dinner

Eddie’s lips smacked like a horse stuck in mud. He finished his second helping. Char glared at him from across the table. The flickering candles reflected off the sheen of sweat soaking Eddie’s forehead. She took a drag off her cigarette.

The little noises sent her eyebrows twitching. Each slurp and chortle bored into her soul. Bits of food viscera sprayed from his mouth, coating the table with a thin film of Eddie. Char stared through her wineglass and out the window.

Eddie belched, then asked for the potatoes.

“Don’t forget your father. They couldn’t cut him out of his car…” said Char.

Eddie looked at her with hard-boiled egg eyes. “It was an accident. It had nothing to do with his weight,” said Eddie. He stopped chewing and set down his chicken leg.