Melissa went to all the trouble of buying a bottle of wine and preparing a delicious dish of penne al forno, Aron thought it was only fair he make a salad. It wasn't particularly time consuming or labor intensive, but it was something he could do. Even at 33, he wasn't the greatest cook.
He pulled the various ingredients from the refrigerator, and assembled them around a cutting board. He pulled an apron from the broom closet and slipped it over this head. He was about ready to slice the lettuce, but as he leaned over the counter, his hair draped over his forehead. "Melissa, hon, do you have a hair tie I could borrow?" Aron asked.
"Of course," Melissa said, pulling one from her purse.
Aron pulled his blonde locks up and out of his face. His hair was nearly an inch below his chin, and the perfect length for being invasive and obstructive. He quickly tied it up in a messy bun atop his head and resumed working. Aron's fingers flew nimbly and without a thought. As though he had tied up his hair this way all his life.
Ordinarily, it was Melissa taking on the domestic duties, but after today's discussion, Aron realized he needed to take on more of the household responsibilities. Aside from being a conscientious thing to do, something about tending to his family made him feel fulfilled. Preparing and serving food was a testament of love. He wondered why he didn't do more housekeeping.
Aron sliced the lettuce, rinsed it, dried it, and placed it in the bowl. The onions were next, sliced in rings. He fished a couple of olives and artichoke hearts from their respective jars and sprinkled them among the mix. And with each vegetable, Aron grew more satisfied as his creation sprung from simple, unrelated elements, incrementally redefining themselves, creating a final, beautiful product. The irony was lost on him as his breasts began to swell for the first time.
Slicing the tomatoes, one wedge slipped off the edge of the counter and bounced off his foot. He grabbed a paper towel, bent down, wiped the juice from his toes, then discarded the tainted food. Luckily, he was wearing a pair of clogs. Had Aron been wearing cotton or canvas shoes, they'd be stained and require scrubbing. Instead, the simple, black leather wiped clean with just a little water. As he stood up, Aron adjusted his drooping socks. Knee socks were a tad childish thing for a 34 year-old to be wearing, but they were fine for a night in, he supposed. He would have to bleach them, though. The white fabric looked dingy, as though it were stained brown.
Aron mixed the salad, and placed the bowl on the table. As Melissa pulled the hot pasta from the oven, Aron returned the apron to the closet, and let his hair down. He fluffed his free locks, letting them rest freely just grazing his shoulders. Aron and Melissa set the table, poured the wine, and were just preparing to begin dining, when Aron's cell phone began to ring. Of course.
Who's on the phone?   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
| Members who added to this interactive story also contributed to these: |
<<-- Previous · Outline  · Recent Additions © Copyright 2024 Mary Michelson (UN: missmarym at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Onlyonekey has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work within this interactive story. Poster accepts all responsibility, legal and otherwise, for the content uploaded, submitted to and posted on Writing.Com. |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author