![]() I call for you, wait for you to come to the kitchen. I take the bubble wrap from the pantry closet, knowing now that we’re not going to make it over the hump. I stomp from the bedroom to the kitchen, noticing how dust has settled on the table, mail piled up, mostly bills, with a China Garden coupon on top, and I miss the times we ordered take-out together, joked with the sweet delivery man, whose row of tiny teeth resembled kernels on a dried ear of corn. I say maybe they got lost in the wash, but you say that only happens with socks. I climb in and before I can lay my head down, you say, So where are they? And I know you mean Wednesday’s camel undies, but I don’t answer, and you say maybe I left them somewhere, perhaps at Jack-from-work’s house after the supposed business dinner last week. Now, I rinse my mouth, wash my face, linger in the bathroom, feeling you waiting for me in bed. We had cake and wine-too many pieces, too many glasses-and spread the wrap on the floor, jumped on it. ![]() It came in a box too big for it, wrapped in sheets of bubble wrap. For your birthday I bought you a bamboo steamer that made the rice just-right sticky. But then you had a bad interview, and another, and unemployment was ending, and you went ballistic last time I called for Chinese take-out, huffing and puffing about your food not being good enough. ![]() That first day I came home from work, you wearing my red apron with nothing beneath it, moo goo gai pan steaming on the stove. When you first lost your job and took over the cooking and cleaning, it was fine, fun even, you joking you’d be my manservant until you found something. But now it’s a months-later Wednesday and I’m brushing my teeth before bed, and you say Where’s the camel? And at first I wonder what the hell you’re talking about but then I see you staring at the bumblebee on my crotch, the delicately embroidered Tuesday above it, and I roll my eyes, toothpaste dribbling down my chin. Better to see you with, my dear, you said the day we moved in together, pulling them down with your teeth. Your favorite: Sunday’s over-sized sunglasses. I’m too old, I said, but you insisted we buy them. ![]() Wednesday’s Child / Lisa Ferranti It started with my days-of-the-week panties. ![]()
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