A Life Like Lemons

Lemon.

Lemon had always been Andie’s favorite. 

Marta Walker nodded and stopped the whisk attachment on the stand mixer with a flick of the side lever. She grabbed a lemon from a brightly painted Mexican bowl of assorted fruits. The lemon was a little wrinkled from sitting out, but only just. As she searched for a zester in her cabinet drawers, Marta made a mental note to buy new groceries soon. Soon but not today. Maybe tomorrow or the day after. Yes, that sounded right. The day after tomorrow.  

She gripped the lemon tightly, her fingernails pressing crescent indentations into its skin, and ran it along the face of the zester. Over and over again. She watched with undue attentiveness as each pass took another layer of the lemon’s peel away, exposing the raw white skin inside, then the fruit itself. She lifted the lemon away from the zester only to place it back down and start again on the other side, painstakingly stripping the skin away, leaving it ragged and vulnerable. 

Marta sometimes felt like the lemon; like the external circumstances in her life were eating away at her, stripping away her comfort and defenses until she was left raw. Her throat constricted and she pressed her fist, still wrapped around the zester, against her forehead. ‘What did I ever do to deserve this’ She thought, then said out loud. 

“What did I do to deserve this?” Then louder, “What did I do?”

Footsteps echoed from down the hall, getting louder as they approached her. Malcom, her husband, came into view, dressed for work. Well, sort of dressed. The yellow striped tie, yellow like a lemon, which he wore every day, was hanging loose around his neck and his brown hair was rumpled. He shouldn’t be going into work today; it was their daughter’s birthday. He should be staying with her and Andie. This was important to her. 

He looked at the cupcake batter and the partially zested lemon. “Oh no, Marta.” His tone was both patronizing and sympathetic. Arms outstretched, he came towards her. “Those are for Andie, aren’t they?” Malcom folded her into a hug. Marta allowed him to embrace her, sniffling against his shirt, but didn’t hug him back. She didn’t answer his question either. He already knew the cupcakes were for Andie. Who else would they be for, really? It was her birthday after all. 

“Why are you dressed like this?’ she asked into his chest. She fingered his tie. The edges were worn from years of dedicated service. That tie was a present she had given him when he had landed his first big interview. He claimed he had gotten the job because of it, because it was lucky, but the two of them were only lucky that it hadn’t fallen apart after six years of use. 

“I’m going in to work today.” 

Marta stiffened. He said the words with an infuriating calm, as if he didn’t recognize how explosive, how wrong, what he was saying was. Like she was the pitiable unstable mother, and he was the rational and collected father who knew what was best for both of them. Marta pulled away. 

“It’s her birthday.” She said weakly. “Andie needs you.” Her tears welled up again. “Don’t you love her?” 

He stepped further away, his green eyes darkening.

“Of course I love her. It just-” His voice hitched to a stop. Then he tried to start again. “I can’t-  She’s not -.” He got farther this time but still failed to finish his sentence. ‘Don’t you think it might be time to, you know-.’ He sighed and gave up. Shaking his head, he walked past her to the front door, tightening his tie as he went. “I’ll be back at seven.” 

Marta let him go. 

Watching him leave pained her in ways she couldn’t describe. She knew that life was hard right now, but it was hard for her too. She felt caught between sympathy and anger. Anger but not hate. Marta was angry with Malcom, for letting her down, for letting Andie down but, she still loved him. She doubted if any hardship or anger could take that away. 

But it hurt. 

A sharp stinging brought Marta back to the present. She realized that she was still holding the lemon. Clutching at it too tightly. Her nails had dug in to its peel and juice was trickling into small cuts in her nail beds. She didn’t let go despite the pain. Staring at the white torn areas under the peel, she suspected that Malcom felt like a lemon as often as she did, tired and worn down. 

Marta set the lemon down on the quartz countertop and dumped the zest in to the batter. ‘We’re both lemons.’ She thought. It was a hopeless, empty thought. 

“I’m a lemon” She said, even though no one was there to hear. Well, except Orangey, the goldfish Andie had gotten two years ago. She had been five at the time, and therefore only capable of naming pets, stuffed animals, and on occasion cars (Marta’s old Ford Escape had been dubbed ‘Silvery’ a year earlier) after their colors. 

Orangey didn’t favor Marta with a response; he just swam around his bowl in lazy circles. Andie, who spoke to Orangey often, had told her once that he was an agreeable fish, so Marta took his silence as acknowledgment. 

She smiled, reminded of her daughter’s endearing nature. Andie was a sweetheart if there ever was one. Marta knew that for sure. She had never deserved what had come to her. 

Marta finished her lemon cupcakes a little tearfully, before going to the bathroom to freshen up. A cross stitched piece was framed above the mirror with the inscription ‘When life gives you lemons make lemonade’ written in yellow cursive. She looked away from it. ‘I have plenty of lemons’ she thought ‘lots of wrinkled half grated lemons, what I really need is some sugar.’  She pulled out a bottle of makeup from a drawer, to hide the red rimming her eyes. She was going to visit sweet little Andie on her birthday, even if Malcom wasn’t coming, but she didn’t want Andie to see that she had been crying. 

***

Setting the cupcakes down into the passenger seat of the old Ford, ‘Silvery’ she thought with a smile, Marta started the engine.  It sputtered for a moment before roaring to life, then quieting down to the normal hum. ‘I have to get the car checked soon’ she thought, ‘But not today.” She couldn’t go today. Today Andie needed her. She felt another pang, another pass of the zester, stripping away her skin, when she recalled that Malcom wasn’t going to be coming, but she pushed it away. Backing out of the drive way, Marta pulled up Google maps on her phone and entered the first letter of her destination. ‘S’ The name popped up on her screen without any more prompting, ‘Saint Phillip’s Cemetery’.