Storm Grant Fiction that's pretty, witty, straight and gay!

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Pat balled and tossed the last clean socks into Kurt’s drawer, glad the day’s chores were finally done. She considered fetching a screwdriver to fix a loose knob, but just the thought of the staircase was exhausting. "I’m too tired," she defended, although no one was listening.

In the next room, Kurt had the TV turned way up. Some sports celebrity was lecturing: "An’ I’ll tell ya exactly why the Leafs suck, but we gotta take a commercial break now."

That annoying couple started in about pressure washers and the sound cut out. Pat found the silence restful, until Kurt yelled, "Hey! Bring me some grapes when you come back up from the kitchen, eh." He added a sarcastic, "pleeease."

"But I wasn’t going down—"

"Quiet! Coach’s Corner’s back on!" He cranked the volume up, smothering any protest she might have made.

She hadn’t, though.

 * * *

Snarky sports commentary had given way to commercials again by the time Pat returned. Kurt hit "mute" and snatched the bowl from her, peering into it suspiciously.

"I took off all the little stems," she said, "Just the way you like them."

 "Mmmphff," he mumbled around a mouthful of grapes, eyes fixed on the soundless TV.

Paramedics arrived in a whirlwind of sirens and chrome, then dawdled over coffee and paperwork—no need to hurry now.

"It’s a shame," the paramedic addressed the neighbour, although Pat was sitting right there. "If she’d done the Heimlich in time, he’d still be alive."

The neighbour stroked Pat’s hand, saying, "And she’d just taken a CPR course, too."

"He had the sound turned up so loud," Pat sobbed. "I never heard him choke."

She didn’t mention he always muted commercials.

End.