Is a single egg enough? He thought cracking one into the frying pan. It seems he’s eating less and less. The already-sagging skin drapes down from his arm as he reaches for the spatula. He barely remembers when muscle was there. He probably didn’t need as much food now that she was away.
But I think she’s coming back today, he thought. Didn’t she say she was coming back? Anyway it doesn’t matter, he said to himself, shuffling to the table to meet up the egg with his toast and tea. Everything was ready for her. The dogs were actually clean. They smelled good after their baths, a lot better than their usual manky smell. Why did they roll in shit?
The house was clean, too. He’s usually a slob, just can’t be bothered to keep it clean. One time she surprised him and came home a day early. She discovered their tornadoed home. She looked at him like he was a troll; that never happened again. When she’s away, it’s a disaster but he doesn’t care. It’s not important to him. Let the dust collect.
Dust is strange he always said. Even if a house is deserted for years at some point there’s no more dust. It’s true. Dust only collects for a few inches and then it seems to stop accumulating. How is that possible? He wiped some runny yolk from his chin. She’d have told him it was there if she were here. She looked at his face. She paid attention.
He knew she was coming back soon because he’s cleaned the house. When he was really young he worked for an industrial cleaning company. She always marveled that he’d spend three hours cleaning up the kitchen after a simple meal. She noticed. She saw there were no bits of food or grease left in the corners or on the edges or under anything. She said it was great that he washed the cast iron burners and even the extractor fan filter. She meant it too. She really did think it was great.
She was gone a lot. Very busy girl, that one. He laughed at the word. Senior citizens don’t usually get called “girl.” She still had some of that in her. He liked to go to cartoon movies with her because she laughed so loud and much more than the kids did. Wasn’t self-conscious at all, or apologetic. Sometimes stuffy grown-ups told her to “hush.” That didn’t stop her.
She loved ice cream too. He smiled to himself remembering all the times he walked to the filling station in the rain just to satisfy her wish for butter pecan ice cream. He never thought it was too much trouble. She would tell him not to go and she didn’t really want it and it was raining, but she did want it. He was glad to do it. Pleasing her pleased him.
He picked up the dishes and carried them to the sink. He washed them with extra hot water, dried them and put them away. He had to keep the place tidy for her.
The dogs came loping in to try to collect some unearned strokes. Those months when he was away she’d made them soft. They would never have been asking for strokes before that time. But she spoiled them. And they adored her too. When she used to do yoga on the floor she would stretch out and one or the other of the dogs would lie across her back or her arms or her legs. They wanted to be a part of her. He brought dogs into her life. She used to be afraid of them. But he taught her to distinguish between growls and barks and looks. She was grateful for that. She loved them.
He knew he had some chores to do, but he couldn’t remember what they were. He searched his memory but just as he got close to the answer it would dart away from him and hide somewhere else in his mind. He wandered around his mental labyrinth searching for it, but it evaded him. He gave up. Maybe it would come back if he walked around the house.
The dogs followed him into their bedroom. He was proud of its cleanliness. Won’t she be surprised that everything is put away? There’s no smoke smell either. She could always smell smoke on other people but never on him. He’d lied to her and told her he had quit. He hid it from her for years. She had been so proud of him when he’d announced that he’d quit cold turkey. She thought he was so strong. He didn’t want to watch the pride turn to disappointment in her eyes if he told her the truth. It was just a little white lie anyway.
He padded around the house trying to remember the chores he had to do. He went outside and the garden looked great. She loved all the flowers he’d grown and tended for her. She could never remember their names, but she lifted her arms around his neck and kissed him for all those lovely colors and sweet smells. That’s what she said—lovely colors and sweet smells.
Funny she wasn’t home yet. He thought he’d sit in the garden with the dogs and wait for her. No hummingbirds. Looks like she forgot to fill the hummingbird feeders. That’s not like her. She’s usually so organized. Those birds are fun to watch. They look so sweet and they’re so vicious. Territorial, I guess. Anyway she’ll be so pleased with how good the house looks. He might even get a kiss.
Julia Pimblett lives in the mountains of Spain with her husband and two dogs. She writes about everyday people facing life’s challenges. She will be published in the Spring by Bethlehem Writers’ Roundtable.