Pretty Box with a Bow

In the beginning Nora found Joe was normal, pleasant even. An acceptable wage, manners one would learn from attentive listening to their mothers, and a smile people found charming. Marrying him was not much of a decision. It simply happened, and although she couldn't remember being excited for much more than the prospect of a new found respect from society, Nora was sure she was not indifferent to the pleasures Joe brought. 

Over the time of a month, the grandeur of the honeymoon phase had settled. Although, Nora had only felt the excitement and giddiness when simply talking about her newfound love and stable life with kin. It was not expected to feel this excitement when actually near Joe. When she would rise early to prepare breakfast for Joe and herself, her thoughts wandered to the parts of the day she expected to enjoy: her friends, her house, her lunch. She would think of these anticipated moments over and over, turning them around and expanding them in her head to pass the time as she cooked, then set the place mats and food, and then cleaned. Anxiously she would wait for morning to be over and Joe to be gone, continuously going over her plans in her head. As the mornings piled up, weeks turning to months worth of mornings and breakfasts and dishes, her thoughts of excitement would become more vivid. The more she repeated her routine, the less she saw her scrambled eggs and teal flowered placemats and murky dish water. Her vision would swirl and fill with blurry figments of her friends and brunches she adored; brunches she was invited to because she was a wife, which she reminded herself is why she cooks, serves, and cleans in the mornings. Because these things are what allow her to attend brunches with friends. These brunches she enjoys, because her friends make her laugh and feel happy, just as being known as a wife makes her happy.  

Dinner was unfavorable for her, just as breakfast was, but more forgiving. Forgiving of her burnt casseroles and disheveled cherry pies due to her dancing visions. The visions, which were hard to contain at breakfast, were even harder for her to contain when making dinner. When the radio would whisper love songs in her direction, Nora would sway and let the feelings consume her heart; the love of her brunches and house and wedding ring which made her a wife. Sometimes, the visions and feelings would blur, and she would stand in the middle of her kitchen near the radio swaying and whispering words she remembers from both songs and memories until she smelled her burnt food, or until her kitchen timer would ring and she would realize she never cooked the food in the first place. She would stare at the food, the radio blurring her thoughts. Sometimes, when she would stare at her failed food long enough she would wonder why she didn't like cooking, or cleaning, or organizing. She would listen to her friend boast about their cleanly house or amazing meals and how they enjoyed performing for their husbands. When their husbands would set aside time for date nights they would express their excitement immensely, and then reminisce about their earlier dates before marriage. When Nora would think about her dates with Joe before their marriage, she did not remember much of what Joe had done, or what he had said. She remembered he had opened the car door for her and pulled out her seat, but because others in the restaurant had gushed over his manners. She had remembered feeling happy when they had first become official, but only because she could now relate to her friends and could make her family proud of her. She finally felt like she fit into the pretty box with a bow that was society. 

Years passed and the visions and dreams became more intense. When she was not at social parties where she felt she belonged, she was imagining the next. She imagined praise and new friendships, running over scenarios in her head to please herself. More often than not she would find herself alone, although aware of events around she was no longer invited as frequently as before. Daily brunch had turned weekly, then monthly. Neighborhood party invitations were less frequent, and house visits even less so. In September she was finally invited to another event; a brunch at her neighbor Syllvia’s, after the last two had been canceled. 

“I am so glad I have time to host these again!” Syllvia had said. Nora, confused as to why she hadn't, and secretly desperate to find a way to encourage more, asked why.

“Kids keep me busy, you know?” She laughed, then when a woman next to her swatted her arm gently, she awkwardly glanced to the side and whispered sorry. The women around the table all nodded though, agreeing. 

Nora suddenly realized something; she was the only one without children. She was no longer in that neat box with a ribbon anymore. She was an outcast, a woman married for years with nothing to show for it. A child would fix her problems, open up new chapters to her life and allow her to re-enter the social scene.

When Joe arrived home that night, Nora had dinner on the table and the radio was silent. When he walked into the dining room, a startled expression crossed his face. Warrily, he eyed the food on the table, and then Nora. She supposed it must have been a long time since she had cooked a proper meal meant for the dining room table.

“We need to have a child.” Nora states. She supposes it would be simpler to state her need before she forgets- not that she would. 

Joe’s slightly bewildered expression changes to a stone-like stare at the statement. “No.” He says.

“What? We need a child, everyone else has one. We will be the laughing stock of the neighborhood if we do not.” Desperation filled her voice, and she became unsteady, her face heating up and tears welling in her eyes. How could he not want a child? Did he want to be a social pariah, want everyone to hate him?

“When is the last time we have been intimate? Or kissed? Nora, I can't even remember the last time we have had a proper conversation.” He stares her down, frowning, nearly grimacing. “How would you even support a child? When was the last time you have cooked?”

“I cook!” She protests, yelling out in astonishment.

He sighs. “No, you don't. You either burn the food or forget to cook it entirely, and I don't even remember the last time you did that. I get takeout or microwave a meal every night.” Joe's head goes into his hands, and he rubs his eyes for a second before speaking again. “I love you, I do. I love you more than life itself, but you're not well, and I should have realized that before we got married, and I’ve been too scared to say something, because I don't know how to. I will not bring a child into this world for you to take care of when you can barely take care of yourself. I have been putting on a brave face, but I'm worried. I love you, Nora, but…” He continues to talk, and she swears his voice starts to mummer into a song, and she sways. Swaying back and forth, Nora’s vision starts to swirl and twist and stretch, and she imagines a party where she is praised and fits into that perfect box with a bow that is society.