“I look like a stuffed diving suit!”
Arnold’s complaint met no response from Tim. He rolled his eyes and continued unloading the dishwasher as if he hadn’t heard a word.
“You think I don’t see it?” Arnold snapped in an offended tone.
“See what?”
“That you’re making faces.”
“The sun just got in my eyes.”
It could have been true. Sunlight streamed directly into the apartment, flooding the spacious living room and the kitchen separated by a counter. Tim glanced at the oversized black-faced clock above the TV. It was barely past ten, and Arnold had already launched into his usual tune.
“I hate when you treat me like an idiot, Tim,” Arnold continued irritably.
“I don’t treat you like an idiot.”
“Then why do you roll your eyes?”
“Because I’m tired of the whining.”
“Why can’t you be more understanding? It’s not even noon, and you’ve already stomped on my soul.”
In frustration, Arnold slammed the soapy sponge he’d been using to clean Tim’s favorite chef’s knives into the black granite sink. “Let him wash his stupid knives himself”, he thought, fuming.
“And you? Have you ever considered what it’s like to listen to your complaints for four years straight while you do absolutely nothing to change?”
“I’m constantly dieting!” Arnold retorted, annoyed.
“No, you’re not.”
“Then what exactly were we cleaning up after breakfast? Did I serve you pork knuckles and pizza?”
“Oh no, no,” Tim mocked. “We had a lovely, healthy chia pudding with almond milk coffee, as usual. Right before you’ll scarf down half a loaf of bread with jam for a ‘snack.’ Sure, lunch will be fish with a light garden salad. But then you’ll demolish the other half of that loaf with three-quarters of a jar of Nutella for your afternoon snack. And dinner? We’ll boil that single egg of yours, which you’ll follow up around eleven with two bags of chips. I won’t even mention the two beers and half a liter of soda because it’s pointless. How much did you pay the dietitian to put together this meal plan?”
“That was a low blow,” Arnold hissed. “You know stress sometimes forces me to consume extra sugar.”
“It’s not ‘a little extra sugar,’ Arnold. It’s everything sweet in the house!”
“If you hate me so much because I’m fat, you can leave.”
“You’re not fat, and I don’t hate you. But the constant complaining wears on my nerves. And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m following your diet. To make it easier for you. I’ve lost weight; you’ve gained it.”
“Well, it’s easy for you. You’re naturally slim.”
“Because I’ve been dieting for four years,” Tim raised his voice.
He didn’t want to argue. He could see what Arnold was going through—knew the younger man was being exploited at work. Despite earning a good salary, Arnold couldn’t enjoy it due to the constant overtime. At 35, the signs of burnout were becoming evident.
“Quit…” Arnold whispered.
“Oh, come on, don’t start with this again.”
“I just don’t want you to suffer.”
“I’m not suffering. I just need to lose weight.”
“You’ll never manage like this.”
“Thanks for the encouragement.”
“Arnold, you know I’m here for you, and you can count on me. While this show is filming, the money’s rolling in. And it’s not stopping anytime soon. You know how successful it is.”
“I don’t want to be a kept man.”
“You wouldn’t be.”
“I have to keep building my career.”
“Have to? For who? For what?” Tim asked, baffled. “Is there anyone who’ll demand answers if, heaven forbid, you take a year off? I sure won’t.”
“Yeah, but…”
“But what?”
“What do I say if someone asks what I do? That I’m dieting?”
Tim laughed.
“Definitely not. Say you’re eating in the name of dieting.”
Finally, Arnold let out a genuine laugh.
“Anyway,” Tim continued, “who cares what you do? Is there anyone you owe an explanation to?”
“I send money to my parents every month. I can’t just stop. They can’t survive on their pensions.”
“I’ll handle it.”
“That’s so embarrassing.”
“What is? Accepting help from your own partner? If that’s not what relationships are about, then what are they?”