A short prose about the banana in the fruit basket

The banana in the fruit basket is not as ripe as she wants it to be. She likes her banana just ripe.
She told him that she would give it a couple more days before she checked back on the banana.
He told her that he had to leave and took off.
Before he left, he said to her that he had to take care of a few things.
Twenty-four hours had passed, and she hadn’t heard from him.
He didn’t like phone calls.
She texted him and reminded him about their date, the one where they make crepes and french toast. It was her turn to decide what they were going to have. Oh, that ripening banana would be just perfect if he comes tomorrow. It would not be overly sweet or hard, it would be just ripe.
She waited and she didn’t hear back.

Maybe,

Maybe he was just swamped with all the work projects and just didn’t have time to talk to her.
She was sure he would be back in a day or so, three days were the longest that they had stayed apart––be at work or be with his buddies or his family.
She was feeling excited that he was going to be back any time, she was sure before the crescent fruit would be past its sweet prime. Even so, she could handle it being just a tad overripe. She liked her bananas yellow ripe, not mushy.

The banana in the fruit basket

Several days had passed,

and she had forgotten about the banana after he texted her with the message, “will be there shortly.”
Shortly had passed too slow for her, and he still hadn’t arrived. She gave him two rings and a message asking when he was going to come home.
It was Saturday, and he came home late and crashed on the bed.
She got up to make coffee,
But she smelled the overripe banana in the air.
Her eyes stared at the banana peel, end to end, now abundant with dark patches.
It was way past ripe, though she was craving to have the banana with her crepes, or anything that went well with a banana.
She took a sip of her coffee,
He came up behind her, and grunted a “good morning,”

Without kissing her,

He grabbed the kettle and poured the hot water over his black tea.
He grabbed the banana and tore it open,
It fell apart, just like her.
“Where were you last night and the night before?” she asked.
“I told you I had something to take care of,” he said.
“What?” she asked.
“I been meaning to tell you, I need my space.”
He watched her eyes moved from him to the banana.
“You mean I waited all this time,
For a load of mush.”
“What are you talking about?” he said.