Hiding burnt eggs and toast.
Hiding burnt eggs and toast.
"Where's the spatula?" a young woman shouted off to a distant listener. She brushed aside a stray lock of hair behind her ear while eying the browning edge of the frying eggs. Her cooking skills, and lack thereof, easily betrayed by a lack of foresight when it came to matters of the kitchen. She cursed under her breath, as she started to rip open the set of drawers sequentially.
"It's probably in the dish washer," a garbled voice upstairs shouted back after a lengthy pause, followed by a spit into the washroom sink.
"Thanks," she replied, having searched through the set of drawers and now at wits end. Upon opening the dishwasher, she ripped the rack out from its undisturbed state, scanned for the aforementioned spatula, grabbed it, and slammed everything back into place. The clattering protest of metal and china was silenced by the appliance door as it slammed shut. The fire alarm went off shortly there after.
"Thanks for making breakfast, hun," a young man about her age, flipping a neck tie into a knot, said while coming down the stairs. He sniffed an undeniable scent of smoke, but no sign of burnt items around the kitchen. She's hiding something, he knew instinctively.
"No problem, I hope you like cornflakes and cherries," she forced a smiled, while trying not to sweat profusely. She motioned to the table, where a well presented bowl of cornflakes was topped with cherries, and milk on the side.
"Um, thanks, but what happened to what you were making before," he asked as he got seated, and reached for the milk.
"It got... over-cooked. And so I made you cereal instead," she beamed. The burnt toast and eggs reeked of smoke from the make shift urn. "I know you like corn flakes, right?" and not charcoal hiding in the trash can, she continued in her mind.
"Yeah, I like 'em, but I'm not sure with cherries," he replied just before he put a spoonful into his mouth, and chewed for a moment. He then made a slight face.
"What's wrong?"
He spat out a pit.
"Cherry pits and corn flakes don't mix," he told her and started to separate the cherries from the rest of his corn flakes. "But that's alright, I'll eat them later. How was last night? I was asleep by the time you got in," he coolly lied.
"Oh, it was fine. I just met up with some old friends," her mind raced as she tried to remember what was safe to talk about, "we went to dinner in Korea town, and lost track of time." She smiled, hoping that she skirted around the issue enough to prevent further questioning. She knew that he didn't like one of her friend's to some extent. "Are the cherries too sour?"
"Slightly sour. How are your friends?" he pressed on. He could feel her momentarily stiffen, out of the corner of his eye, as he faced down at the bowl, readying another spoon. A pause, and he looked up catching her eyes, prompting her to answer.
"They're okay; we were just catching up on old times," covering up again. Covering up who she was hanging out with. She could tell he was on to her. The thought of confessing crossed her mind momentarily, but was dismissed. It was too late for that, and it would only make things worse, she quickly concluded. Besides she wasn't guilty of anything. "Nothing wrong with meeting up with a few friends. Why would he have something against her seeing a guy he barely knew?" she told herself. A nagging wisp of a memory reminded her this clearly wasn't the case.
"Oh, that's good," in between chewing, "by the way, why did you make breakfast today? Normally-" He cut his sentence short, realizing the subtle accusing tone might betrayed his covert probing. He covered the break by spooning a mouthful of cherries, and chewed carefully. The sour tang bothered him little, as his mind was busy, watching her.
"I wanted to make up for coming back late, last night," besides, she couldn't sleep much as she remembered how much fun she had.
*beep, ring!* a cellphone on the table cried out for attention, jarring the morning conversation, and disconnecting the couple. Instinctively, the man reached into his pocket, to silence the offender, but the sound continued to ring on the table. Slightly disoriented, the woman looked at the phone confused, and then picked it up. As she read to herself the text message, a smile crawled up her lips and into her eyes.
//Thnks 4 a gr8 nite, ur cute laugh made my nite. My frnds wud luv 2 C U again. Thrsday?// She felt a rush of energy as she remembered the nite with him; how she giggled at his silly jokes, and how much in common she had with his friends. A dreamy smile plastered her face as she looked off into the distance, relaxing, lost in thought.
"Ah, how did you get around last night? It must have been past when the buses work," he paused midway through his cereal bowl, putting his spoon down.
"Greg drove me," she let slip. She snapped back to reality, having let the cat out of the bag. A pregnant pause grew between them, as they both scanned each other. She was stunned, a wave of anxiety building up within her. He was stoic and withdrawn. An odd smile formed, his lips moved but his eyes still, and she nervously returned the smile.
"I've got to go," he stated calmly. The change in mood was abrupt, an icy demeanor overcame his features. He got out of his chair, swiftly brought the bowl of half eaten cereal to the sink, and dumped the contents down the drain. "Lock the door when you leave, hun," he said curtly, as he grabbed his jacket, and slammed the front door shut.
"Mark! What's wrong?" she said to a now closed door. But she knew what was wrong. Her cover-up of last night was about as successful as her attempt at breakfast.
"Where's the spatula?" a young woman shouted off to a distant listener. She brushed aside a stray lock of hair behind her ear while eying the browning edge of the frying eggs. Her cooking skills, and lack thereof, easily betrayed by a lack of foresight when it came to matters of the kitchen. She cursed under her breath, as she started to rip open the set of drawers sequentially.
"It's probably in the dish washer," a garbled voice upstairs shouted back after a lengthy pause, followed by a spit into the washroom sink.
"Thanks," she replied, having searched through the set of drawers and now at wits end. Upon opening the dishwasher, she ripped the rack out from its undisturbed state, scanned for the aforementioned spatula, grabbed it, and slammed everything back into place. The clattering protest of metal and china was silenced by the appliance door as it slammed shut. The fire alarm went off shortly there after.
"Thanks for making breakfast, hun," a young man about her age, flipping a neck tie into a knot, said while coming down the stairs. He sniffed an undeniable scent of smoke, but no sign of burnt items around the kitchen. She's hiding something, he knew instinctively.
"No problem, I hope you like cornflakes and cherries," she forced a smiled, while trying not to sweat profusely. She motioned to the table, where a well presented bowl of cornflakes was topped with cherries, and milk on the side.
"Um, thanks, but what happened to what you were making before," he asked as he got seated, and reached for the milk.
"It got... over-cooked. And so I made you cereal instead," she beamed. The burnt toast and eggs reeked of smoke from the make shift urn. "I know you like corn flakes, right?" and not charcoal hiding in the trash can, she continued in her mind.
"Yeah, I like 'em, but I'm not sure with cherries," he replied just before he put a spoonful into his mouth, and chewed for a moment. He then made a slight face.
"What's wrong?"
He spat out a pit.
"Cherry pits and corn flakes don't mix," he told her and started to separate the cherries from the rest of his corn flakes. "But that's alright, I'll eat them later. How was last night? I was asleep by the time you got in," he coolly lied.
"Oh, it was fine. I just met up with some old friends," her mind raced as she tried to remember what was safe to talk about, "we went to dinner in Korea town, and lost track of time." She smiled, hoping that she skirted around the issue enough to prevent further questioning. She knew that he didn't like one of her friend's to some extent. "Are the cherries too sour?"
"Slightly sour. How are your friends?" he pressed on. He could feel her momentarily stiffen, out of the corner of his eye, as he faced down at the bowl, readying another spoon. A pause, and he looked up catching her eyes, prompting her to answer.
"They're okay; we were just catching up on old times," covering up again. Covering up who she was hanging out with. She could tell he was on to her. The thought of confessing crossed her mind momentarily, but was dismissed. It was too late for that, and it would only make things worse, she quickly concluded. Besides she wasn't guilty of anything. "Nothing wrong with meeting up with a few friends. Why would he have something against her seeing a guy he barely knew?" she told herself. A nagging wisp of a memory reminded her this clearly wasn't the case.
"Oh, that's good," in between chewing, "by the way, why did you make breakfast today? Normally-" He cut his sentence short, realizing the subtle accusing tone might betrayed his covert probing. He covered the break by spooning a mouthful of cherries, and chewed carefully. The sour tang bothered him little, as his mind was busy, watching her.
"I wanted to make up for coming back late, last night," besides, she couldn't sleep much as she remembered how much fun she had.
*beep, ring!* a cellphone on the table cried out for attention, jarring the morning conversation, and disconnecting the couple. Instinctively, the man reached into his pocket, to silence the offender, but the sound continued to ring on the table. Slightly disoriented, the woman looked at the phone confused, and then picked it up. As she read to herself the text message, a smile crawled up her lips and into her eyes.
//Thnks 4 a gr8 nite, ur cute laugh made my nite. My frnds wud luv 2 C U again. Thrsday?// She felt a rush of energy as she remembered the nite with him; how she giggled at his silly jokes, and how much in common she had with his friends. A dreamy smile plastered her face as she looked off into the distance, relaxing, lost in thought.
"Ah, how did you get around last night? It must have been past when the buses work," he paused midway through his cereal bowl, putting his spoon down.
"Greg drove me," she let slip. She snapped back to reality, having let the cat out of the bag. A pregnant pause grew between them, as they both scanned each other. She was stunned, a wave of anxiety building up within her. He was stoic and withdrawn. An odd smile formed, his lips moved but his eyes still, and she nervously returned the smile.
"I've got to go," he stated calmly. The change in mood was abrupt, an icy demeanor overcame his features. He got out of his chair, swiftly brought the bowl of half eaten cereal to the sink, and dumped the contents down the drain. "Lock the door when you leave, hun," he said curtly, as he grabbed his jacket, and slammed the front door shut.
"Mark! What's wrong?" she said to a now closed door. But she knew what was wrong. Her cover-up of last night was about as successful as her attempt at breakfast.