“You know, you could still hold the door for me, Mouse,” I said as the heavy wooden-framed glass door swung in front of my nose.

Mouse continued into the store without acknowledging my comment. We hit the glossy concrete floor inside IKEA, and I told myself to let my snappy mood subside. Mouse was off from the hospital for a day, and we’d both decided that a new armchair was necessary in the living room. With all of Mouse’s medical books everywhere, sometimes it was work just trying to find a place to sit.

We’d made our way to the second floor, where the sofas and chairs were, without saying another word to each other. Mouse paused in front of a brown corduroy armchair with a rounded back rest.

“That will not go in our living room,” I said and crossed my arms.

Mouse still stayed silent, but he looked up at me with bitterness. Then his eyes focused behind me and changed.

I turned to see a skinny blonde in a pink skirt and white, strappy heels browsing the wall-unit bookshelves. Her shoes clicked softly on the coated concrete as she stepped around desk chairs and tilted her head up toward the top shelves. I felt my fists start to clench as I snapped my gaze back toward Mouse. He turned as if to consider a green micro-suede chair on the other side of the aisle, but then arched his back to peer around the corner after the woman.