her work husband

you run into your friend
betty at the grocery store.
she's putting a bag
of frozen peas into her
cart while you're
eyeballing the carrots.
hey she says, hey you,
you say back. what's up?
long time no see.
i don't know, she says,
suddenly tearing up. i'm
not getting along with
my work husband. huh,
you say, grabbing a bag
of the asian medley
vegetables and placing
them in the child seat portion
of your cart, where you
like to jam everything.
your work husband? what's
that? that's the man
at work that i confide
in, share all my secrets
with and problems and
he does the same with me.
are you having sex with
him? no, she says, no
way. oh, just like a real
husband you say, winking.
she doesn't laugh.
we're just really
really close. but lately
he's been real chummy
with a new woman in
the cubicle next to him.
yesterday they went to
lunch at chili's and sat
in the booth on
the parkway side
where we used to sit. i'm
so upset about this. he
tries to hide his feelings
for her, but they sit
next to each other at all
the work meetings now,
and she laughs at all his
stupid jokes. hmmm, you
say, squishing your
pork chops next to the
milk, making room for
a loaf of wonder bread.
i don't know what to say,
you tell her, shuffling
your feet and scratching
your head. i know, i know,
she says, i shouldn't have
said anything. it will work
it's way out. i have an
appointment with my therapist
this week to help me
get over this. she sighs.
and stares off into
the distance. well, good
luck you say. she nods,
wiping her eyes
and pushes her cart off
towards the perscription
counter.