Clockwise

She paced clockwise around the kitchen island while talking on her smartphone.

"If they can see the future, they should have set up a better scheduling system. No, ten months. Yeah, crazy. And that was after weeks of their 'patient intake process.'" she made air quotes with her free hand.

A dog erupted in yipes from the next room. She barked back, "Rufus, shush! Sorry. He's home. Call you later."

She slid the phone into her back pocket as the front door swung open. Her husband crossed the family room, paused to pet the excited Yorkie who had finally stopped barking, and walked into the kitchen.

"Hey babe," she said. "How did it go?"

“They gave me two to three,” he said, meeting her eyes.

She exhaled and leaned against the island, eyes glossy. "We will make them the best years—"

"Hours," he interrupted.

"What?"

"Hours. He said two to three hours," he shrugged and tossed his keys on the countertop. "Total waste of time — and traffic was awful."

"Sorry I pushed you to do this, that's ridiculous."

"Yeah, I think it's safe to say Precog Medicine is a scam," he said. "It wasn't a complete loss though — I was able to catch up on my podcasts."

"Always the silver lining with you," she softened and flashed him a flirtatious smile. "That's why I need you in my life a long, long time."

"What can I say, I'm an eternal opt—" his words choked off mid-sentence and he crumpled to the floor.

This story is also available on Medium (if you're into that sort of thing).