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“Babe, Don’t do it. Please.”
“Don’t try to stop me. I know what’s best.”
“How can you say that?!” Fareeha choked, “What about me?! What about us?! What about all we worked for!”
“Sweetheart. I know you’ll be alright. You’re strong. You’ve always been strong. It’ll be okay.”
The clouds lay scattered in the sky, the sun shining brightly in the afternoon sky, about three hours earlier. Angela sat in the living room, kicking back and forth in a rocking chair as she sipped her coffee, wearing a sweatshirt and cargos. Fareeha laid on the floor, doing crunches in spandex and a sports bra. Angela watched the workout from the corner of her eye, swishing coffee inside her mouth as she gave a mental thumbs up. Fareeha finished her set, gasping as sweat dripped from her brow, having done a hundred or so. Mercy had lost track since she noticed how Pharah’s abs flexing.
“Gatorade me, babe.” Angela tossed Fareeha a bottle as she caught it from the ground. The contents disappeared within the time it took for Angela to sip her coffee. Fareeha groaned as she catch her breath, slamming down the bottle. “You should be doing this with me.”
Angela laughed in disbelief. “Sweetheart, you’re such a card. ” Fareeha grunted as she sat up, grabbing a towel and wiping her face.
“Wasn’t a joke. And who says ‘card’ anymore? It’s, like..” Pharah looked at the floor, putting hard logic into her evaluation before looking up. “...purposefully fake.”
Angela put a finger to her cheek, staring wistfully out the window in defeat. “I mean, you’re probably right. But, I don’t really want to do that.”
Fareeha rolled her eyes, cracking open the fridge and looking around. “Then you should at least follow a diet with me. All that gelato is gonna go straight to your hips. “
Ziegler stopped sipping her coffee. Her wife had a point. “Fine.” She turned, looking Fareeha in the eyes. “I’ll do it”
Angela gripped the tablecloth, her face in anguish. Fareeha watched with a smug expression, holding tubs of ice cream and candy above the trash.
“S-sweetie...I think you’re being a bit rash…”
“You need to commit, babe. I’ll help you.” Pharah shifted the food in her arms, a bit of candy falling into the trash.
“This is illegal. Torture is illegal. I’ll convict you for waterboarding.”
“It’s all part of the diet.” Fareeha spoke the words with an air of finalization as she dumped the sweets into the garbage. Angela winced, tears in her eyes.
“Laugh, and the world laughs with you. Weep, and you weep alone. For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth, but has trouble enough on its own.” Angela broke down and laid her head in her arms before Pharah stood her up.
“Stop being so dramatic. Let’s go get lunch.”
“Where are we going?”
“The diner downtown. It has some low sodium dishes you’re going to eat.” Fareeha threw on a colorful jacket, hiding her abs from the world. Angela almost cried again.
“Can I drive?” Mercy followed her wife to the garage, speaking with a monotone, depressed voice.
“You’ll get us killed.” The hardened soldier scoffed as she unlocked the car doors, getting in and buckling up.
“That’s the point.”
“Hi there! Welcome to the Fat Ptarmigan! What may I do for you today?”
“Kill me.” Angela mumbled, her posture slumped as Fareeha held her by the arm.
“Yes, we’d like a table for two, please!” Pharah laughed awkwardly, hoping the waitress didn’t catch Mercy’s comment.
The waitress, a tall petite girl, showed them a small table, setting down some menus before heading off. Fareeha picked one up, looking over it as Angela set her head on the table; absolutely miserable.
“I think I’ll get a vegetable pizza. What would you like?” Major Amari set down her menu, smiling cheerily as she hoped to make up for her partners dead atmosphere.
“The sweet release of death.”
“I’ll make it a medium.”
The pizza came, and it went. After some one-sided small talk, and some force feeding, the waitress returned. “Can I get you two anything for dessert? Here are the dessert menus.” Mercy sprang up as if from the fountain of youth.
“No, we’re fine th- “YES PLEASE” Fareeha closed her mouth, cut off as Angela slammed her hands on the table. The waitress jumped slightly in surprise.
“Let’s see here…” Mercy circled her finger in the air, perusing the options as Fareeha rubbed her temples in the background.
“Babe, Don’t do it. Please.”
“Don’t try to stop me. I know what’s best.”
“How can you say that?!” Fareeha choked, “What about me?! What about us?! What about all we worked for!”
“Sweetheart. I know you’ll be alright. You’re strong. You’ve always been strong. It’ll be okay.” Angela turned to the waitress in much need of a raise. “I’ll take the cheesecake sundae with truffles and cinnamon spice. Oh, and a coffee. Please.” The girl nodded, leaving as quickly as possible as Angela turned victorious to her besmirched wife.
“Hah, I won.”
Fareeha clenched her fists. “Won WHAT? This was a diet!”
“It’s fine, I have a fast metabolism.” Mercy cheered as her food was brought out, the sundae and the coffee being set daintily in front of her. She wasted no time in getting the sugar from the bowl to her mouth.
Fareeha watched the travesty unfold, helpless to stop it. In the final moments of what could only be described as culinary armageddon, Fareeha Amari promised to never go against the natural courses of her wife again.