The Taste of Rice
It is quiet as the sun dips below the clutter of trees and houses across the street, strewing the sky with a reddish-pink hue that seeps in through the open window.
Across the polished table, she watches as he takes a chunk of potato into his mouth, slowly chewing on it. He looks briefly at her, then returns his gaze to the plate, eyeing his pork roast. Cutlery clinks lightly against ceramic dishes. She lifts her spoon to her lips and savours how the faint crimson glow from the window plays over his cheek.
There is something sweet about the taste of plain, unadulterated white rice. The flavour is a faint one that is masked with any addition of a side dish, and she relishes the feel of the soft grains between her teeth.
A deep bark cuts through the air. She freezes imperceptibly and glances up at him. The ghost of a frown flits across his countenance.
"Still angry at him?" she asks cautiously, after swallowing, even when the answer hangs between them.
"I chased that damn mutt down for hours!" Something flashes across his eyes.
The sudden tension in the room is thick, and she feels her breath catch in her throat. Metal weighs down between her fingers.
"Is there any chance that you'd forgive him?" She refers to the dog, chained up to the back porch after its escapade earlier in the day.
"No." He stares resolutely at her, jaw firmly set.
She blinks, looks over his face, at his pointed nose, his bearded chin. Her heart thumps a little faster. "Is there anything I can do to help, in that case?"
"There isn't."
The corner of her lips pulls to a side. Resignation is a dull ache that settles slowly in her chest. She prods a lump of rice with her spoon, watching as it yields under the curved surface. "Not even cheering you up?" He remains quiet. "You don't appreciate my efforts?"
His eyes flickers up to hers. "Sometimes you're annoying?"
Her gaze falls away, and she tries her best to keep the quivering lower lip still as hurt prickles in her middle. She blinks in an attempt to clear her head.
Through the haze of denial, she manages quietly, "Does that mean I should not try any harder to get closer to you?"
He sighs. She wishes the exhalation were a happier one. "Right now, I'm not in the mood to be cheered up."
"That always happens when you aren't happy," she mutters, still looking at her food. There seems to be so much left on her plate - from the lumps of white rice, to the stalks of greens, shiny with gravy, and lean grilled meat. It is as if they mock her loss of appetite.
"I guess." The expression on his face twists into a frown. He sets his knife and fork on the table slowly. "I'm just feeling down right now."
"But I've been trying to cheer you up for days, and nothing I do seems to help." Her gaze returns to his. There is a hint of reproach in her tone. Her bottom lip pushes upwards by a fraction. And it hurts for her to admit, "It feels like I don't have much of a chance with you."
Almost unwillingly, she grips the warm metal spoon and takes a tiny mouthful of rice, her teeth chinking against the curved surface. After all, dinner has to be done with, and dishes have to be washed.
He watches as her gaze skitters away from his face, to the polished surface of the wooden table. Her vision blurs slightly at the base. She tries to chew, but the rice is tasteless now. Her mouth feels dry, her tongue stiff.
It is a few swallows before she is able to translate her cynicism into words. "Should I stop hoping for anything between us?"
"No, don't give up hope."
He eases out of his seat while she watches, rounding the table and slipping his hands under her arms.
She blinks when he helps her to her feet, pulling her into a tight hug. Saltwater smears onto his shirt. "I just want you to be happy," she mumbles into his chest, her heart quickening. The words turn out funny.
A gentle hand strokes the back of her head. At the slightest indication of his pulling away, she looks up, well aware of the smudged tear stains on her face. They never are intended to sway his opinion.
He dips his head, brushing her lips with his chastely, a ghost of what they used to have.
"I know."
Across the polished table, she watches as he takes a chunk of potato into his mouth, slowly chewing on it. He looks briefly at her, then returns his gaze to the plate, eyeing his pork roast. Cutlery clinks lightly against ceramic dishes. She lifts her spoon to her lips and savours how the faint crimson glow from the window plays over his cheek.
There is something sweet about the taste of plain, unadulterated white rice. The flavour is a faint one that is masked with any addition of a side dish, and she relishes the feel of the soft grains between her teeth.
A deep bark cuts through the air. She freezes imperceptibly and glances up at him. The ghost of a frown flits across his countenance.
"Still angry at him?" she asks cautiously, after swallowing, even when the answer hangs between them.
"I chased that damn mutt down for hours!" Something flashes across his eyes.
The sudden tension in the room is thick, and she feels her breath catch in her throat. Metal weighs down between her fingers.
"Is there any chance that you'd forgive him?" She refers to the dog, chained up to the back porch after its escapade earlier in the day.
"No." He stares resolutely at her, jaw firmly set.
She blinks, looks over his face, at his pointed nose, his bearded chin. Her heart thumps a little faster. "Is there anything I can do to help, in that case?"
"There isn't."
The corner of her lips pulls to a side. Resignation is a dull ache that settles slowly in her chest. She prods a lump of rice with her spoon, watching as it yields under the curved surface. "Not even cheering you up?" He remains quiet. "You don't appreciate my efforts?"
His eyes flickers up to hers. "Sometimes you're annoying?"
Her gaze falls away, and she tries her best to keep the quivering lower lip still as hurt prickles in her middle. She blinks in an attempt to clear her head.
Through the haze of denial, she manages quietly, "Does that mean I should not try any harder to get closer to you?"
He sighs. She wishes the exhalation were a happier one. "Right now, I'm not in the mood to be cheered up."
"That always happens when you aren't happy," she mutters, still looking at her food. There seems to be so much left on her plate - from the lumps of white rice, to the stalks of greens, shiny with gravy, and lean grilled meat. It is as if they mock her loss of appetite.
"I guess." The expression on his face twists into a frown. He sets his knife and fork on the table slowly. "I'm just feeling down right now."
"But I've been trying to cheer you up for days, and nothing I do seems to help." Her gaze returns to his. There is a hint of reproach in her tone. Her bottom lip pushes upwards by a fraction. And it hurts for her to admit, "It feels like I don't have much of a chance with you."
Almost unwillingly, she grips the warm metal spoon and takes a tiny mouthful of rice, her teeth chinking against the curved surface. After all, dinner has to be done with, and dishes have to be washed.
He watches as her gaze skitters away from his face, to the polished surface of the wooden table. Her vision blurs slightly at the base. She tries to chew, but the rice is tasteless now. Her mouth feels dry, her tongue stiff.
It is a few swallows before she is able to translate her cynicism into words. "Should I stop hoping for anything between us?"
"No, don't give up hope."
He eases out of his seat while she watches, rounding the table and slipping his hands under her arms.
She blinks when he helps her to her feet, pulling her into a tight hug. Saltwater smears onto his shirt. "I just want you to be happy," she mumbles into his chest, her heart quickening. The words turn out funny.
A gentle hand strokes the back of her head. At the slightest indication of his pulling away, she looks up, well aware of the smudged tear stains on her face. They never are intended to sway his opinion.
He dips his head, brushing her lips with his chastely, a ghost of what they used to have.
"I know."