He’d trekked pond water into the living room again. April stared at the soggy carpet, her heart sinking. Here and there were draped long strings of algae, and in the middle of it all was a broken water lily, its white petals bruised and wilting. She stopped to pick it up, staring at it forlornly before she tossed it down again. She walked across it to the bathroom, the carpet squelching underfoot, and grabbed some towels to place down. She was going to need to use the wet-vac.

“Travis?” she called out. “Travis? Are you home?” She heard a croak from upstairs. She steeled herself and climbed them, her wet feet slapping against the wood. Travis was in their master bath, half submerged in the giant jacuzzi that they had turned into a pond for him. He was mostly submerged when she entered. Only his large, wide eyes were visible above the surface of the water, which was covered in lily pads. His bald head gleamed. Around the tub were an assortment of mismatched buckets full of mud with cattails stuck into them, and a small speaker in the corner of the bathroom played nature ambient sounds.

“Travis, can you come out please?”

He pulled himself out of the bath. She looked at him impassively. He was squat, and round, and more than a little bowlegged. Wide, fleshy lips, and heavy jowls across a round head. He had very little neck.

“What’s wrong, dear?” He rasped as he wrapped a white towel around his waist. She noticed with resignation that it was one of her fluffy white towels. It immediately started dripping grey water onto the floor.

“The carpet’s soaked again.”

“Well, I didn’t do it.”

“Travis, it’s very clearly pond water. You must have done it. I don’t exactly spend hours a day soaking. I have a job.”

He frowned at the dig, and then shrugged. “These things happen.”

“But they don’t need to happen!” she blurted out. “And now it needs to be cleaned again!”

“You’re getting a little testy,” Travis pointed out. “As for the cleaning, you know you’re better at that than I am,” he said, going back into the bedroom and rummaging in a drawer for a pair of sweatpants. “You weren’t happy the last time I did it.”

“Because you wandered away in the middle of the job, and then it got mildewy and I had to rent an industrial cleaner so we don’t lose our deposit on this place!” She could feel a headache coming on and massaged her temples.

“I’m not sure what you want me to do about it. I need water,” he said, his deep voice edged with a whine that had her gritting her teeth. “Don’t you want me to have water? What, are you going to drain the pond? That’s mean. Why are you being so mean to me?”

“I’m not trying to be mean,” she said patiently. “It’s just that you told me that you wouldn’t do it again, and now it’s been done again, and we were supposed to be past this by now.”

“Yeah, we were,” he said, “But whose fault is that?”

“You told me that you would change a long time ago!”

“Yeah, but it takes kisses to do that. Apparently, they are in short supply,” he shot back, yanking his sweatpants on. Travis never seemed to realize that when she spent all her time taking care of or cleaning up after his amphibian needs, it was really hard to get into the mood for romance. “Frigid bitch,” he mumbled under his breath.

“Excuse me?!”  She glared at him.

“Sorry,” he said meekly. “It’s just frustrating to me that I still look like this. I’m just struggling.”

April sighed. “You and me both.”

“Just another kiss?” Travis begged, switching tactics. “I’m sure it’ll be the one that turns me into a prince.”

“I don’t even need a prince,” April said. She had given up the idea of a prince in shining green armor and a happily-ever-after a long time ago. “I would be content with someone who didn’t trek pond water into my living room!”

“OUR living room,” Travis snapped. “I live here too.”

“Then you can clean it!” She snarled back, marching out of the room and into her own office. She closed the door behind her and took a long, shuddering breath. She could hear his oversized feet stomp down the stairs, and then the front door opened and shut with a slam. The house was quiet.

“Probably back to that god-forsaken pond to wallow in the mud,” she muttered to herself. They’d met there three years ago, and with stars in her eyes she had given him a kiss, and he had turned from a rather handsome green and yellow-speckled frog into the person he was now. For three years, she had struggled, hoping that the transformation would continue. Instead, things had stagnated, and like the bathtub pond things had become brackish and foul. She was three years into this relationship, nearing thirty, and was finally beginning to wonder whether or not she was done holding out, whether or not she had spent enough time, too much time, waiting for the fairytale reveal. She felt tears welling in her eyes. She closed her eyes, counted to ten, and then left the room to go fetch the wet-vac.

That night, as she slept in their bed, he crawled in next to her, wrapping his stubby arms around her. His hot bogwater breath blew against her neck. “I’m sorry,” he murmured into her neck. “I’ll be better, I promise.”

“Will you?” she said, and to her shame, a pleading tone had entered her voice.

“Of course,” he said, and his long tongue reached out to lick her neck. It was cold, and slimy and she couldn’t repress a shudder. “What do you say?”

“No,” she said, and she inched further away from him. “I’m trying to sleep.”

She could sense him sulking on the other side of the bed. After only a few minutes, she could feel him relax and then his weird, bubbling snore began. It took her a long time to fall back asleep.

When she woke up, he was gone again, and there was pond water in the kitchen. She stared at the puddle as she leaned against the laminate countertop, her steaming mug of coffee clutched in her hands. She stood like that for twenty minutes, before she resolutely put her coffee down and made her way upstairs.

She went into their master bath, pushed her sleeves up and plunged her arms into the tub. She reached down past the lily pads and dug through the thick layer of mud and debris at the bottom of the tub. After a moment of scrabbling, her fingers finally caught onto a small, filth-encrusted chain, and she pulled the plug.