The Unborn

Chapter 12

The aroma of freshly ground herbs, accompa-nied by a strong undercurrent of garlic, rose from the pot and permeated the kitchen. The result was mouth watering. Anna poured a small drop of red wine into the bubbling mix and stirred it some more. A crusty stick of bread lay on the bench top alongside a small tub of mixed butter and crushed garlic. Picking up a sharp knife, Anna began to slice thick chunks of bread from the stick before smearing them generously with the garlic butter. Next, she placed the pieces side by side on a sheet of foil and rolled them tightly together, encasing them entirely.

She pulled a tray from the top shelf of her oven before setting the temperature to one-eighty. Placing the garlic bread onto the tray, she sat it on the bench allowing the heat time to rise. Her glass of wine sat on the counter, she picked it up and took a mouthful. The smooth blend flowed down her throat with ease, the bitter aftertaste causing her eyes to squint as if she had looked directly into the sun. With her wine still in her hand, she returned to the simmering pot and stirred it slowly. The saucepan behind it was beginning to bubble, Anna placed her wine down and reached for the handful of spaghetti she had set aside. A hissing sound escaped the saucepan when the pasta was lowered into the water.

Once she had settled the spaghetti and pushed all the ends into the saucepan, she stirred it quickly and turned the flame down, creating a slow simmer. The oven was now hot enough for her bread. She picked up the tray and was about to slide it inside when her doorbell sounded its shrill chime. Anna glanced up at the clock on her wall. Six-fifteen, she hadn’t been expecting anyone. In just a few quick movements, she pulled the oven door down and slid the tray inside, closing it before she walked towards the front door.

"Ben…"

"Hi Anna, I hope I’m not interrupting anything?"

Anna glanced back to the kitchen before turning back to him, "No, I was just cooking some dinner." She opened the door wider and stood aside, allowing him room to pass by. "Please, come in."

She closed the door behind him and held out her hand, gesturing for him to come through. Ben followed her lead and made his way through the lounge room and into the kitchen, where he stopped and leaned against the doorjamb.

"Smells great," he complimented her. "Italian?"

"Of course. It’s my specialty." She picked up her wine and stood in front of the bench top, waiting for him to kick off the conversation.

Ben shifted from one foot to the other before, "How have you been, Anna?"

"Oh yeah, great thanks. How about you?"

The two of them were like a couple of teenagers on an awkward first date. Ben standing with his hands in his pockets and Anna fiddling with her hands and pulling at her hair. Neither one sure of what to say to the other.

Anna swished her wine around in her glass, mesmerised by the swirling of the liquid against the clarity of the crystal. "Can I get you a wine?" she asked, as though she had only just became aware of his presence.

"That’d be nice, thanks," Ben replied quicker than he had anticipated. The last thing he wanted was for her know the effect she still had on him. He chided himself silently for his over-zealousness. Anna took another glass from the cabinet and poured him a red, she smiled wryly before handing it to him and returning the bottle to the bench top.

"Shoot!" cried Anna, leaping over to the stove. The water in the spaghetti spat out over the rim of the saucepan, spilling onto the naked flame below. She turned the stove off and lifted the heavy saucepan over to the sink.

"Are you alright?" Asked Ben, edging slowly towards her. "You didn’t scold yourself, did you?"

"No. I’m ok," she replied, staring down at her hands.