Dysfunctional Cooking

The window is open in the cramped kitchen, but there’s no breeze. The late afternoon sun shines directly into her eye as she’s sweating over a boiling pot of water. The aroma of sautéing onions fills the kitchen. Sweat drips into her eyes and she wipes her face with her forearm before straining to move the large pot to the back burner. Mid turn she feels a slap on her ass that causes her to almost spill the hot water.

“I finally did it!” a male voice says.

“Did what?”

“I found out what happens when you open the inner door while riding the elevator.”

“And?”

“It just stops the ride. It does it pretty abruptly and immediately too. So it was kind of jarring and loud. It didn’t sound very good actually but once I closed the doors, the elevator started up again.”

“Why are you trying to break the elevators where I live?”

“I wasn’t trying to break anything, I just wanted to see what happens.”

“Yeah, but I live here. If you go around doing stupid shit, I have to deal with the consequences.”

Hot water splashes her arm as she dumps in a box of raw pasta into the boiling water. She ignores the small pricks of heat on her skin.

“Chill out. Nothing happened. It wasn’t like…”

“But you didn’t know nothing would happen. You’re always doing this shit.”

“I just wanted to experiment.”

“Experiment where I don’t live. Everyone is already complaining about how old this building is. They’re talking about raising our fees to fix what they didn’t fix last time. I don’t need you to go breaking more shit.”

“What does that have to do with me riding the elevator?”

“Just don’t do it, ok?”

“Fine, jesus. I wouldn’t have told you if I thought you’d get all stupid about it.”

“I’m not getting stupid, you’re the one who likes to break things.”

“I didn’t break anything. It’s fine. Chill. I closed the door and everything was normal. I wish you’d go back to normal.”

“What!?”

“I’m just saying you’re sorta freaking out over something inconsequential. That pasta is going to stick together if you don’t stir it.”

With a sigh, she yanks out the drawer to get a spoon. She swirls the pasta aggressively then abruptly places the spoon in the sink.

“I’m not freaking out and I know how to cook. I don’t need you to tell me how to cook the most basic food group.”

“It’s not a food group, it’s just food type.”

“You know what I mean, smart ass.”

“I was just correcting you. I don’t want you to sound so dumb.”

“Just stop it. I don’t need you to correct me. This isn’t what I signed up for.”

“What the fuck did you sign up for then?”

“Not this. Hand me the sauce from the wardrobe.”

“The wardrobe is for clothes, the pantry is for food.”

“You know what I meant, now can you please hand that to me. The onions are going to burn if I don’t put the sauce in.”

“Here you go.”

“You’re always choosing the alternate meaning for what I say. Why do you do that?”

“I’m just playing. I’m a writer, I like playing with words.”

“I don’t want to always play, sometimes I just want to communicate directly. You’re so tiring.”

“Well, then choose your words more wisely.”

Turning her back on him, she starts to awkwardly peel the skin off the garlic.

”Don’t tell me how to communicate. You’re the one who plays games cause you can’t come out and directly tell me what you’re feeling.”

“No I don’t. I always tell you what’s up. You know there’s an easier way to open the garlic. If you smash it on the counter, it’s easier to peel.”

“I got it.”

“I’m just saying if you…”

“I said I got it.”

“What climbed up your ass and died?”

“I had a long day at work and now I have to listen to you tell me what to do. I just want to cook in peace. Take your beer and go back to the living room.”

“Don’t take your shitty job out on me. You’re the one who wanted to climb the ladder of success.”

“Well, somebody has to support us. You’re certainly not doing your part.”

“Oh fuck you. Don’t give me that shit. You knew I was trying to be a writer when we first met. That hasn’t changed. Now all of a sudden you don’t support me?”

“Right, and what have you written lately? When was the last time you got paid for writing? Hell, when was the last time you actually wrote anything?”

“I wrote that article for the travel magazine.”

“That was six months ago.”

“It’s competitive. It’s not easy being a writer. The garlic will burn if you put it in too early.”

“Well maybe if you didn’t sit around and drink all day, you’d have something important to say.”

“Don’t start in on me about drinking again. I only drink a little bit to get the creative juices flowing. It’s not like I’m drunk all the time.”

“When I’m not home, I don’t know what you do.”

“Fuck you. I’m not an alcoholic.”

The sauce start to sputter as it sits momentarily forgotten.

“I didn’t say you were. Are you projecting?”

“Don’t pull that psychology bullshit on me. Now that you have your psychology degree you think you can run around analyzing every person you meet.”

“You’re not that hard to figure out.”

“Oh yeah, please enlighten me. Tell me what your expensive ass degree has taught you?”

“Please, not again. Not today. I don’t want to fight. I just want to cook us dinner.”

“Well you burnt the onions and it’s going to taste like shit. I don’t want to eat that.”

“For fucks sake.”

She slams the spoon on the counter. Sauce splatters on the walls, the floor and her work clothes.

“Jesus! Don’t slam shit. You’re going to break something. You got tomato sauce all over your white shirt. Now you look like shit.”

“Just get out.”

“I wanted to help you cook.”

“Well you’re not helping are you?”

“I was helping until you started freaking out on me and taking your stress out from work by harassing me.”

“At least I have work stress. You get stressed from playing your video games all day.”

“It’s how I get creative ideas. I need to rest my brain in order to find inspiration. It’s a zen meditation. You wouldn’t understand. You’re too caught up in the hustle and bustle of business life. Don’t get mad at me cause I’m more buddhist than you.”

“You’d figure eight hours of playing games would give you at least one idea.”

“I have ideas. I’m just marinading them in my head to see which flavors are strongest.”

“That’s the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard. You’ve been repeating that nonsense since I’ve met you. You’ve only written one short story in the two years we’ve been dating. And that was pretty much just a verbatim conversation I had with our neighbor about her sick dog.”

“Yeah, but it was funny the way she was so upset about it.”

“It wasn’t funny. Don’t laugh at her misery. That dog is all she has and she worried herself sick about that.”

“I know, right? I couldn’t believe she had to go to the hospital over that. Must suck having a bad heart.”

“For christ sake, have some empathy.”

“I do have empathy. I allowed you to take the dog in didn’t I? I didn’t want that little rat around.”

“It’s my house. I can take in any dog I want to.”

“Yeah, but not if I’m the one who has to take care of it.”

“I’m the one who walked it. I’m the one who bought it food and fed it. What the hell do you do?”

“I had to pet it during the day.”

“What?! The only time you touched that dog was when you kicked it out of the way while playing video games.”

“Yeah, I couldn’t believe you were spying on me like that. That’s so fucked up.”

“I don’t spy. I just wanted to check the cameras to see if the dog was ok when we first got it. And if that’s what I saw in the first few moments, I can’t imagine what else you did when I wasn’t watching. I don’t need to watch you. All you do is sit in front of the TV all day.”

“Fuck you. I do not. I write sometimes too.”

“Listen, just let me finish dinner in peace so we can have a nice dinner. I’m starving.”

“I don’t want to eat that. I’m not hungry. Anyways it smells burnt.”

“What?!”

“Besides, I’m going over to Chris’ house tonight anyway.”

“What? When were you going to tell me this? You know my parents are coming over.”

“You never told me that?”

“I told you last week then I told you this morning before I went to work.”

“How am I supposed to remember what you say when I’m sleeping.”

“You weren’t sleeping, asshole. I told you when you were climbing back into bed after going to the bathroom.”

“Well, I must not have heard you. You should have told me during the day if you wanted me to stay.”

“Well, can you please stay home tonight. My parents are expecting to see us both.”

“I can’t. Chris already ordered some pizzas for us. It’s poker night with my friends.”

“Well I have dinner already made and my parents will be here in a half an hour.”

“That’s not my problem. Besides, you burnt the onions anyway. Who wants to eat that? I can’t believe you’re feeding your parents ruined food.”

“Get out. Get out of my kitchen and get out of my house. I’m sick of your shit.”

“Fine. I’m leaving. I’ll see you later.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

He was right. The sauce was burnt.

——