That's Mine
A short story
“That’s my mug,” Grayson said as he whipped his arm through the air to snatch the cup from Zoey’s hand right before she poured the coffee. “Would you mind using another?”
“Your mug? Since when do we have your and my coffee mugs?” She examined the red panda imprinted on the side before handing it to Grayson and huffed. “Fine."
“It’s part of my morning ritual. That mug holds the perfect amount of coffee, the handle doesn’t conduct heat, and it isn't heavy like the glass mugs we bought last winter. I like it.”
“I said, ‘okay.’”
“Thanks for understanding.”
“I don’t understand because all the mugs are essentially the same, but you’re welcome.” Zoey reached into the cabinet. “Will it disturb your inner zen if I use this one?” She cupped a blue and gold I Heart Boston mug in her hands like she was cradling a baby bird.
“Sure. It’s just the red panda mug I need.”
Zoey continued her morning preparations. Anxiety painted Grayson’s face as she set her cup on a coaster, grabbed a large bowl, filled it with a combination of Cheerios and Special K, and added a generous amount of low-fat, organic milk. As Zoey was about to take a spoon from the silverware drawer, Grayson dashed to her side.
“Not that one.”
“Say what?”
“Not that spoon. Use any other.”
“You’re kidding me, right?”
Grayson pressed his lips together, breathing through his nose, the passing air sounding like a deflating balloon. He snatched the shiny, silvery spoon that was a fraction of an inch from Zoey’s fingers and held it at eye level between them. “See how it’s more bowled than the others? I got that at SuperM a couple of years ago for redeeming twenty gold-starred receipts, and it scoops cereal the best. All the other spoons are canoe-shaped.”
“This is the only spoon you’re able to use? I don’t get it.” Zoey tensed her arms and shoulders. “I mean, this is nuts. We’ve been married for four years. There’s no mine and yours; everything is supposed to be ours. Our bank account, house, bed, living room rug, dog, silverware. Except for stuff like your wallet, razor, eyeglasses, and skunky socks. Am I supposed to remember what kitchen items I shouldn’t use? How can you remember something like that?”
“I could if you told me it was important to you.”Grayson skidded to the kitchen table. He glanced at Zoey, then removed the Eiffel Tower coaster from under her coffee cup, replacing it with one imprinted with a photo of the Taj Mahal.
Zoey rolled her eyes. “Tell me this is all a joke.”
Grayson stood silently.
Zoey eyed the puppy calendar on their refrigerator. “It’s not April first. You’re completely serious about all this?”
“I like that coaster because it's thicker than the others. There’s a more cushioned feel when you put the cup down on it.”
“What if I were to say, ‘I like that cushioned feel, too, so I want to use that coaster?’”
“You don’t, do you?”
“No, because I’m not insane, Gray. But never mind. I’m going to drink my coffee and eat my cereal in peace.”
Before Zoey landed her bottom on the chair, Grayson, moving supersonically like the Flash, replaced that chair with another.
Zoey raised her hands and flashed her palms. “Don’t say a word. I don’t want to know why. Anything you say will not make an iota of sense to me.” She ran her finger along the chair’s back. “But I have to ask this to avoid future issues: How do I tell your chair from all the others? They’re all the same.”
Grayson sat, released a knowing sigh, and leaned forward. “Do you see how this chair tilts because its front legs are a little shorter than the back legs? The forward tilt is better for my spine.” Grayson nodded.
Zoey shook her head.“Anything else I should know about?”
“That’s it. Just those four things. That’s not so hard.”
“Sure. It’s not hard. It’s crazy, but like I said, ‘whatever.’”
“I don’t think you said that.”
“Whatever.”
Grayson turned his head toward the squeak coming from their front door.
A blond man wearing a partially-unbuttoned, blue Oxford shirt and in stocking feet stood in the transom, the morning sun spotlighting his grin. In his hands were a sports jacket and shoes. He perched forward as if he had been walking on his toes, glanced at Grayson, pushed his glasses up his nose, and bit his lip.
Zoey said, “That’s mine.”
If you enjoyed That’s Mine, I think you’ll also like my story, The Blanket War.
All is not bliss in the AI family. 😉
When I first saw the image, I thought, Something is weird about that woman. Then I read the caption. Then I noticed the double coffee mug. But it is scary how good AI art is getting. Just one step closer to robot overlords, I imagine.
So glad Grayson got his come uppance - and Zoey got her prince!