He left her with the promise that he would come back after five months. She didn’t think much; a long, hard kiss on the mouth and a shine in the eyes that laughed and whined that he was going to be away.  She held his arm as he moved towards the door, and helped him into his heavy overcoat and shoes. He had pulled up his suitcase, pinched her once on the cheek, and with a flourish, pulled open the front door and stepped out to where the taxi was waiting on the driveway.

That was before.

Now she’s waiting, sitting on the dull mahogany loveseat they had bought together, rhythmically stroking one of those sequined pillows she had been so excited to see at the nearby Costco. There’s a smile on her mouth, and she can’t stop talking to the goldfish in the tank on the folding table in front of her. He’s coming back today, she says. This is the day that he said all those days ago he would come back.

The overhead light is dim, but it’s still bright enough to cast deep shadows on the walls behind her. A silhouette of a table can be seen on the wood floor. On it lays a carefully placed instant noodle cup-- beef, the one he liked most-- a plastic fork laid across its diameter. He better come back soon; it’s going to get cold.

She turns and stares into the fish’s unblinking eyes. She laughs. Mr Goldfish looks so silly, not dignified at all for him to come back to. His tank is dirty too, a thick layer of dust settling on it’s black lid. With a huff she extends a finger, and slowly drags it across the surface. She paused at the end and brought it up to her eyes. The grey on one side made her shiver; he had hated to see such filth in the squat house they had loved so much.

She rises and strides towards the kitchen sink. She turns on the tap, uncaring that the water is cold, dead cold, and runs her finger in the meager stream.

There’s a silence. She’s being silly, there’s always been a silence.

She glances back at the cup of noodles, mold growing on the edges, and sighs. This wasn’t how she wanted it to turn out for his coming home dinner. She had wanted to prepare a nice steak, and had even ventured out of her neighbourhood to find just the right one. But at the checkout aisle, she was surprised to see only a few coins at the bottom of her purse, and was resigned to settle on a small cup of instant noodles instead.

Outside, it’s beginning to snow again. She’s looking out there, grinning in spite of the cold that’s steadily creeping across her. He’s going to be home soon. Her back groans, and she returns to her loveseat. There’s an infinity between any two numbers on a number line, but no amount of waiting could have worn her down. That crisp grey morning that he had kissed her goodbye had only been a couple of infinities. Wasn’t it only five months? The calendar they always hung up in the hall somewhere towards the left in the cracks of her eyes was peeling, displaying the right date he was supposed to be home, today, in May, in beautiful, lush, bright May…

Outside, the snow keeps falling. She leans back, content on waiting, noticing for the first time that the goldfish beside her is upside down, floating limply, at the top of the water.

He going to be home soon.