1
LILY
On Fridays, I remind my students how important it is to learn something new every day, and we always start our week by sharing the new things we’ve discovered over the weekend. For example, today I learned that printers aren’t the only technical appliance affected by fear and stress. Ovens do it just as well, or maybe it’s just mine.
I scrunch my nose at the feeling of PVC flooring sticking to my thighs and lean against the refrigerator while I keep a close eye on the slowly browning meat.
It’s Brady’s and my second wedding anniversary today, and since he keeps comparing everything I cook to his mom’s recipes, I called her a week ago and asked how she made her roast beef. As it turns out, she prepares it exactly like I do, so I guess external factors were causing mine to “lack flavor”.
I even made brussel sprouts, despite hating the stinky little balls. Brady likes them, and if I’m being honest, this dinner is less about my preferences, and more about trying to bring back the spark in our relationship. Not that my previous attempts have been successful, but to quote my mom:A marriage is hard work, Lillian.
A car parks in front of our house and by the time the front door opens, I’m back on my feet, greeting Brady with a warm smile.
“Do we have something to celebrate?” he asks, grabbing one of the cookies I made for dessert before he throws his phone and keys on the dinner table, right on top of the drawing one of my first graders gifted me today.
“No, don’t worry,” I say, and the smile on my face no longer reaches my eyes. “They just had some good deals at the supermarket.”
“All I’m hearing is that you’re serving me old meat.” When I don’t laugh along with him, he eyes me with a sigh. “Always so sensitive,” he says, putting his arm around my waist. “It was just a joke. Smells great, babe.”
He kisses my cheek, but it doesn’t feel truly affectionate.
“Look what—“ I start, turning to show him the painting, but the sound of rustling paper and Brady’s look of disapproval cuts me off.
“People really need to stop praising their kids for every fart they produce. I hope you’re not their art teacher.”
The now crumpled up and greasy artwork lands back on the table, and I hide my disappointment by focusing on the potatoes. Brady slaps my butt and leaves the kitchen, not without telling me to call him once dinner is ready.
As I try to flatten the piece of paper, guilt and anger mix inside of me. The thought of Levi’s proud face as he handed me his drawing makes my heart sting, and I promise myself to be more careful in the future.
The shower starts running deeper inside the house, and just as I add mopping the bathroom floor to my to-do list, Brady’s phone lights up on the table. I don’t recognize the name of the person, and taking the call for him would only result in a discussion, so I grab the phone and rush over to the bathroom.
Instead of thanking me or telling me to just put it somewhere, he scrambles to snatch the phone out of my hand. His facial expression is a mix of concern and anger, and when he barks something about calling back in a minute, I’m already out of the room.
Twenty minutes later, he rejoins me in the kitchen where I’m still dutifully observing the oven. Of course it went out the moment I stopped looking.
Upon seeing Brady stand there in jeans and a fresh shirt, I can’t hide the sense of letdown I’m feeling. He puts on his shoes and the look on his face is enough for me to know what’s going on.
“Sorry, babe,” he says, walking up to me.
“Something came up at work,” I finish the sentence for him.
“Don’t wait for me, it’s going to take a while. One of the new guys fucked up some spreadsheets and now everyone is panicking.”
He gives me a kiss so faint and rushed that it feels more like a breeze than an actual display of affection before he grabs his keys and leaves the house.
Once I hear him leave the driveway, I make my way over to the living room. I have to put together some worksheets for my students either way, so why not do it now?
This time, when the constant humming of the oven stops, I don’t bother turning it back on.
2
LILY
Today I learned what it’s like to stumble into an ongoing home invasion. Oh, and how it feels when a bullet lands in someone’s head, only inches away from mine. Two new weekend experiences I could have gladly lived without.
Sweat runs down my temple,causing a sharp sting when it reaches my left eye. I tighten my hold on the steering wheel as I try to blink it away. It doesn’t work, only makes everything appear blurry, and when my car ventures into the other lane, I slow down to press my palm against my eye socket.
This street isn’t Interstate 5, but that doesn’t mean I need to find out if my car would win a confrontation with a sturdy shrub. I turn the AC on low and let out a deep breath when the hot air coming out of the vents turns the sedan into a sauna.
