Kate in the Kitchen’s Page

 

Chapter One: Five O’Clock No More

 

 

( an ongoing fictional short story by Kate Selner)

 

It never failed.

No matter how deeply Kelly was into her work, her eyes would lift as if they had a life of their own and fall on the tiny clock tucked into the corner of her desk at the exact minute that the hour hand would slip into the five o’clock slot.

Then the dread would begin in earnest.

It would be inevitable that Kelly would wish, at that hour of five o’clock, that she had a savvier job, with her own key and a reserved parking spot, maybe; where no one would wonder why she was still at her desk late into the night, and where her wounded eyes could hide behind excessive amounts of work that no one else could do. She would have a hipper wardrobe, sleeker shoes and a designer handbag, instead of the thrift shop special that she now, unwillingly, tucked under her arm for her inevitable and reluctant drift home to her empty apartment.

Still, she pushed her hair back and shoved her arms into the sleeves of her coat, winding her scarf around her neck, dipping into her pockets for gloves and toying with her hat. She could pretend. She could muster a smile, a jovial tilt to her head and she could pretend that Edward was still there, that he would be racing her up the stairs in his usual manner, vying for the door lock in a laughable jousting of key chains, then sprinting towards the kitchen to be the first one to light the stove, pull out the pans and whip open the fridge. It was their game, after all, to see who would be the first to get dinner started, therefore absolving themselves of dish duty and earning the remote control rights, balancing the night’s wine on the arm of the scuffed sofa. She would often just let him win. His meals were creative, sassy and superlative to anything she could throw together. His manner in the kitchen was maddeningly casual; from the way he chopped his shallots to the ease at which he simply knew what went best in his dish. She could plan, dream, execute and work herself into a sweat, and her plates just never shined like his did.

And at five o’clock, faced with the dark of a snowy February, a rattling old car whose heat took forever to work, and the restless cadence of always feeling one step behind everyone else, it was, inevitably, what Kelly missed most of all.

It was a separation, she reminded herself. Edward hadn’t yet said the ‘D’ word and she dreaded each time her hand reached into the mailbox, nearly falling over with relief that no envelope bearing a legal return address came tumbling out. Edward had simply said that he wanted ‘some space’ and had reassured her that it wasn’t due to someone else, a truth that Kelly would have never been able to live with. This ‘space’, whatever it entailed, was at least in limbo; a trial that potentially had an end, a race, grueling as it was with its empty effort, that she could survive and finish. She couldn’t allow for anything else to take Edward away. He had pursued, wooed, and construed everything about their relationship from the moment they met outside the bathrooms at their favorite wine bar. He was romantic to a fault; a caged dreamer, a passionate lover and a skilled cook. On their first date he took her to not one but three of his favorite restaurants for a planned progressive dinner. He cooked her favorite mussels that melted in her mouth and made the most decadent chocolate hazelnut mousse she had ever slipped in between her lips. His kisses devoured her and he cried when he proposed to her, slipping a tiny diamond on her hand with shaking fingers. He loved her hair, held her hand when they walked together, and appreciated her friends. Eight years of life had taken its toll on both of them; eight years of disappointments, setbacks and challenges; jobs that hadn’t panned out, dreams that had been dashed and rhythms of life that never seemed quite right. And one day, Edward wasn’t there. His footsteps climbed the stairs but it was like his air had been let out, and he dropped onto the sofa, leaning his head back with closed eyes and simply said ‘I need to go away for a while.’ With that statement, the bottom dropped out and Kelly faded; slipping away from the living, listening with pained acuity to her own life escaping with a hiss like a punctured balloon. With each passing day the kitchen remained dark and food molded in the fridge. She could write her name in the dust on the butcher block and she fought off the memories that clearly showed the growing tedium; a plate glass window of clarity into his spiraling downfall.

Kelly climbed the stairs, her legs heavy, no longer able to race. The apartment was dark and cold and she pondered whether to even switch on a light. A tiny red dot blinked on the table and she pressed the button. Edwards’ voice filled the dead air; his deep resonance shot into her very core as he hesitantly asked her to meet him for dinner. Kelly smacked her shoulder on the door jam as she spun around, her heart pounding wildly and her footsteps sounded a sharp report as she barreled back down the stairs. She ignored her car and instead, forced her feet to walk the short distance to their beloved neighborhood bistro. The cold bit into her, and the stars hung in the sky; shiny, steely points of light. But Edward was seeking her, his throaty timbre coursing through her blood like fire. As she pulled open the heavy door and a rush of warm, comforting air engulfed her, she nearly began crying from the sadness. The scent and the warmth was a marker of their relationship; how many times had they wandered into its twinkling rooms, weak limbed and eyes rich with love to drench themselves in wine and fawn over plates of perfectly prepared food? Why had be picked this spot? It was their perfection here. She crossed her fingers that he hadn’t chosen this spot to leave her for good. She wouldn’t be able to bear the thought.

Edward sat at the table, his head shaggy, and a day of growth on his face. He leaped up as Kelly approached, and shot her a tentative smile. The pockets under his eyes were highly noticeable in the shadowy light, and he sat, bashful and hesitant, arms crossed and eyes downcast. Then he spoke, and Kelly listened until it was her turn, at which Edward remained attentive. Plates appeared and the scent of the meal wrapped around them both, filling the air between them with something more powerful than the words, and the apologies; an endless revelation of empty days and achingly lonely nights. He had ordered mussels and he offered her the first shell, knowing almost better than she did how her heart needed the pure relief of its briny, slippery taste. A plate of crispy seared artichoke hearts drizzled with olive oil and tossed with olives and blue cheese came next, leaving their lips slick. Dinner plates arrived; smooth, solid and heavy, the warmth was the beginning of certainty for both of them.

Edward tipped up a spoonful of creamy polenta into Kelly’s mouth, rich with golden broth and topped with perfectly seared meat. He ordered another bottle of wine. The asparagus on her plate was faultless and she carefully laid one on the edge of his pork medallions. There was more bread with creamy herb butter and a plate of fresh greens, tiny baby tomatoes and salty anchovies, topped with crunchy garlicky chunks of browned brioche. Edward let her have the last one, pushing it into her mouth with a careless finger and a knowing eye. She ordered his favorite maple panna cotta for him and touched his hand when he offered her his spoon. He carefully stirred just the right amount of cream into her coffee. Their tongues were tired from the food and talk and they walked home, arms entwined, leaving a trail of coats, clothing and shoes behind them as they jostled their way through the dark to the bedroom. Kelly could feel his tears as he pressed his face into her bare shoulder, his hands soothing on her lonely skin, their passion returning to newlywed days.

“Come back to me” she whispered, her voice cracking. His arms tightened around her as he covered her body with his own. “I’ll wash the dishes every night if you would only cook in our kitchen again. I can’t stand even going in there.”

“No, that wouldn’t be fair” he said, his voice low, lips pressed tight to her neck. “I’ll teach you to cook, I’ll show you how I do it, and then I will wash the dishes.”

She sighed deeply, feeling him move, his heart pouring through his chest into hers; a solid, rhythmic beat that she knew like her own breath. He couldn’t stop kissing her, like he had to make up for lost time and long, forlorn nights, and she filled her hands with his disheveled hair.

“Let’s go grocery shopping tomorrow after work.” He said, propping up on an elbow to look at her. He brushed a strand of hair off her forehead and Kelly felt the rush of air roar through her, like the wind outside the thin walls of their temporary home, as the view through the picture window opened up with a bright, blinding light.

“And then,” he said, playfully; a smile crossing his face, “I’ll give you your first cooking lesson.”

 

7 Responses to “Chapter One: Five O’Clock No More”

In the Manner of Edward and Kelly…..

Chapter Two- Life lessons, in and out of the kitchen.

((to read Chapter One, please click here))

He couldn’t believe what he had just heard.

“Come again?” Edward said in disbelief. His boss, Gary, smiled broadly.

“You heard me. Jed has given his notice. We want you to take his place.”

Edward still didn’t believe him; shaking his head back and forth wishing his brain would spit out the truth. Gary stepped over to him, laying a hand on his shoulder.

“Look,” he said, his voice dropping. “It wasn’t my idea to pass you up for the position Jed got two years ago, I wanted them to hire you for it. I was overruled. This time, I told them, in no uncertain terms, that you deserved the promotion. And thankfully, it was agreed upon.” Edward felt like he might tear up; he couldn’t wait to call Kelly and tell her. As Gary left he rested his elbows on his desk, his head hanging in his hands as he resisted the urge to shout out loud. Finally, the promotion he’d been dreaming of; more responsibility and a lot more pay. He felt the cold of the desk right through the worn elbows in his shirt; all of them were like that. He took care not to button up the cuffs too long so as not to blow out another sleeve. Kelly was pretty good at sewing up the rips, but there was only so much that could be done. Once she had joked that their life was just like his work shirts; worn out and in need of repair.

But it hadn’t been a joking manner when he realized just how right she had been.

The separation had been hardest on her; clearly she was not at fault for his perception of his life. She was, in all honesty, the only truly bright spot he had at the time, but the struggles had all been internal; and all his own doing. Edward watched his friends, their friends move on in their lives. He watched them buy houses and move away; he watched them earn bigger paychecks. He saw how Kelly eyed her friends clothing, how she cooed over their new babies and enviously fingered the brand new furniture in their comfortable new homes and he felt ashamed. She never said a word, but he knew her; he knew her emotional battles and he knew her heart and her gentle soul. She would never ask for what they didn’t, or couldn’t have. They had vowed for better and for worse; he only wished there was more of the better part of life for them. It was hard being a husband who couldn’t provide, no matter how many times Kelly insisted that it was fine, that she was fine and that he shouldn’t feel the need to shoulder so much. Her job wasn’t so hot either, she pointed out. She repeatedly reminded him that in time, they would move up. In time.

But this!! He pushed his chair back and stood to his feet, reaching for his coat and briefcase. He swept his papers into it and threw the coat over his arm, running down the stairs to the bus stop, paying no attention to the chill wind that swept down the street. April was so fickle, he thought to himself as he bumped along, staring out the window; one day warm and sunny, and the next, a bone chilling wind. A stop at the market was necessary; tonight needed a celebration.

Slinging a basket over his arm, Edward went in search of inspiration. Ramps! He stopped in delight, fingering their rough stalks, taking in the sweet, earthy onion scent. He dropped a bundle in the basket, dreaming of shrimp, clams and ramps in creamy herb sauce. The fresh fish was too expensive; and those frozen ones, yech! A bunch of baby carrots went into the basket alongside several violet-hued turnips and two chiogga beets. He would sear them on the stove and shave the good asiago over those, he thought, his mouth watering. He plucked a handful of thyme from the bin, a few stalks of basil leaves and a thick bunch of parsley, then went in search of fresh linguine.

“Max!” he cried out to the stooped shouldered man behind the deli counter. “Got any of that fresh pasta today?” Max smiled broadly, holding out a gnarled hand to Edward.

“What? You think I’m a ….what you call, a slacker?” He made a fist at Edward in jest, then pointed down the counter where tiny piles of honey toned linguine and verdant fettuccine lay coiled like snakes. “How much you want, eh? How’s that pretty gal of yours?”

“Oh, Max, I got a promotion today and I can’t wait to tell her!” beamed Edward, his eyes shining.

“Ho! Yeah!” shouted Max, his voice booming. Several customers turned around, startled but he paid no attention. “You finally got it! Oh, my boy, that is wonderful! You will be celebrating, no?” Edward nodded.

“What are you cooking, hmmm? Tell me!” Edward tried to keep smiling but his eyes fell.

“I wanted to make seafood pasta with these fresh ramps, but…y’know…” his voice trailed off, embarrassed to tell Max that he couldn’t afford the shrimp and clams. Max clasped his hands on the counter, his eyes warm and kind.

“My friend, your food can make my grandmother turn in her grave. There is love, no? In your food? That is the one ingredient that makes it shine above all others. You love what you cook, and you love to feed your beautiful wife. You take those herbs, ok, that basil and parsley and you wash them good and dry them, then dust them with a little seasoned flour, ok? Make a puddle of that good olive oil, in your pan and cook…..hot! Very hot! Very fast! Then put on paper towel. Do the same to the ramps, ok? Melt some butter, good and hot; make it turn brown like I told you. Make sure you save the pasta water, don’t throw out that starch. Toss the pasta in the brown butter, very hot! Quick! Then add a splash of the grigio, you got grigio, right? More butter and some of the pasta water. Then the thyme. Make a good sauce. Top it with the crispy herbs.” Max pinched three fingers together, pressing them to his lips. “Your lovely lady won’t even miss the fish, ok? And love, oh, its love all over that dish there, my friend.”

Edward smiled again, his heart leaping. Max to the rescue once more.

“Thanks Max, you’re the best!” Max waved off Edwards’ praise. “Naw. I just, y’know…” But he smiled, his thick cheeks turning slightly pink. Edward knew he was touched and pleased. On his way out, he sent a longing glance over the seafood case; the glistening orbs of scallops, rich red sides of salmon and piles of fresh trout. As he walked away, he resolved to pick out the best lot of them with his first good paycheck and cook them both a seafood lover’s feast.

Racing up the stairs, he felt like he had springs in his feet. Pushing open the door, he tossed his coat on the hook and kicked off his shoes, dropping his briefcase with a bang, heading for the kitchen.

“Hold on there!” he called out, seeing Kelly bending over the fridge. She spun around, her eyes bright. “Hi!” she called out. “But I got home first!” Then her eyes dropped to the bag in his hand, and she saw his glowing smile.

“Edward! What’s going on? You look like you just won the lottery!” He laid the bag on the butcher block and swept her up into an embrace, burying his head in her familiar and comforting scent. If he could have twirled her in that tiny, cramped kitchen, he would have done so until they both fell down.

“I got a promotion! Jed is leaving and I am to take over his position!!” he shouted, his eyes shining. Kelly gasped. They clung to each other, laughter pouring from them, and years of disappointment falling away. They weren’t young, but they weren’t old either, and yet, each alone and in their own way, they both felt like there was some place along the path of their life that they should have reached by now, some goal or achievement that always seemed just outside their grasp. Edward felt it intently in their tiny apartment with the old worn furniture that was mismatched and shabby. He saw it in her winter boots that barely had made it through the past few months, the thin spots in his shirts and threadbare towels in their bathroom. And Edward saw it in her, she knew it too. He saw how hard she tried not to stare when she visited yet another friend’s new home; or how she would gaze too long at a new coat or shoes. He saw her lay aside store ads for bedding and pick up the coupons and a scissors. He saw it all, as acutely as he saw his own life, hanging suspended; a silent, repeated spin in the same dreary place, and the way the years seemed to peer out of his face, more edgy and harsh, as he stared in the mirror.

But soon, that was going to change.

Edward unloaded his bounty, relating his story and Max’s instructions to Kelly who set about washing the herbs. He took out the Plugra, and plunged their last bottle of Tocai into the ice bucket, the one bottle he was saving for a special occasion. From the back of the fridge he fished out his pinot grigio, the block of asiago and the remains of some honey butter for the crackling loaf of sourdough he had tossed in his basket at the last minute. Kelly’s eyes lit up as he lay out his plan on the butcher block.

“Plugra! This is a celebration!”

He smiled at her. She deserved the best tonight. He watched her at the sink, her thin arms wet to the elbow, a thick strand of her coarse brown hair falling over her cheek, as she swished the herbs and separated the ramps, dropping them by the handful into the salad spinner, and whizzing them dry. Carefully she snipped off the leaves, laying them out, then she tossed flour, salt, pepper, dry mustard and garlic powder on a plate, dredging the tiny leaves one by one, while Edward dumped handfuls of linguine into the roiling water. She sliced the ramps so thin that he could scarcely believe it. She painstakingly seared off the leaves in her sauté pan, using two forks to bring them, hot and crispy, onto the towel lined plate, and then dropped in the pungent ramps, letting them sputter and leap in the hot oil. The butter sizzled, its aroma filling the kitchen. He placed his measuring cup in the colander to catch some pasta water, and drained away the rest. Kelly watched closely as he dropped the pasta into the browned butter, tiny flecks covering the delicate strands. A few deft twists of the pan and Edward drizzled in the pinot, swirling as he poured. Kelly cut off a few more pats of butter, her lean frame resting against him as she poured in the water and tossed the butter on top, dropping in handfuls of carefully plucked thyme leaves. The carrots, turnips and beets had turned a golden brown in their pan and with a quick twist of her hands, Kelly dropped half a dozen ragged strands of asiago over them, then ground out plenty of aromatic pepper. Edward’s arm brushed against her breast as he reached for the Maldon, and he smiled sideways at her, a slight twinkle in his eye, readily accepting her kiss. The room was warm, humid and filled with the pungent perfume of their meal.

He reached above Kelly’s head and pulled their stemware off the rack, handing her the glasses. A few assured twists of the corkscrew and the rich scent of the wine reached their nostrils, glistening like straw, deep with the scent of fresh pears.

“Next time we make this dish, we will make it right, with lots of shrimp and clams to go with more of this Tocai.” He said, his voice an assured promise. They touched glasses, sipping the delicious gold liquid. He pulled their stools out from the broom closet and they sat down, plates brimming and eyes gleaming.

Edward saw in his mind that the road was now twisting; and the path ahead of them wasn’t clear yet, but somehow he knew it would gain clarity as they moved forward. It couldn’t last forever, this stagnating ride; it simply couldn’t be so tedious for much longer without some altering change. Kelly’s leg swung aimlessly as she twisted her pasta on her fork, her face shining; cheeks bright red in the heat of the room.

“Maybe my turn is next, huh?” she said, her voice optimistic as she glanced up at him, a basil leaf between her fingers. She popped it in her mouth, chewing contemplatively, her eyes distant but happy. Edward watched her smile broaden as she looked back down at her plate, the strands of pasta mingling with browned vegetables. His love for her filled his heart. She was always, always thinking positively.

“Yeah, I’m sure of it.” She said, her hand resting on his knee. They left the dishes and took the rest of the bottle of wine into the bathroom; drawing a steaming bath into their huge claw foot tub. As Kelly eased herself into the hot water, she sighed deeply.

“Let’s make sure we get one of these in whatever new home we find, OK?” She reached for the glass he handed her, leaning back to make room for him. As he slipped in next to her, he felt a profound sense of peace that he had found his way back to her, and to this place, where the warmth of her skin and the passionate sense of belonging were really, when it comes right down to it, the only thing he couldn’t live without.

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