" She pulls a face and mutters something.
‘Seriously, though, why don’t you?’
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake – I don’t know, Howard. Maybe this is all I’m good for. Maybe office equipment is all there is to write about.’
He withdraws his hand, exasperated. ‘Well, if you won’t do anything about it, then you’ve got to stop complaining.’
‘I’m not complaining, if you ever actually listened to what I –’
‘I do listen, that’s the problem, I’m listening all the time to you telling me you’re unhappy, but then when I try to encourage you to do something about it –’
‘Just forget it, I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘Fine, but then don’t tell me I’m not listening when the problem is you don’t want to talk –’
‘Can we just forget – Jesus, would you put that fucking thing down?’ She stares at him, alight with wounded fury, until he slides the camera’s panel shut. Right, right, this is how they act. She grabs another cigarette, lights and tugs at it in a single blur of antipathetic motion.
‘Fine,’ says Howard, picking up his book and getting to his feet. ‘Fine, fine, fine, fine. "
― Paul Murray , Skippy Dies