Maybe Tomorrow

Lara placed the two plates carefully on the table, took a long, deep breath and straightened her dress.

"Matt!" she called up the stairs, "It's ready."

 The bounding of Matt's footsteps echoed down the stairs and into the hallway below, and suddenly with a wave of realisation, Lara felt her chest tightening and her heart racing. She began to silently panic at the thought of keeping this dinner down; she already felt so sick.

"Thanks, Lara, looks lovely", he mumbled as they both shuffled into their seats.

The table was laid to perfection, just like always. Although Lara hated cooking, she did somewhat enjoy the presentation side of things. She always joked that her birthday cake creations always looked stunningly professional but tasted like shit. She hated the way everyone pretended to enjoy them when she knew such little effort had been put into their production until the very final stage, where she had gotten to the fun part of frosting them with colours and glitter and pretty candles and sparklers.

Tonight, although the candles were not lit, the napkins were folded neatly at each place setting, and the condiments (even the ketchup) were set out in ornate little matching ramekins.

The salad was in a beautiful hand-painted crystal dish, the one they had brought home as a souvenir from Greece one summer. This time she had made a goat's cheese and quinoa salad. She had even added walnuts and apricots just like she had seen on someone's Pinterest somewhere or other. She had been desperately trying to instil a healthier diet in their household. Whatever was going to happen between them, they would most definitely feel better if they ate better, she had thought. Just then, she remembered she had forgotten to put almond milk on her shopping list.

"How was your day?" asked Matt,

"It was fine, thanks. The usual. How about yours?"

"Long and boring, nothing new" Matt picked up the bottle of red and fleetingly studied the label, as if only for effect "Wine?"

"Yes, please"

Lara forced her attention to the trickling of wine filling her glass; the sound was soothing. But red wine would stain her teeth, she thought, and give her heartburn. Still, it might calm her nerves a little. It burned the back of her throat, but she realised she was soon enjoying the warm rush and the feeling of her muscles relaxing ever so slightly. She gazed around the room for a moment. She noted the photos, the trinkets, and that corner of the room where that piece of wallpaper was still peeling. That one room, she decided, had become a gallery depicting a whole life made together. She wondered what she would do with it all. Whether she would take any of it with her? The paintings, yes definitely, she thought, she had chosen those herself. She wondered which of it he would end up wanting to keep. She turned toward her husband. It was strange, she thought, how time could transform the once closest of friends and the once most passionate of lovers into complete strangers. She studied his face for a while, trying to recognise something in it still. The wrinkles below his eyes, the lines that etched his forehead, were all new to her. She could remember a time when those lines were not there. She asked herself if she might have been the cause for some of those lines, and then she wondered if he ever noticed hers. Her eyes lowered to his beard to where some of the hairs poking through were now grey. She had known him before he had grown a single hair on his chin; she had known him as a boy, before the stresses of work or money or loss. Her attention was suddenly on his huge hands and the way his fingers were clung to his knife and fork, she didn't think she had ever observed him eating so closely before, and she noticed how he irritatingly scratched deep into the plate with his knife. She winced at the sound he made and noticed that she had never seen his particular cutting method before. He cut his food into neat and small pieces before clumsily prodding them all onto his fork all at once; a little chunk of meat, a square of tomato, a slither of onion followed by a final swipe of mayonnaise. Then she watched the way he brought his food up to his mouth and began to chew endearingly with some kind of child-like enthusiasm. He has no idea, she thought.

"This steak is really nice, Lara. Did you buy it from the same place as last time?"

"Yeah. Same place."

She took her own bite of meat. She passed it back and forth between her teeth for what felt like an eternity before finally swallowing it. It was horrible and made worse by her nausea. It felt to her like nausea was a constant nowadays. She fidgeted in her chair deciding against trying to stomach any more food and took another swig of wine instead.

"I'm thinking of going to play golf at the weekend with a few of the lads from work. You didn't already make any plans for us, did you?"

"No, that's fine, go."

Lara thought about how she might spend her weekend. Perhaps she could make a start on her wardrobes. There were mountains of old clothes she had been hoarding for years that were no use to her. Maybe she could take it all down to the charity shop? Perhaps she would finally join that running club? Or start that writing course she had seen online?

Matt scraped his chair back from the table. "Lara, that steak was really nice, thanks" he pushed away his empty plate and grabbed his glass of wine, "I'm going to go and watch the football, OK?"

"Sure," Lara stayed sitting but gathered up the rest of the plates towards her. She stopped for a moment to take in the sight of her empty dining table. The one that they'd had an argument over choosing at IKEA six years ago. She still hated it.

Lara removed the plates carefully from the table, returned them to the kitchen, took a long, deep breath and straightened her dress.

Maybe tomorrow, she thought.