Repulsive Repeat

Roger unlocks the door of their loft apartment in the century-old office building in uptown. Their calico leaps from the sofa and winds herself between his legs. With a flip of his hand, he shoos her away, brushing the telltale fur from his pant legs.

He spots Devon in the kitchen.

“What are you cooking?” he asks while hanging his coat on the hall tree.

He walks in to where his girlfriend is busy under the copper vent-a-hood. She quickly moves to the sink, chopping some shiny, thick greens on a frosted glass cutting board.

“Flip those, will you?” Her eyes direct him to the stainless skillet atop the gas burner.

Roger leans over the skillet, his nose close to the patties, attempting to identify the unfamiliar aroma. He turns the cutlets with a spatula and notes their grainy consistency. Oh, no. I’ll bet she’s been watching that healthy cooking show again.

Seated on their bar stools with their plates in front of them, Roger lifts his fork with his right hand, stabbing the greens. The slimy texture bewilders him. He swallows the substance whole.

“What do you call this?” he asks, while trying to suppress his gag reflex.

“Edamame panko encrusted quinoa patties and stewed succulents. Do you like it?” Devon asks.

“We’ve never had this before, have we?” he deflects.

She rises to retrieve the pitcher of cucumber-infused water.

He stares at the plate knowing he cannot consume the contents.

“More?”

Startled and relieved that the seconds being offered is the beverage, he answers, “I’m good.”

He stands and announces, “I’ll clean up.” He conceals the untouched cutlet in his napkin and slyly deposits it into the skillet as he passes the stove.

Noting the abundance of leftovers, Devon instructs, “Save those and I’ll pack your lunch tomorrow.”