Her mother picked up the picture from the side table, crinkling her nose. “What on earth is this ugly thing?”
Lisa frowned. The damn things were multiplying. It was beyond her comprehension. In all their years together, she still hadn’t figured out Johnny’s decoration sense. Roses and candles and strange art. “I don’t know, Mom. Johnny bought it.”
Claudette set the picture down. “Well, it looks like he printed a picture from the Pottery Barn catalog out and set it in a shoddy frame.”
Lisa sighed. “I don’t get it either, Mom. But if I hide it, he’ll just get another one.” It was true - the first time she’d found a bizarre picture of spoons, she’d swapped out the picture for one they’d taken together on a weekend in Sonoma. By the next morning, the damn spoons were back.
And they were everywhere. Spoons on the side table. Spoons by the fireplace. Spoons over the kitchen sink.
“I divorced my third husband over less than this,” her mother remarked. “But I suppose with his job at the bank that you’d be a fool to dump a man over spoons.”
But already the wheels were turning in her head. All these years - what did she even like about him? What did she even KNOW about him? Sure, he had money, but he thought of spoons as decor and wore a trenchcoat in the middle of summer.
“Honey?” Claudette asked. “It’s not attractive to daydream...”
Mark held the frame in his hand. “You asked me here for this? I’m very busy.”
Lisa rolled her eyes. “You’re his best friend. Any idea what’s going on in his head?”
Mark set the spoon picture down. “You’re his fiancee, Lisa. Can’t you ask him yourself? I mean, does he just come home and put the picture there without consulting you?”
She nodded. “How do you ask someone something like that? You know you can’t question him. He gets all whiny, changes the subject to work or some story about the human race living in harmony.”
Mark raised an eyebrow. “Look, I’m not coming between you two. Not over a picture of spoons.”
She stared at Mark. His fluffy, soft hair. His not crooked smile. His normal laugh. Oh hell, Lisa thought. Mark would never think of utensils as room decor, would he?
She heard the door open later that evening. “Lisa, babe! I’m home!”
She shuddered, heading down the spiral staircase only to see Johnny sneaking a new picture out of his bag. As soon as she saw him setting the brand new picture of spoons on the table beside the couch, she’d made up her mind.
There was no saving this relationship.