Compressor

We stopped mid-sentence.

Neither of us left the room.

The fridge kicked on—

that low groan

filling the kitchen

like a third person

who won't sit down.

Ice shifted in the freezer.

Something adjusting its weight.

I counted seconds between sounds.

Fourteen. Fourteen. Eleven.

Your hands flat on the table.

Mine in my lap.

The electric bill still visible

between your fingers.

The fridge cycled off.

The quiet after was worse—

I could hear you deciding

something I wasn't part of.