Life in the Time of Dinner

She gave the pot on the stove a good stir before putting its lid in place. Hearing his footsteps behind her, she asked, “Do you have any preferences, vegetable-wise?”

“Nope. Whatever you make will be fine.”

“Okay.”

She checked the loaf of peasant bread baking in the oven. Almost done. Closing the oven door, she turned, reached into the freezer and grabbed a bag of broccoli. As she opened the bag, ready to dump it into a pot of water, he made a sound. It wasn’t a word, actually. It wasn’t a snort or a sneeze, either. It was…a sound. One she had heard often enough that she knew exactly what it meant. Her hand stilled. She turned, caught his gaze. Silently counted to ten. Then added five.

“Got a problem with broccoli?” A smile, to hopefully mask the sudden urge she had to toss the vegetable across the room at him.

“Well…”

“Just say it. You don’t want broccoli?”

“Didn’t we have that yesterday?”

It was futile, she knew, to point out that they’d had broccoli last weekend, and not since.

“Maybe. So, do you have a preference, vegetable-wise?” She smiled sweetly.

“Nah. Whatever you make will be fine.”

Marriage, the final frontier.