Short Line

Maggie made sure to go to the fancy grocery store since a storm was coming.

The weather had been unusually warm for a few days, and that’s how you knew you were going to get a blizzard. Everything in New England came with a cost. You paid for sun with snow the same way you paid for decent radishes with half a paycheck. She wasn’t going to be one of those people who complained about the price of this or that, but she still cringed when the final item was rung out. The cashier had a note of apology in her sixteen-year-old voice when she quoted Maggie the total.

“It’s all right,” Maggie said, placing the radishes in the paper bag herself, because apparently the fancy store couldn’t afford baggers, “No point in complaining.”

What she didn’t say was that complaining was a little like all the best things in life. It contributed nothing, but still brought great joy to the person doing it. Maggie carted the groceries back to her car, and then began the drive back up Memorial. When she arrived at the house on Orchard Avenue, William was already out front telling the neighbors war stories of snowstorms past.

“We used to get knocked down for weeks at a time,” he said, happily exaggerating to show off in front of the young couple that had moved next door, “No power for days. I beat Maggie at so many games of Monopoly-”

“Why don’t you let them get back to that new baby of theirs,” she interrupted him, “And you can help me bring the groceries inside.”

William knew from her tone that she perceived the young couple to be irritated by the old man’s rambling, but he was sure nothing could be further from the truth. The husband had already told William that neither he nor his wife were all that close with their parents. They didn’t approve of them marrying so young, and when they had a child and the phone didn’t ring, they declared themselves orphans. William saw that they liked having a fatherly figure nearby who could give some advice on how to handle a flooded basement or a mysterious sound coming from the old car they were sharing.

That didn’t mean William felt like arguing with Maggie. When you’ve been married to someone for thirty-nine years, you learn tricks for staying married. One of them being never to argue in front of another couple. Arguing can’t always be avoided, but public arguing can. He grabbed a bag full of what looked like rabbit food and noticed the name on the side.

“You went to the expensive market,” he remarked to her as they were stepping into the kitchen. The clang of her keys hitting the ashtray they hadn’t used since the Great Acquittal of 2007. He had quit again in 2009, 2014, and finally, after a health scare, in 2017.

“We can afford it,” Maggie said, “We didn’t take a vacation this year because you weren’t feeling well. The roof didn’t end up needing to be replaced. I thought we could splurge a little and buy real food for a change. We’re supposed to be eating healthier anyway.”

“I’m supposed to be eating healthier,” he replied, “You can eat anything you like. The doctor’s not up your rear end sideways every other day with a microscope.”

“That doctor saved your life,” she said, dropping the radishes in the crisper, “I’m making ratatouille for dinner.f”

“You haven’t made that in years.”

“Don’t stand there lying,” Maggie said, but with a smirk, “I made it three years ago.”

“Years are years.”

“Not when you’re our age,” she said, catching her breath now that everything was put away, “At our age, years are flexible. Everything’s flexible. Fix the windshields on your truck before the snow starts coming down. I’m going to go take a bath.”

“Since when do you take baths?”

“You ever hear of self-care,” she asked him, pretending she didn’t notice his jaw smack against the hardwood floor, “It means taking baths and cooking something other than chili and never cleaning a closet again. Let the kids throw out my old clothes when I’m dead.”

“We don’t have any kids.”

Maggie was already upstairs. She was already in the bath. She was already twenty pages into a book that was only sort of good. She was reading it for a Book Club that she would inevitably stop going to when they chose a book she didn’t want to finish. She was planning a yard sale. She was visiting with the young couple across the street. She was telling them how William died. She was describing how peaceful he looked. She was telling them how he took a nap and simply didn’t wake up. She was saying how everybody was treating her with kid gloves, but really she was fine. She was thinking about selling the house. She was calling her sister in San Bernardino and promising to consider a move. She was finding herself awash in another summer. She was sleeping with the windows open. She was taking another bath.

Then she was back in the kitchen with William. Life had become present again. She knew all her imaginings might never come to pass. She knew she could end up going first, but there was no reason to get ahead of herself. Do that too many times and you might never enjoy a bath. She thought about the last thing he said. About them not having any children.

“Oh right,” she said, thinking about all the kids she never wanted, “I’ll be upstairs. Do you remember how to get a ratatouille started?”

William rapped on the refrigerator three times as if it were a genie’s lamp. He might have been hoping that it would open like a magic cave and present him with a fully-developed meal.

“If I’m not mistaken,” he said, “I just start cutting up vegetables until I run out of vegetables.”

Maggie walked over to her husband and kissed him. Not on the cheek either, but on the lips. She hadn’t kissed him on the lips in quite some time. Not because she didn’t want to, but because she forgot that you didn’t need a reason to kiss your husband on the lips. You could just do it whenever you felt like it. You could do anything you wanted whenever you felt like it. That was the benefit of sharing your life with someone. You could choose to share all of it and share it well. As long as they agreed. William, luckily, had always agreed.

“That was nice,” he said, when she pulled away, “But I’m still going to beat you at Monopoly later.”

Maggie laughed, because the truth was, he had never beat her at Monopoly.