Unwanted Guest, by Amber Averay
You know that old saying about house guests? About how they stink and are ugly and taste worse than they look? I can confirm all of the above.
It’s not like I go out of my way to learn these things, but if an opportunity presents itself I will seize it. Usually with my husband’s support – but this time he was somewhat irritated by my selection. How can it be my fault, when he invites his oldest, most toxic friend to stay for a week – without consulting me first! – and then permits him to stay…and stay…and stay…until it’s been three months and our spare room is no longer ‘spare’ but ‘Adrian’s’? Every query about his plans to find his own place are met with a shrug, a smirk, a flippant, ‘Robbie knows I’m looking. I’ll be out when I can.’
But he’s not looking. He’s not searching. He’s not contributing to the bills, the general expenses, assisting with housework. He. Is. A. MOOCH. And Robbie is perfectly happy for things to stay as they are.
I, however, am not. Which is how we ended up here. In this position. Where Robbie is either ignoring me in protest, or accusing me of targeting his ‘oldest and most amazing friend’.
I beg to differ – and I am not the one who usually does the begging. Usually I can make the moment last, drawing out the fear, the flavour, the fervent prayers for mercy. This time, I just wanted him gone. So, now he is.
There wasn’t enough room in the chest freezer, no matter how I packed it, so some of him is sitting in the fridge – but soon he’s going to smell as foul as he did while alive. He’s already as ugly as when he was a living, breathing leech. I hate to think how this batch of meals are going to taste, but – just as they say guests are smelly fish who shed scales everywhere and make a mess and annoy the hell out of you – I loathe wasting resources. And I have a cupboard of spices and herbs. I can make it work.
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