Arthur shoved the door open to escape the heat inside. The cool evening air hit him and sent a shiver through his body, goosebumps springing up on his arms. He could still hear the thump of the washers and dryers inside, their cycle endless. Stretching his hands above his head, he inhaled deeply, a sharp pain in his chest. He thought of his doctor telling him to quit as he pulled out a cigarette and lit it. He had been smoking since he was a teenager and figured that any damage that lurked in his lungs wasn’t getting reversed from quitting now. He’d let it kill him before he quit. Leaning against the window now, he watched a sedan slide noiselessly into the parking lot and idle in an open space. Its overly bright headlights had caused him to squint they shone at him. Arthur hated those headlights.

Mabel knelt and buried herself in the dryer. Steam clung to the clothes and caused her face to sweat and her hands to burn as she threw items behind her into the basket on the floor. She grunted and reached further in and heard snickering behind her. She assumed it was towards her, she could only imagine the image she struck, her lower half hanging out, her shirt riding up her back. It had been a long time since she had a body that would have garnered whistles instead of mockery should she be in the same position. A few kids, a bad diet, and limited exercise had caused her to lose shape over time. Her doctor kept telling her she needed to lose weight as if she was unaware of the woman who stared back out of her bedroom mirror. She had tried countless times but never seeing more progress than a single digit change on the scale. She said she wanted to change, to be herself again, to see excitement in Arthur’s eyes but nothing seemed to work. The basket behind her was full.

“Arthur,” she called from inside the dryer, “would you hand me another basket, please?”

There was no response. She pulled back from the dryer as the front door jingled. She watched him stretch and light a cigarette.

Arthur took the dangling cigarette from the corner of his mouth and lit another, watching the car, its tinted windows hiding the driver from his view. He should have gone inside and helped Mabel, but he wanted to confront the driver about their headlights. It wouldn’t do any good, he knew, but it was a moment of power that had begun to feel increasingly infrequent. The car continued to idle, and he wondered what the hell they were doing in there. By the time they came out he knew he would be a real ball-buster. Taking a final drag, he flicked his cigarette towards the car, exhaling a plume of smoke like a dragon. The engine cut and the door opened; he stepped forward.

Mabel’s knee cracked as she pushed herself off the floor. She grabbed the extra basket herself and finished unloading the dryer. Stacking the baskets, she shuffled over to the table, the artificial scent of detergent shooting up her nose. Two college-aged boys slumped in the plastic chairs nearby and watched her. She knew they were the owners of the laughs she heard earlier. Glancing over at them as she hoisted the baskets onto the table, they looked away.

“Heaven, forbid you help me,” Mabel thought.

Dumping the laundry onto the table she glared at the boys who avoided eye contact, one staring at the ceiling while the other found something interesting in the calluses on his hand. Huffing, she began folding the mountain of laundry, wondering when Arthur would come back in. She thought about going to get him but knew it would cause a scene and so suffered in silence. Her hands worked without thinking; folding shirts, towels, and underwear, the pile shifting from mess to orderly. She looked up and saw her husband, pulling on a cigarette, stepping forward to a car that was now in the parking lot. He was rigid, like he was ready for a fight, and she wondered what he could be so agitated about. Her eyes went from him to the car door that began to open.

Alison pulled into the parking lot, sliding into an open space. Her headlights shone on a middle-aged man smoking a cigarette, standing by the door. He squinted as the lights passed over him. The car idled as she gathered her things. She killed the ignition and saw the man take a step into the parking lot, his mouth moving as if he were preparing a speech.

She climbed out of the car and glanced up at the man who had stepped towards her. His mouth had stopped moving and hung open like he was catching flies. She turned away from his awkward gaze and grabbed her laundry basket out of the back seat. Putting her head down, she walked past the man and approached the door. She could feel him leering like a dog at a hunk of meat. Balancing her basket on her hip, she struggled to swing the door open. The man appeared and held it for her. She refused to look up at him. He said something but she didn’t hear it. The bells on the door jingled and she stepped inside, letting the door close on the man who watched her walk away, pulling out a cigarette and rubbing it across his lips.

Arthur watched the driver step out of the sedan and felt his desire to talk about headlights evaporate. The driver was a young woman, probably in her twenties, with curly hair and a pretty face. The girl made eye contact with him briefly before turning back towards her car. He stood still, his cigarette dangling from his fingers now, staring at her bustle around, her lower half sticking out of the back seat of the car. He remembered when Mabel used to look like that, but twenty years (or was it twenty-five) will change a person. The girl pulled a laundry basket from the back seat and closed the door with her hip. Arthur eyed her hip move and felt a pulse in his groin. She walked past him, staring at the ground and struggling with the door before he came back to earth and opened it for her.

“Evenin’ darlin’,” he cooed at her, but she didn’t seem to hear him. The bells jingled on the door, and she hurried inside, letting the door close on Arthur. He watched her hips move as she walked to the far end of the laundromat. He dragged a fresh cigarette across his lips.

Mabel and Arthur watched the owner of the sedan in parallel. While Arthur’s brain scrambled with sudden desire, Mabel noticed two things; one, the girl was pretty, and two, her husband leered at the poor thing like a pubescent boy. The girl slipped through the open door that Arthur held for her, Mabel thought she heard his voice and hurried inside. Mabel eyed the girl and saw a younger version of herself. Still holding a pair of Arthur’s socks, she turned to look at her husband. He stood on the other side of the closed door, glowing ember and puffs of smoke alternating like he was hyperventilating. Mabel knew that he was looking at the girl and that he didn’t notice his wife looking at him. At last, she caught his eye, startled as if he were surprised to see her. Raising his hand in a half-wave, he stamped out his cigarette. The bells jingled and he re-entered the laundromat.

Swinging the door open, Arthur stepped back inside and walked towards the table Mabel was folding clothes on. He made a concerted effort not to look at the girl again though the pulse in his groin battled his eyes. He kissed the top of Mabel’s head and felt her shy away. Standing back, he leaned against the table and waited for her to say something. If marriage taught him anything, it was that he knew when his wife was upset. His problem, however, was that he never knew what she was upset about. “It was probably the smoking,” he thought, “she hates when I smoke.” When she refused to start the conversation he expected, he sighed and grabbed a t-shirt to fold.

They folded in silence. The boys loaded their clothes into a trash bag and left the laundromat. The room was empty except for Arthur, Mabel, and the young girl who loaded a washer in the further corner from the couple. Arthur knew a storm was coming and didn’t know how to prepare. He thought that maybe he would break the ice with a cheery comment, not that that had ever worked in the past. They were nearing the bottom of the pile when Mabel finally spoke.

“You were looking at that girl, weren’t you?”

“That’s all?” he thought. Any shame he would have felt for looking at another woman had faded years ago when their bedroom went cold. With a feigned ignorance that he adopted long ago and never let go of, he asked with the cockiness that was unbecoming of a man his age,

“What girl?”

Mabel threw down a hand towel and turned to her husband, “What girl? What girl? That girl!” She pointed at the girl in the corner who was now wearing headphones and ignorant of the storm gathering on the other side of the room.

Pretending he still didn’t know what she was talking about, he made a show of looking over her head at the girl in the corner. He felt a pulse again but managed to chuckle, “Her? Come on, Mabs, don’t you think you’re a little too old to be jealous?” He tried to poke her, but she slapped his hand away.

“Do not touch me! Don’t you think you’re too old to be leering at young girls? Have you forgotten we’re married?”

He barked a laugh in her face, “Have I forgotten? Nope. How the hell could I forget that I was married to you.” His retort was sharper than he intended, or at least sharper than he thought he intended.

Mabel recoiled as if slapped and silence settled between them again. Arthur was defiant, gripping the table, forcing himself not to look away from her. Mabel’s mouth quivered, her eyes welling. She squeaked and started to blubber, “After…thirty…five…years…”

Arthur looked at her like a puppy begging for treats. He rolled his eyes at her inability to get out whatever was stuck in her throat.

“Come on Mabs, we can argue about this another time,” he said as he took the folded laundry and dropped it into the basket, many of the pieces coming undone. Heaving the baskets off the table, he walked outside, the door jingling and swinging closed. Mabel was rooted in place, her sense of direction suddenly destroyed. She watched him through the glass door, walking to the car, never stopping to see if she was following. He lit another cigarette while she wiped tears from her face, moving toward the door the only way she had ever known how.