By: William Kitcher

Olivia’s hours at the hospital were cut back, and Ignacio didn’t get the raise he was expecting, so they decided to rent out their spare bedroom. They were in their early forties and saving for a house in which Olivia thought she could have children, and Ignacio thought he could have a pool table.

Olivia was a slightly imposing woman who smelled of lavender and sweat. Ignacio was a quiet man who liked bow ties and silence, and whose clothes smelled of a different era.

Hubert, a young man of twenty-one, took the room due to its fair price and because Olivia said she would give him breakfast and dinner six days a week. “You’re on your own for lunches and, on Sundays, I don’t cook.”

This was acceptable to Hubert although, after a couple of weeks, he said he wouldn’t require breakfasts anymore, and so his rent was reduced accordingly. It wasn’t Olivia’s lack of talent at providing cereal, or making toast and coffee that led to Hubert’s decision. It was her non-stop talking that Hubert found difficult to endure shortly after waking up. He was OK with questions he could answer “yes” or “no”, but many of the follow-up questions about his personal life seemed very intrusive even though he didn’t have much of a personal life. Besides, there was a nearby coffee shop where he could get his morning bagel and coffee at a better price than what Olivia and Ignacio were charging him.

“I think there’s something wrong with Hubert,” said Olivia to Ignacio one morning in the now slightly empty breakfast nook.

“How’s that?” said Ignacio, not really caring.

“He seems somewhat, I don’t know, lustful,” she said.

“He never says anything,” said Ignacio. “What makes you think that?”

“It’s something a woman just knows,” she said.

“Uh huh,” said Ignacio, and went back to his morning newspaper. To himself, he said, “I don’t think there’s anything a woman or a man just knows.”

Each dinner time, Hubert ate relatively quickly. He was torn between slowly enjoying his meals (Olivia was a very good cook) and wolfing them down so he could get away from her, and go to his room to read, watch TV, or prepare for his next day’s work.

Sometimes he would compliment Olivia on her cooking, and smile at her or give her a knowing nod.

Olivia would smile back, speculating on what Hubert really meant.

One evening during dinner, after Ignacio finished his meal quickly and disappeared into the living room to read the newspaper he had read that morning, Olivia said to Hubert, who was enjoying his final Brussels sprout, “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“No, I don’t, Mrs. Silva.”

“Please call me Olivia.”

“I’ve been living here for three months. Have you ever seen me go out on a Friday or Saturday night?”

“I thought you might be an afternoon person, if you know what I mean.”

He did know what she meant but chose to ignore it. “No, I have no girlfriend. Or a boyfriend either, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Don’t you think an older woman could be more desirable than a younger woman?”

“I suppose that—”

“Me, for instance. I’m older but still attractive, yes? I’ve noticed you looking at my arms.”

Hubert remembered looking at Olivia’s arms once, a few weeks before, and thought they were very good arms for a woman in her forties, but hadn’t returned to the thought since then until now. He excused himself at that point and went to his room, where he read for a while without retaining anything he read.

Olivia wandered into the living room and said to Ignacio, “I think we have a problem. I think Hubert’s in love with me.”

“You’re probably right,” said Ignacio.

At the next night’s dinner, even before Hubert could even pick up his knife and fork, Olivia said, “What do you think about love?”

Hubert hoped the question was directed at Ignacio but, when he looked up, Olivia was looking at him. He jammed his fork into the mashed potatoes, and slowly ate the only mouthful of food he would enjoy that night. “Well,” he said, “I don’t think it’s a real thing. People confuse attraction and lust with love. There’s no doubt we are attracted to other people—”

“Told ya,” interrupted Olivia, looking at Ignacio, who had a serious look on his face that was actually confusion.

Hubert ignored the interruption and continued. “There’s obviously a subjective thing going on when it comes to beauty and to what and to whom we’re attracted. And, I can’t speak for women, but most men, when they meet an attractive woman, well, you know…”

He looked at Ignacio and Olivia. Ignacio was nodding unconsciously; Olivia’s eyes sparkled.

Hubert forged on. “It’s all really an electro-chemical reaction, pure instinct. But that lust inevitably fades. If people are compatible, they get into a relationship, normally monogamous but not necessarily…”

Olivia gasped.

“… and they say that’s ‘love’. And they think that ‘love’ is only one thing, which it’s not. You ‘love’ your parents, you ‘love’ your children, you ‘love’ your friends, your dog, pizza, baseball, but they’re all completely different feelings, lumped together under the generic word ‘love’.”

There was silence for a few moments until Olivia said, “Methinks you doth protest too much, to quote Henry Miller.”

Ignacio nodded, and finally said, “That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. I don’t get that at all. I’ve always loved Olivia. What I mean is—”

Olivia interrupted. “Hubert, I think you have to leave. You’re generally a very nice young man, but I think you have some very lustful thoughts and ways.”

Hubert took another forkful of mashed potatoes, then went to his room, packed his suitcase, and left.

The apartment was quiet.

“A very handsome young man, don’t you think?” asked Olivia.

Ignacio looked at her, and said, “Not to me.”

“Actually, quite sexy,” said Olivia. “Very virile and mysterious. And strong. And attractive. And sexy.”

“You already said that,” said Ignacio.

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William Kitcher’s stories, plays, and comedy sketches have been published, produced, and/or broadcast in over a dozen countries. His stories have appeared in Fiery Scribe Review, Ariel Chart, New Contrast, Eunoia Review, Defenestration, and many other journals. His comic noir novel, “Farewell And Goodbye, My Maltese Sleep”, the second funniest novel ever written, was published in 2023 by Close To The Bone Publishing, and is available on Amazon.