Food for thought

His first wife had left him. He had never seen it coming and was only aware of her reasons in a vague sort of way. He had remarried, a woman a little older than him. His wife had been raised by a single mother who could not always be present because of the job required to raise her children but had shown her love and kept her presence constant with hearty casseroles and home baked cookies and pies. His second wife brought this to their marriage. He would often complain that her cooking made him fat but he continued to fill himself up with the food that was the physical manifestation of her love for him. Every night before she went to bed she would pack him his lunch so that it would be waiting there for him when he got up at 5am to head off to work. He occassionly told her that he didn’t expect it and that she didn’t have to do it but on a rare morning when she had forgotten to put something together, he crept into their bedroom in the predawn darkness to wake her up and tentatively ask " Is everything okay?", "Are you mad at me?"… but what he really meant, what he really was asking was " Do you still love me?", " Did I do something wrong like I did the first time, please tell me because I still don’t understand?" , " Are you going to leave me too?".

"I’ll get up", she said with a yawn, she had settled into the warm spot he had left as soon as he got out of the bed, "I just forgot".

"No, no" he said, "I was just wondering if everything was okay". In his head he knew, as he watched her nestle deeper under the blankets, that it was okay but in his heart he still wondered.     


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