“Goddammit Jack, can’t ya ever pick up yer damn socks once ina while.” A livid Helen stalked from the shared bedroom, holding a short white sock between two clenched fingers. Her waist-length, glossy brown hair was swirling about her due to a stray air current created by the fan near their bedroom door, leading to the kitchen.
Her grey-green eyes pierced through Jack who was sitting silently on a wooden kitchen chair, reading the day’s newspaper, legs crossed.
He met her gaze. Feeling an emerald beast’s wrath bearing down on him, Jack shivered and put the paper down. He smiled. “Sorry about that, Helen.”
His soft brown eyes looked at her with hidden grief. “I’ll try making a better effort to put my socks in the hamper after work, rather than leaving them on the floor.”
Recalibrating…
Helen’s eyes widened, shocked, “Yer not one to apologize so readily, yeah? What’s up?” She walked closer, hands on her hips in that odd getup she always wore; a crimson red, sleeveless shirt with frills on the edges and bright blue jeans, looking like she was trying to imitate 3D glasses.
Jack loved that about her though. Her oddities were a part of her, his perfect half. After her pregnancy, she went right back to wearing the most glaring combos.
“Nothing’s up, sweety. I’ve just been feeling bad recently about leaving my socks lying around. I know how much it annoys you.” Jack gave her a forced half-grin. The same fan’s gust hardly ruffled his short black hair.
Recalibrating...
Helen could tell Jack’s smile was strained. Her eyes narrowed and her mouth turned up with a snarl. “Ya think I’d believe that, punk? Tell me what’s bothering ye right now before I clobber ya.”
Her small fists bunched up, held akimbo at her waist. This time, Jack let out a real laugh. His wife was five feet tall, while he was six foot seven. The most damage her fists could do was tickle him. She was also never one to actually get violent, no matter how acidic she became.
Helen was always perceptive, able to identify his melancholic moods so easily. He couldn’t think of a way to divert her from the thoughts clouding his mind so he stood and grabbed her in a great big bear hug.
Recalibrating…
Recalibrating…
“It’s nothing. Really.” Jack assured her once more. He quickly brought up something else to change the topic. “By the way, I got the day off so I’m thinking of trying my hand at cooking that stew you always make. I can never seem to get it right. Too much apple I suppose.”
Recalibrating…
She looked at him again, surprise and suspicion evident in her expression. “Seriously? My so-called ‘Trash Soup’ ye always make fun of? We’ve had it like every day fer the past week, ya know.”
“I think it’s starting to grow on me,” Jack smirked, “Like a tumor.”
Helen rolled her eyes at him, the movement somehow emphasizing the sparse freckles blemishing her pale skin. “Can’t ya think ofa better pun than that? Ye use that one every time.”
Jack was pleased his favorite pun elicited the response he desired. “Nope, that one will stay in my repertoire forever. It’s the creme de la creme of dark humor. Anyways, I can look after Darcy today, so don’t worry about putting him in daycare.”
Helen gazed at him for a second. “Ok ok, fine. Ye be a good kid today, look after the baby, make some ‘trash soup’, but we’re talkin’ after I get back from work. I dunno why yer actin’ so weird right now, but mark my words Jackie, I’ll figure it out soon.”
She wriggled out of his hug and walked to the garage door. Grabbing her car keys off the counter, she put on a nice jacket and slipped on some old, but clean shoes.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
Helen went to the door and reached for the handle, but before she could grab it, she turned around as if remembering something she forgot. “Oh yeah, clean up yer damn socks while I’m out too. They better be in the hamper by the time I’m back or ye’ll be feastin’ on a knuckle sandwich.”
She turned back around and opened the door to leave. Before her foot crossed the threshold, Jack clenched his teeth and stood from his seat. “I got it, I’ll clean up my mess.”
He whispered dismally to himself. “Be safe at work, Helen. I love you.”
Recalibrating…
Recalibrating…
Error…
Recalibrating…
Error...
Before the door closed, she must have heard him as she popped her head back into the kitchen, beaming at him with a glowing radiance. “Love ya too, hun.”
And then the door shut. With its closing, the room seemed to have lost its light. The colors became dimmer, the shadows extended, and a thick gloominess dominated the atmosphere.
Jack went to complete his familiar task. As the rumbling car noises tapered off in the distance, he gathered his socks which littered the bedroom floor. While he was at it, he also gathered the clothes his wife had scattered around the room. He had done this so many times, it was easy for him to decipher whether they were genuinely dirty or left scattered due to Helen being indecisive about the day’s outfit.
After that was sorted, Jack went over to the crib. Lying swaddled in blankets was a pudgy pink baby. He was a bit ugly right now, but Darcy would grow into it and look dashing like his mother. But now, while he was covered in glaringly bright green blankets and had a glistening yellow pillow supporting his head obviously chosen by his mother, his permanent sneer looked comical.
Jack reached down with a smile, caressing the baby’s delicate head. Darcy crumpled his lips in displeasure and shifted in his crib, so Jack slipped away to avoid waking the infant.
Back in the kitchen, Jack turned his attention to the grimy gas-lit stove. After wiping it down the best he could, Jack took out a pot and prepared Helen’s famous ‘trash soup’. No matter how much they both derided her culinary creation, Jack knew how proud Helen was of her stew. It wasn’t even that bad. Jack merely liked poking fun at her every so often, declaring her masterpiece ‘trash soup’ even though it was a standard beef stew with a few odd ingredients.
After cubing and searing the beef, it was dropped into a pot of chicken broth seasoned with Worcestershire sauce, thyme, and some dark beer. As the stew reached a simmer, Jack added in carrots, potatoes, mushrooms, cubed apple, and some thin seaweed strips.
In the black mixture, Jack’s image was reflected upon the bubbling brew. He wasn’t a handsome man per se, but he also wasn’t hideous. He at least had a youthful and tidy appearance.
But that wasn’t what his reflection showed. All that manifested was an old man covered in wrinkles, more bald than not. His brown eyes were deep with sadness as a few tears dropped into the stew beneath him.
This hadn’t been how the day actually played out. He was younger then, more confrontational. It was another day in his long week, sick of customers and sick of the same meal over and over again. So when his wife nagged him for the umpteenth time, he snapped and turned something small into a huge argument.
Stress from both their jobs bled over into home life and neither could understand the other’s frustration. This argument didn’t end in ‘I love you’. Instead, it ended with a slammed door as Helen tore out of their garage, forgetting to take Darcy to daycare. In hindsight, it was for the best.
Error…
Recalibrating…
Error…
Recalibr...
Jack reached into seemingly empty air and pressed with his finger, shutting off the persistent notification. He continued to stir the simmering stew. A fragrant sweet and salty flavor floated through the air. He loved the smell, but never actually ate the stew when he reminisced like this.
An exasperated disembodied voice echoed around him. “Dad, we have to go! I know you like playing Embercraze, but virtual reality can wait!”
“I know, Darcy. I’ll be off in a minute,” Jack chuckled to himself at the little lie he told his son. He never actually bought Embercraze. He always became sentimental nearing his wife’s death anniversary so he needed an excuse to use VR to replay their last moments together. It was an illusion that eased his regret.
“I’m almost 80 years old now, dear. It's been so long, but hasn’t gotten any easier.” Jack stirred the pot slowly, small crackles in the stew chattering softly. “Darcy is married and our grandchildren are even nearing their 30s.”
He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the well-made soup’s intoxicating fumes. “They’re all doing well. Even though Darcy doesn’t remember you, I make sure to tell him stories and make family trips to your grave every anniversary. That’s where we’re going today.”
Jack leaned the wooden stirring spoon against the pot’s edge. He managed a tired half-smile. “Well dear, I have to head out. It’s about time I join you.”
He blinked from existence, leaving the stew behind. Its scent permeated the small empty kitchen, but it was overly sweet. After all this time, he still put in too much apple.