A scene where the only spoken dialogue is "uh-huh," "umm," "err," and "mm-hmm"

"The Longest Summer"

“Uh-huh.”

The call had already clocked almost half an hour by the time she let go of his hand and got up out of her chair. He barely reacted, staring with intent at his phone, his conversation partner. She walked, first aimlessly, then toward the kitchen. The lights were on; she reflected in the sliding glass doors leading outward to the summer evening. She stood at their counter, eyes lowered, hands clasped on the granite, and felt her heart beat through her blouse and in her stomach. She felt all her years of yoga and meditation fall at her feet, ineffective. The beautiful kitchen they’d had contracted that had once been so important to her now felt like a mausoleum. All that wasted effort. She didn’t even care about the money.

Now unable to hear the one-sided conversation in the other room that had served as her metronome, she lost track of time. She might have stood there, bent over the counter, for another half hour (or perhaps it had been just a minute). She felt herself again and straightened. The kettle was on the stove from this morning. She filled it with water and placed it back on the element turning on the heat. Now that she had purpose, it seemed to take forever. She thought of the expression “like watching paint dry” except it was “like watching water boil” (only slightly more exciting). She opened the china cabinet and took out a teacup, placing it on the counter, then reaching for another. She hesitated, felt her heart again. She didn’t know what to do. She redirected her arm to the next cupboard and got a bag of orange pekoe, dropping it in the glass, covering it with hot water. She stood a moment longer before returning to the first cabinet and taking another teacup out. She didn’t put a tea bag in it. She left the kitchen with a cup in each hand, one empty.

The living room was so silent she thought the call was over, but heard a muffled “err” from atop the receiver, indicating it wasn’t. She sat down next to him again. He was still staring at the phone. He was nodding (she had always hated him nodding on the phone). She could hear the rattle of the voice on the other end, but it was too soft to make out any words. She placed the two teacups down on the desk (coasters be damned) and put her hand over his again. It was cold, but it might have just felt that way because hers was so warm.

There was another minute of silence on their end, dotted with a single “umm…” and then the rattling in the receiver stopped. Total silence now. She held her breath.

“Mm-hmm,” he indicated simply, and hung up the phone.

They were both perfectly still. She had never heard such perfect silence in her life.

At last he turned his hand palm up and locked his fingers into hers. It was a simple gesture, but it was at this she felt herself breathe for the first time since the call ended. He squeezed her. This meant it had to be good, didn’t it?

But when he turned around to face her, he had tears in his eyes. Five years, and she’d never seen him crying until now.