the laundry is piling up.”
    “I know,” Emily said.
    “What does that mean, I know ? Does it mean you know and are going to correct the situation or does it mean who gives a good rat’s ass? Or are you unaware? I prefer to think you’re unaware because we’ve both been uptight.”
    “All of the above,” Emily said, walking toward the door.
    Ian followed her to the