Abby sighed as she struggled with a mountain of laundry. She jammed endless tiny cotton clothing into the machine, thinking after each armful that there certainly couldn't be anymore, but she had yet to see the bottom of the laundry basket. Who knew that an 11-month-old baby could generate so much filthiness? Every piece of clothing seemed to be decorated with dribbles of apple sauce and gummy patches of dried-up rice cereal. Abby finally tossed the last of the clothes into the washer and slammed the lid shut. The washer started up, groaning in protest, sounding like it was about to vomit onesies and bibs and little overalls all over the laundry room floor. Abby sighed, blowing the air from her mouth upward to try to dislodge the wisps of hair that had fallen in her eyes. She went to check on Eve, who was playing angelically with her brand new set of plastic blocks.
Abby took a long, critical look around the living room, and then wished that she hadn't. The myriad of colorful plastic toys made her feel frenzied and claustrophobic. It was impossible to feel at all peaceful in a room that was so horribly cluttered, but Abby couldn't bring herself to bend down and pick up the toys. She just couldn't. Besides, Carter would be home shortly and it was time to start dinner. She was actually going to cook tonight–she'd had enough of take-out food. No matter how carefully she chose from the menus, trying to select healthy meals that included at least some semblance of a vegetable, everything always ended up being too greasy and heavy.
Abby pulled boxes and jars from the counter (she had told Carter she was going to cook, but she never said anything was going to be made from scratch) and a bag of frozen broccoli from the freezer. Then she reached into the cabinet below her, wincing at the sharp clatter of metal on metal as she freed a couple of pots and pans and hoisted them onto the stove. "Now," she told herself, "just take it easy, read the directions, and do it one step at a time. Nothing to it."
Fifteen minutes later, Abby was wringing her hands as pots bubbled over with boiling water and the air above the stove grew steamy. "Okay, what's wrong with this picture?" she said out loud. "I can handle orders for a dozen different labs during massive traumas, so why in the hell can't I follow the directions on a box of rice?" Eve squealed and banged her blocks together in reply. Abby sighed a deep, gusty sigh and turned her attention back to her science experiment on the stove.
Abby measured, poured, and let loose a few streams of censored curse words ("fudge" and "darn it" and "shoot" had to suffice in order to protect Eve's innocent little ears.) Finally, after all was said and done, Abby's end result was a baked chicken dinner with rice and broccoli. A pretty basic meal, truth be told, but a satisfying accomplishment for the novice cook. All that was left was to do was to set the table and wait for Carter to get home–he had told her that morning that he would be home no later than 7:15 p.m.
At 7:10 p.m., Abby fussed with the placement of silverware and napkins on the dining room table. At 7:22, she tipped the pot lid to take a look at the rice and got hit in the face with a burst of steam. At 7:34, Abby put an extra layer of foil over top of the chicken, carefully creasing it to make sure that none of the warmth escaped the baking dish. At 7:41, she zapped the now cold and limp broccoli in the microwave, adding an extra pat of butter for good measure. Her irritation was doubling with each passing minute.
Finally, at 8:30 p.m., a set of keys jangled in the doorknob. Carter was home, and Abby was well past angry. She was furious. She carefully stepped over Eve, who had curled up and gone to sleep on a blanket on the living room floor, and yanked the door open before Carter even had a chance to turn the knob.
"What smells so good?" he asked innocently, apparently oblivious to the daggers Abby was shooting him with her eyes.
"Oh, I don't know...I guess it's what would have been dinner," Abby snapped. "You told me 7:15, no later...remember?"
"Come on, Abby. You know how it is. I got caught up with a patient. I don't exactly keep banker's hours," Carter replied, less than thrilled to be greeted at the door in this manner. Abby sighed, still frustrated, but she had to admit that she understood.
"Let's just eat," she said, softening a bit. Carter went to the kitchen sink to wash his hands as Abby brought the food from the stove top to the table. The couple sat down and began to serve themselves their meal.
Carter, who was starving, speared a couple of pieces of broccoli and put them on his plate. He couldn't help but notice that they looked a little withered and soggy. He wisely kept his opinion to himself and took a chicken breast from the serving dish. It actually looked quite appetizing. He then reached for the bowl and tried to spoon himself some rice.
The rice, which had grown gummy from too much time sitting in the pot on the stove, adhered to the spoon like Super-glue. He tried shaking the spoon, gently at first, and then vigorously, yet it refused to drop onto his plate. He tried scraping it off of the serving spoon using his own spoon, but it still would not cooperate, and instead stuck in a gooey clump to the other spoon. Carter started to laugh.
"Way to go with the rice, Abby," he teased. "I think you've invented the next industrial-strength adhesive."
Abby glared at him and slapped her fork onto the table. With a vicious clang, it bounced from the table to the floor. She jumped up from her chair, grabbed the bowl of rice, and proceeded to try to dump the sticky mess into the garbage disposal. However, the rice would not dislodge from the bowl. She shook it with all of her strength, and still it clung, refusing to pour into the sink. Abby slammed the bowl on the counter and spun around to find Carter standing behind her, desperately trying to control his fit of laughter.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I was just kidding. You didn't have to throw it out...well, I mean try to throw it out," he couldn't resist adding.
"It would have been fine an hour and a half ago," Abby snapped. "For some reason, you seem to have forgotten how to use a phone. Maybe it would have been considerate of you to call me and tell me to hold off on making dinner. But that's right, I forgot...you only think about yourself."
"Hey," Carter replied, his tone of voice growing angrier to match Abby's. "Maybe I should have called, but I didn't deserve that last remark." Eve began to stir, making soft fussing noises from her nest on the living room floor.
"I'm sick of it, John! You seem to take everything I do around this house for granted...the laundry, watching Eve, making dinner..."
"Don't you mean ordering dinner, Abby? This is the first night you've cooked in I don't know how long." Carter wouldn't normally have dealt his wife such a low blow, but he'd had an especially rough day at the hospital, and he hadn't exactly come home to the warmest reception.
"Well, excuse me, John. I'll be sure to sign up for some cooking classes first thing tomorrow," Abby retorted, raising her voice over Eve's cries, which were growing louder and louder.
"Yeah, why don't you do that. Maybe they'll start by teaching you some of the basics, like...oh, I don't know...making rice, for instance?" Abby groaned.
"Oh, you're hilarious, John. Just hilarious. Thanks for criticizing me for trying to..." Abby was cut off by Eve's piercing wails.
"Ma...ma...ma..." she cried, toddling into the kitchen on chubby, wobbling legs.
"Eve..." Abby gasped. Carter's mouth dropped open.
"She's...she's walking. When...how long..." Carter stammered in shock.
"This is the first time," Abby whispered, her eyes moistening with tears. "She's pulled herself up in her crib before, but she's never..." Abby trailed off as Eve walked again, taking uneven steps towards her parents with outstretched arms. Carter and Abby leaned down to scoop their daughter up, and holding her between them they showered her plump cheeks with kisses. They caught each other's eyes over the top of Eve's head.
"I'm sorry," whispered Carter. Abby shook her head.
"No, I'm sorry," she replied softly. With that, their silly argument was abandoned. They leaned into each other and kissed tenderly, and then set Eve back down to let her show off her new skill once more.
"I'll go get the video camera," Carter said with a proud smile, and rushed off to dig the camera out of their hall closet. Abby beamed, completely dazzled by the sight of her beautiful daughter standing on her own two feet.
Abby took a long, critical look around the living room, and then wished that she hadn't. The myriad of colorful plastic toys made her feel frenzied and claustrophobic. It was impossible to feel at all peaceful in a room that was so horribly cluttered, but Abby couldn't bring herself to bend down and pick up the toys. She just couldn't. Besides, Carter would be home shortly and it was time to start dinner. She was actually going to cook tonight–she'd had enough of take-out food. No matter how carefully she chose from the menus, trying to select healthy meals that included at least some semblance of a vegetable, everything always ended up being too greasy and heavy.
Abby pulled boxes and jars from the counter (she had told Carter she was going to cook, but she never said anything was going to be made from scratch) and a bag of frozen broccoli from the freezer. Then she reached into the cabinet below her, wincing at the sharp clatter of metal on metal as she freed a couple of pots and pans and hoisted them onto the stove. "Now," she told herself, "just take it easy, read the directions, and do it one step at a time. Nothing to it."
Fifteen minutes later, Abby was wringing her hands as pots bubbled over with boiling water and the air above the stove grew steamy. "Okay, what's wrong with this picture?" she said out loud. "I can handle orders for a dozen different labs during massive traumas, so why in the hell can't I follow the directions on a box of rice?" Eve squealed and banged her blocks together in reply. Abby sighed a deep, gusty sigh and turned her attention back to her science experiment on the stove.
Abby measured, poured, and let loose a few streams of censored curse words ("fudge" and "darn it" and "shoot" had to suffice in order to protect Eve's innocent little ears.) Finally, after all was said and done, Abby's end result was a baked chicken dinner with rice and broccoli. A pretty basic meal, truth be told, but a satisfying accomplishment for the novice cook. All that was left was to do was to set the table and wait for Carter to get home–he had told her that morning that he would be home no later than 7:15 p.m.
At 7:10 p.m., Abby fussed with the placement of silverware and napkins on the dining room table. At 7:22, she tipped the pot lid to take a look at the rice and got hit in the face with a burst of steam. At 7:34, Abby put an extra layer of foil over top of the chicken, carefully creasing it to make sure that none of the warmth escaped the baking dish. At 7:41, she zapped the now cold and limp broccoli in the microwave, adding an extra pat of butter for good measure. Her irritation was doubling with each passing minute.
Finally, at 8:30 p.m., a set of keys jangled in the doorknob. Carter was home, and Abby was well past angry. She was furious. She carefully stepped over Eve, who had curled up and gone to sleep on a blanket on the living room floor, and yanked the door open before Carter even had a chance to turn the knob.
"What smells so good?" he asked innocently, apparently oblivious to the daggers Abby was shooting him with her eyes.
"Oh, I don't know...I guess it's what would have been dinner," Abby snapped. "You told me 7:15, no later...remember?"
"Come on, Abby. You know how it is. I got caught up with a patient. I don't exactly keep banker's hours," Carter replied, less than thrilled to be greeted at the door in this manner. Abby sighed, still frustrated, but she had to admit that she understood.
"Let's just eat," she said, softening a bit. Carter went to the kitchen sink to wash his hands as Abby brought the food from the stove top to the table. The couple sat down and began to serve themselves their meal.
Carter, who was starving, speared a couple of pieces of broccoli and put them on his plate. He couldn't help but notice that they looked a little withered and soggy. He wisely kept his opinion to himself and took a chicken breast from the serving dish. It actually looked quite appetizing. He then reached for the bowl and tried to spoon himself some rice.
The rice, which had grown gummy from too much time sitting in the pot on the stove, adhered to the spoon like Super-glue. He tried shaking the spoon, gently at first, and then vigorously, yet it refused to drop onto his plate. He tried scraping it off of the serving spoon using his own spoon, but it still would not cooperate, and instead stuck in a gooey clump to the other spoon. Carter started to laugh.
"Way to go with the rice, Abby," he teased. "I think you've invented the next industrial-strength adhesive."
Abby glared at him and slapped her fork onto the table. With a vicious clang, it bounced from the table to the floor. She jumped up from her chair, grabbed the bowl of rice, and proceeded to try to dump the sticky mess into the garbage disposal. However, the rice would not dislodge from the bowl. She shook it with all of her strength, and still it clung, refusing to pour into the sink. Abby slammed the bowl on the counter and spun around to find Carter standing behind her, desperately trying to control his fit of laughter.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I was just kidding. You didn't have to throw it out...well, I mean try to throw it out," he couldn't resist adding.
"It would have been fine an hour and a half ago," Abby snapped. "For some reason, you seem to have forgotten how to use a phone. Maybe it would have been considerate of you to call me and tell me to hold off on making dinner. But that's right, I forgot...you only think about yourself."
"Hey," Carter replied, his tone of voice growing angrier to match Abby's. "Maybe I should have called, but I didn't deserve that last remark." Eve began to stir, making soft fussing noises from her nest on the living room floor.
"I'm sick of it, John! You seem to take everything I do around this house for granted...the laundry, watching Eve, making dinner..."
"Don't you mean ordering dinner, Abby? This is the first night you've cooked in I don't know how long." Carter wouldn't normally have dealt his wife such a low blow, but he'd had an especially rough day at the hospital, and he hadn't exactly come home to the warmest reception.
"Well, excuse me, John. I'll be sure to sign up for some cooking classes first thing tomorrow," Abby retorted, raising her voice over Eve's cries, which were growing louder and louder.
"Yeah, why don't you do that. Maybe they'll start by teaching you some of the basics, like...oh, I don't know...making rice, for instance?" Abby groaned.
"Oh, you're hilarious, John. Just hilarious. Thanks for criticizing me for trying to..." Abby was cut off by Eve's piercing wails.
"Ma...ma...ma..." she cried, toddling into the kitchen on chubby, wobbling legs.
"Eve..." Abby gasped. Carter's mouth dropped open.
"She's...she's walking. When...how long..." Carter stammered in shock.
"This is the first time," Abby whispered, her eyes moistening with tears. "She's pulled herself up in her crib before, but she's never..." Abby trailed off as Eve walked again, taking uneven steps towards her parents with outstretched arms. Carter and Abby leaned down to scoop their daughter up, and holding her between them they showered her plump cheeks with kisses. They caught each other's eyes over the top of Eve's head.
"I'm sorry," whispered Carter. Abby shook her head.
"No, I'm sorry," she replied softly. With that, their silly argument was abandoned. They leaned into each other and kissed tenderly, and then set Eve back down to let her show off her new skill once more.
"I'll go get the video camera," Carter said with a proud smile, and rushed off to dig the camera out of their hall closet. Abby beamed, completely dazzled by the sight of her beautiful daughter standing on her own two feet.