No tablecloth. No serving bowls. Paula sat at her laptop, finishing a cup of lukewarm green tea. Sammy was in his room watching cartoons.
Mike stopped dead. His eyes darted over every surface. The vent hood. The stove. The sink.
There wasn’t the slightest sign that anybody had cooked a thing. No pans out. No steaming pot of potatoes. The air smelled like lemon cleaner, not fried cutlets.
His face went long, his eyebrows climbing into deep folds across his forehead. — Paula, where is everything? — he managed, pointing at the empty table. Paula slowly closed her laptop.
— What exactly is “everything”? — Food! — he threw up his hands as if confronting a gross injustice of the universe. — It’s your birthday!
Where are the salads? Where’s the meat? Where’s the pie, for crying out loud?
I just got home from work, I’m beat. She looked up at him. Paula’s dark eyes were perfectly calm, like a lake right before a storm.
— You already ate your money for this month, — she said in a level voice, stripped of all emotion. — I bought groceries only for myself and our son.
Sammy and I already had dinner. Mike opened his mouth, shut it, then opened it again. He looked like a fish dropped onto a dock in July.
— Are you out of your mind? — his voice cracked. He flung his arms so hard he nearly knocked over a mug. — My mother and sister are on their way. I promised them dinner!
A thick, heavy silence settled in the kitchen. Paula didn’t even blink. She just sat there looking at this grown man who truly believed the world should rearrange itself on command.
Her calm only made him angrier. He had expected excuses. He had expected panic. — And why exactly did you invite them? — she asked, voicing the only reasonable question in the room.
— Because it’s a birthday, it’s tradition, and they’re my family! — Mike shouted, clutching his head. — They’ll be here in fifteen minutes. We arranged for them to come celebrate.
— That’s interesting, Mike. Paula rested her cheek against her hand. — So buying me a gift is a marketing scam, but feeding your relatives on my dime is sacred family tradition.
Do I have your philosophy right? Nobody discussed this dinner with me. Nobody asked whether I wanted guests. You decided to host a meal for your mother and sister without spending a cent of your own money.
That’s impressive. Mike lunged for the refrigerator and yanked it open so hard the jars in the door rattled. His eyes scanned the shelves wildly.
On Paula’s side were leftover sushi, cottage cheese, greens, and an unopened bottle of kefir. On his shelf sat a shriveled lemon and two lonely eggs. — You should’ve cooked!
What are you, the lady of the house or not? He slammed the refrigerator shut and leaned over the table, bracing himself on the edge. His eyes were full of the ugly anger of a man cornered by his own bad decisions…
