Sometimes, in the evenings, you spend a few minutes quietly reaching around each other in her cramped kitchen meant for one while you both prepare quick and separate evening meals, hers always containing more color and flare than yours. While you were away you fell into a rhythm of preparing a rotation of the same five dishes and that habit hasn’t changed. She can cook, and when she has time, she makes elaborate meals. You know this from the smells left lingering in the kitchen on a weekend night when you return home late—venturing out to bars alone was another habit you picked up abroad—after she’s already in bed with her light still on, the pitter-patter of typing still audible as you pass closely by her door.
Published by The Avenue: Volume III