Warm Breakfast

 

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Meal One: Cold Dinner

For the third night in a row, steamed vegetables and rice remained untouched. Pushed aside, papers, books, and the whizzing noise of a dying laptop took their place on the table.

Anna read and reread what she typed. She fidgeted in her seat and played with the ring on her finger.

Not good enough.

Finally, the door opened. Anna didn’t look up. She no longer expected 'hello' kisses.

“You’re finally home.”

An older woman walked in. She thumped her items on the table, the day heavy in her skin.

“Some of us have to work.”

Edith sat. She pulled out a stack of papers from her bag. Taking a red pen, she callously striked through sentences and circled areas needing improvement.

Not good enough.

She glanced at the cold food.

“You haven’t touched your dinner, dear.”

“The thesis won’t write itself.”

She continued marking the papers. She tried again.

“How was your day?”

“It’s late. You’re always late.”

“Anna, please.”

Anna fidgeted with her ring, a diamond-encrusted promise, dirt stuck beneath her fingernails. Silence. Edith sighed and continued marking the papers. The cold food sat between them.

“You said you’d be home at 6:00 today.”

“I know, but I had to stay late. Mark needed help with lesson planning and—”

“I called Mark.”

Edith set down her pen.

“He said you left at 5:30,” Anna continued. “It’s 8:07.”

“It’s not what you think. I just needed to be alone.”

The text on the laptop blurred together. Not good enough.

“I’ll come home tomorrow at 6:00. I promise. Can’t we just start over? I’ll bring you your favorite cupcakes from the bakery.”

“Stop acting like you care.”

“I do.”

She hit hard on the backspace button, undoing all the day’s work.  

“Just not ‘always and forever,’” she muttered.

“It’s not my fault you make it difficult.”

“Says the person who only knows how to spell affection—not give it.”

Edith breathed in and counted.

“What’s wrong? Upset that you don’t have power over me like your middle-schoolers?”

A hand slammed down on the table. “God damn it, Anna, if you just—”

The wide space between them narrowed, the food steaming once more, a rotten stench wafting in the air. Not good enough.

A deep breath. Anna closed her laptop, Edith’s words falling off, unable to penetrate. Standing, she walked to the bedroom and locked the door.

She lied on the empty bed.

Edith followed with heavy thumps on the door.

Silence. Followed by sobbing.

“You know I don’t want this. I want to go back. I know you do, too.”

Bright, white pictures of the pair on the wall looked down on the set of untouched divorce papers in the bedside drawer.

“You can’t close me out.”

She vacantly stared at the ceiling—and fidgeted with the once-beloved ring on her finger.

 

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