Storytelling: Week 3: Cooking the Brought-Home Bacon

 (Cheese: it's what's for dinner)

Leah tightened the warm barrel of the curling iron around her long, fiery red hair. The familiar “beep-beep-beep” rang in the laundry room and she set the iron on the bathroom counter. She studied her face in the mirror—lashes mascara’d, lips glossed—the fresh face of a devoted wife.

“Leah!” John’s deep voice called down the hall.

She spritzed a shower of Windex across the counter and wiped it down with a paper towel from under the sink. “I’m in here, honey!”

John walked into their bedroom and tossed his jacket on the heavily-pillowed bed. 

Leah watched him, waiting, her heart thumping with a glimmer of pride. Since John had left at seven-o-clock that morning, she’d scoured the house—scrubbing the floors, wiping the windows, cleaning out the refrigerator—she’d even delivered John’s favorite suit to the dry cleaners, just in case he needed it soon. The house was practically sparkling, and she’d had just enough time to shower and fix her hair before he came home. 

“Do we have anything quick I can eat?” he asked, a thick line forming between his brows. “I had to skip lunch today and I’m starving.”

Leah’s smile faltered. She hadn’t had time to make dinner—she’d spent the whole day cleaning. “No, not that I can think of…” she glanced expectantly around the room, then back at him, wondering if he’d notice the extra light beaming through the windows, or the glimmer on their polished wood floors. “There’s some almonds in the pantry? Or a Kind bar?”

John raised his eyebrows at her and sighed. “That’s fine. I’ll just wait.” He sunk into the recliner at the corner of the room.

Leah looked at him quizzically. She’d thought they’d just eat whatever they could find in the fridge tonight, or order in. 

“You’re not making dinner?” he asked.

She pictured herself in the kitchen, stirring mindlessly, heat from the stove pricking at her forehead… and standing, for yet another hour of her tiring day. 

She cleared her throat and put on her most sympathetic face. “Sorry, no.” She sat on the edge of the bed and folded her hands in her lap. “I’ve had a long day; I don’t think I’m up to it.”

John hoisted himself from the chair and brushed past her. “You’ve had a long day,” he muttered. 

Leah frowned, her body stiffening. John continued from their closet. 

“Mark is still in Tahiti, so I had to pick up his slack, the Johnson firm denied our offer, and—” Hangers clanged against the rod. “—Roy won’t get off my back about the Matawok case.” He stepped back into their bedroom wearing an old college t-shirt and sweatpants. “Traffic was awful. My trainer was off today, so I had to workout with Jerry.” He grimaced. “I could have used a relaxing day at home like you had.” 

Leah suppressed a chuckle.  “Yeah,” she said softly, looking into his eyes. They were dark and dazed, tired. “Relaxing.”

 *

The next day, John woke to an empty bed. On his nightstand, a lime green sticky note read, 

“You were right. I COULD use a relaxing day. Feel free to take over the house while I’m gone. Roy gave you the week off for vacation. Love, Leah.”

Puzzled, he called his wife, who confirmed that she had rented a hotel so she could relax while he relaxed at home, just like he’d wanted. John hung up the phone and went back to sleep. 

At eight-o-clock, the doorbell rang. 

“Hello,” a weathered-looking man in overalls said when John opened the door. “I’m here to fix your window? And your wife said something about the faucet, and a couple places in the wall that needed to be patched up.”

“Oh,” John said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and stepping aside to let the man in. He hadn’t had coffee yet. Leah usually made it when she got up. “Have at it.”

“Which one?” the old man asked.

“Which what?” 

“Window. Which window is jammed?” 

“Oh. I, uh… I don’t know. Leah...” he trailed off. “Can you check them?” 

“Check all the windows?” the man’s eyes widened, scanning their large living room. Then he grinned. “Sure, I can!”

John sighed in relief.

“—but it’ll cost ya an extra fifty!”

John rolled his eyes and pulled out his wallet. 

*

At lunchtime, John scanned the contents of the fridge—ground beef, uncooked mushrooms, heavy cream, some cheese, salad dressing. He picked a block of cheese from the drawer and cut a few hunks of it onto a plate. 

On Friday, John got dressed—or, tried to. All his t-shirts were dirty, and he couldn’t find matches to any of his socks. He pulled on a black one and a navy one, his tennis shoes, and headed out to the yard to mow—but the mower was out of gas. He cursed, knowing he’d put gas on the list a few days ago.

…but Leah usually did the shopping. 

That night, he sat on the couch and scanned his email, where he found an overdue notice from the electric company. 

“That’s impossible…” he mumbled. “We always pay the bills on time…” 

Well, he corrected himself, Leah handles that. 

He closed his laptop and drummed his fingers on its lid, glancing around the room. 

Was it brighter in here? 

He ran his finger along the end table, the one Leah had sanded and repainted last Tuesday afternoon. It was beautiful, and her work had saved them a couple hundred bucks at the furniture store. 

He reached for his cellphone and tapped his wife’s name. He licked his lips as the rings echoed in his ear. 

“Hello?”

“Hey, baby, how’s your week been?”

“It’s been great!” He could practically hear her smiling through the phone. “How’s yours?”

John sighed. “Oh, it’s… not so wonderful. Our house isn’t as relaxing as I thought.”

Leah chuckled.

“Come home?”

“Sure thing, baby. But on one condition—you get to make dinner.”

“Deal.” John smiled. “I hope you like cheese.”

Author's Note: I based my story on Aesop's Fable The Belly and the Members (Anonymous, 1867). In this fable, the members of a body (teeth, hands, etc.) complain that they do all the work while the stomach gets all the food. So one day, they decide to stop working (picking up food, chewing food, getting food to the stomach), boycotting the fact that they always work while the stomach does "nothing." They soon realize that without feeding the stomach, they lose out, too. The hands become weak, the mouth is parched, and every part feels miserable because they didn't appreciate the work the stomach was doing before.

I decided to take a modern/human spin on the story and depict the tale of the sometimes-under-appreciated "housewife" or "stay-at-home mom." Some people (their family members included) may think moms or wives who stay at home don't do anything, but in reality, it takes a lot to keep a house running. Paying bills, keeping up with laundry, cleaning, organizing the family's schedules or payments... it can be any number of things. And many times, families become so reliant on their moms or wives, they don't realize all the stress and work this important woman keeps from them. The same could be said of any parent, really. My parents divorced when I was young, so both of them were single parents, and I didn't realize until later all the organizing and planning my dad had to go through just to make sure we made it to school on time and were fed properly...on top of his full-time job.