Dish; Or, Marital Bliss

She was preparing dinner in the kitchen, humming some tune he didn’t recognize. It reminded him of when they first met: He’d thought he had stumbled upon a Disney princess. And a princess she still was, in so many ways. Just give it a few moments.

“Hey, hon. I’m back.” He said, setting groceries on the counter.

“Oh, hey. Did you get the milk?”

Silence. He took a breath. He had realized once he was halfway home. Maybe he should have turned back. Well, it was too late now.

“No,” he answered.

She stopped what she was doing. He probably should have waited until she wasn’t chopping vegetables. She tossed the knife back down to the counter with a clatter, and this time it was she who took a breath.

“Really?” She put her hands on her hips, exhaling exasperation up towards the ceiling. “One thing. Just one little thing, Daniel: go to the store, get the things on the list, and come back. Is that so much to ask? Is milk really that hard of a thing to remember?”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? It’s just milk. I don’t see why you have to make a big deal out of every little–”

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “You know what? I was actually having a really good day. But you just don’t care, do you? You can’t put an effort into anything — certainly not for your wife. The sink is still dripping, by the way. You can’t even be bothered to fix that.”

“I’ll get around to it. Why does it have to be fixed right now? You only asked me like a day or two ago!”

“I asked you two weeks ago! And no, you won’t ‘get around to it’, because you never do anything I ask you to!”

“Oh, really? And what exactly did I just do? You think I want to drop everything just to run your stupid errands? Grow up!”

She barked a laugh. “Me? Now that’s rich. You’re telling me to grow up? Look in the mirror, husband. Those ‘stupid errands’ happen to be your home, your well-being, and your dinner. And without milk, tonight I guess I’ll just have to figure out something else to make, instead of your favorite.”

He sighed, running his hand through his hair. “Look, there’s no reason for us to fight about this. I can just go back, pick some up.” He grabbed his keys off the counter and went towards the door. “Bitch,” he muttered, as he unlocked it again.

The plate whizzed by his head, and broke against the wall. Another long night.

11 thoughts on “Dish; Or, Marital Bliss

  1. Well crafted, Rachel. Yes, quite good.

    Sure, I was pulling in air between my teeth by the end, but that doesn’t diminish your accomplishment. Indeed, it adds to it. Quite a feat to carry us to unexpected destinations, and in so short a space.

    I like this format, the short story, and hope to see it again before too long. Quality approaching the best of your poetry, if you ask me. You make us work (think) for our dinners, and I for one savor the “sacrifice.”

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Really? Thanks. I generally find writing poetry much easier… Less room for error. That is: fewer words, and thus less of an opportunity for mistakes. Theoretically. But, a bit of experimentation does me good. So, who knows? Perhaps you’ll get your wish.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Yes it is Rachel – in fact they are saying it is so bad now because of quarantine and nowhere to go and tempers are flaring as bills pile up, less money. My father was a “thrower” so I totally identified with it.

        Liked by 1 person

            1. It can certainly make one cynical about romance when every marriage you’ve ever seen close up is a tattered mess of barely contained tempers and thinly kept facades. Still, it’s a shame. I suppose I overcompensate with my idealistic dreaming of fairytale loves… but I like to believe that there is something better, somewhere.

              Liked by 1 person

              1. Oh Rachel – my late mom used to get so mad at me for my thinking, making sure she pointed out friends of the family who had (seemingly) perfect marriages. I’ve known some friends with perfect marriages too, but I was a little afraid to venture there.

                Liked by 1 person

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