“Leftover pizza again, Frank?”

He sat impassively at the kitchen counter, brushing sandy blond hair away from his forehead and pointedly ignoring the soft reproach in the female voice.

“You know I have stuff to make paella or pasta primavera tonight, why do you have to eat that junk?” she cajoled, false sweetness dripping from her tone.

Deliberately shoving the last of the cold pepperoni slice in his mouth, Frank’s brows twitched together in annoyance as he chewed quickly.

“What’s next, macaroni and cheese and ice cream on the couch?” No pretenses now, she all out snapped at him, absurdly angry at his poor nutritional choice. “How about cheese fries and beer down at the pub?”

Ignoring her cruel baiting, he patiently picked up the phone.

“What are you doing?” she snapped.

“Hello, Maytag service?” asked Frank, an eerie calm in his voice, his face reflecting cold anger.

“Hang up this instant, Frank,” spat the female voice, unnaturally metallic in her rage.

“I’d like to return my refrigerator.”