Page 109 of Damaged

I read it once. Then twice. For having such a fancy name, it’s not that complicated. “Alright,” I say aloud.

James is out late working, and I’m about to housewife it up. I gather the ingredients and familiarize myself with the big kitchen.

The stove has a dozen damn burners and its dials are red, so you know it’s fancy. The backsplash behind it has one of thosepot filler faucets coming out of it. The more I stare, the more I don’t want to touch anything. But it would be cute to have dinner ready when James gets back. And it’s something to take my mind off my racing thoughts.

I find an apron, grab a knife, and get to work. I’m cruising for the first half hour. The second half hour, it all goes to shit. I cut myself trying to open a bottle of wine for the sauce. Not badly, but enough to need a Band-Aid. I’m sucking the little wound on my palm and pawing around his bathroom for a bandage when the smoke detector starts going off.

I run back to the kitchen. There is no fire, but when I take the lid off the pan, I can see the underside of the chicken thighs are black and burnt. I turn the stove fan on full blast, light some candles, and once it’s cooled, I throw my failed dinner in the trash.

Then I resume the same position I was lounging in down in my apartment.

I’m sitting on the couch, while Steve lounges on top of a cushion next to my head. I don’t turn the TV on this time. It was just a bad day, I tell myself. At some point, I’m disturbed from my stupor as I hear the front door unlock and the heavy clack of dress shoes coming towards me.

James turns on the lights, and I cringe like a basement-dwelling teenager being forced into the light.

“Holy shit,” James says.

I forgot about my dress.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” He looks incredible for spending fourteen hours at work. One thick strand of hair hangs down over his forehead.

“I burned your chicken thighs.”

He grins. “So that’s what that smell is.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” he says and plops down next to me on the couch. “It’s okay.”

I immediately lean against his shoulder, and we stay like that in silence as he strokes my hair. “It was just a bad day,” I say after a minute or two.

“They happen.”

“I wanted today to be a good one in particular.”

“How come?”

“Since it’s the first day of our relationship in the city.” Hearing myself say this out loud sounds ridiculous.

“We’ve got plenty of days together to make up for it. It’s okay if the first one is shitty.”

“I guess I’m afraid it’ll be a pattern.”

James nods slowly. “I’ll tell you what… How about we make rules.”

“Like what?”

“Like whenever I get home from work, no matter what else has to be done, we do this. For an hour.”

“Cuddle on the couch?”

“Yeah.” He pulls me in closer. “We talk. No TV. No phones. Maybe the second half hour is sex if we can’t fit it in later in the evening.”

I smile, and he does too.

“But for the most part, it’s you and me talking every single day.”

“What about when you travel?”

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