The Cabinet Maker

“How was work?” she asked him as he entered the door.

“Fine,” he robotically replied.

“Did you sell anything?” she hopefully asked.

“Not today,” he quietly replied.

“Why not?” she pestered.

“No one wants anything these days. They don’t have the money,” he said, looking down at his feet.

“They’ll come around,” she promised with a smile.

“They better,” he said.

“They will,” she promised again.

“What’s for dinner?” he asked, searching for a distraction.

“What do you want?” she asked him back, uncaringly.

“Whatever we got,” he said. “We can’t go out.”

“Why can’t we go out?” she wanted to know.

“We don’t have the money baby. You know that,” he shamefully stated.

“I know, I know,” she upsettingly said. “One day.”

“One day,” he repeated as he retreated to his basement workshop.

“Dinner’s ready hon,” she called down the stairs. She didn’t dare go down there when he was working.

“Be up in a sec,” he called back. Twenty-four minutes later he arrived.

“It’s cold,” she warned him. “Go heat it up.”

“It’s fine cold,” he said, not wanting to waste the electricity.

“Well try and enjoy it,” she demanded as he shoveled huge portions into his mouth.

“It’s delicious baby,” he ensured with a smile.

“How’s the work coming along? Do you need any help?” she tried.

“It’s coming. I’m okay by myself,” he responded; not the answer she was searching for.

“You’re always down there alone,” she said. “I just thought you’d want some company.”

“I’m okay by myself,” he repeated, trying to not hurt her feelings but failing.

“Oh, okay,” she disappointingly said. “I’ll be up here if you need me,” she said.

“You always are,” he said with a smile as he returned to his unfinished business downstairs.

“BABY!” he yelled after an hour or so after his cold dinner.

“WHAT?” she screamed back, unwilling to leave the computer to see what the matter with him was.

“COME DOWN HERE!” he demanded for the first time since they moved in together four months ago.

“WHAT?” she again screamed back.

“I NEED HELP,” he admitted. He never asked for her help. Ever.

“What is it?” she asked as she walked up to him and the huge cabinet he was building.

“I need help,” he again repeated.

“What do you need help with?” she asked, walking over to the massive piece of furniture, trying to decide if she could lift it with him.

“Open the doors. See if they work right,” he said. It was an odd demand, and after she awkwardly stared at the doors for a few too many seconds, she opened them up.

“Oh my god,” she gasped. “Oh my god.”

“What do you say?” he asked with a huge boyish smile as his cheeks reddened.

“I say, what?” she responded in disbelief.

“Baby, will you marry a poor cabinet maker?” he pleaded as he took her shaking hands into his just as shaky hands.

“You know I will,” she quietly said; almost inaudible.

“This cabinet is symbolic of our love,” he explained.

“How so?” she asked, uncaring of the answer. All her concentration went to the massive diamond that lay in the center of the shelf of the cabinet her boyfriend built and would probably never sell.

“It’s made of the weakest wood on earth,” he explained, “but the strongest.”

“You think I’m weak?” she asked, still staring at the ring.

“No,” he replied. “I think individually we are weak, but together we are strong. We are the strongest people in the world and nothing can separate us.”

“How did you afford this?” she asked in awe.

“Why are we broke?” he asked, seemingly avoiding her question.

“Because no one needs custom expensive furniture in this recession,” she responded.

“Everyone does,” he said with a wink as he took her into his arms.