Fighting for the Fairytale

Nora

I left work fifteen minutes early (with my co-worker Celeste's blessing), so I could get home before Cole.

The moment I stepped in the door, I changed out of my drab clothing. I wanted to curl up on the couch and read a book. I had so many to read but now was not the time.

This was Cole's first day home from work-- well both of our first days home from work as a married couple-- and I wanted to make dinner for him.

Taped to the door was a small paper calendar where Cole and I had come up with our meal plan for the week. I meal prepped in college, and it helped me save money and re-use leftovers, so Cole and I decided to try it for the two of us. 

Tonight's meal of macaroni and cheese was one of Cole's favorites. 

My stomach clenched, remembering the first time Cole had made his version of the cheesy pasta for me. Instead of macaroni noodles, Cole used an entire box of spaghetti pasta and a whole chunk of Velveeta cheese. The first bite I took had been cold and the cheese had congealed, but I choked it down.

My digestive system rebelled too, remembering how I'd spent that night in the bathroom. But this was one of Cole's favorite meals, and we committed to this food calendar. 

It'll be fine. You won't have to eat it cold, and it will taste better warm.

Or, you can add less cheese.

There, that'll make it better.

Decision made, I opened the pantry and pulled out a box of pasta. Removing a medium size pot from one of the lower cupboards, I filled the pot with water, adding a few dashes of salt before turning up the heat and placing the cover on top.

Five minutes later, I added the noodles and grabbed a head of broccoli from the fridge.

I shaved off the small trees, adding them to a small pot prepped with water. 

Wiping my hands on a kitchen towel, I twirled the last few noodles that refused to soften until all were submerged in their hot, salty bath. Turning back to the broccoli, I cut off a few more sections before calling it good and placed them in the smaller pot on the back burner, diagonal from the pasta, to simmer. 

Using a tongs to spin the pasta, I grabbed a noodle to test. The noodle was hot but still a little hard. 

Just a few more minutes. 

I preferred my pasta more on the softer side. 

But how did Cole like his pasta? 

Well, crap.

I adjusted the heat on the pasta just as arms clasped around my waist. 

"Cole!" I hadn't even heard the garage door.  I turned around, intent on giving him a hug and a kiss. "How was your first--?"

I stopped when I got a good look at Cole's face in the overhead oven light. 

He looked haggard. Tired. Sweaty. 

Had they made him do physical labor? I thought this was a music internship?

"I'm sorry I'm back so late." Cole said, wincing as he rotated his shoulder. "We... almost didn't finish on time."

"We?" I asked confused. 

"There's two other interns besides me."

"Oh."

"Yeah, I didn't know either til I got there. It's a good thing there was three of us though otherwise we never would have finished cleaning the studio on time."

"Cleaning the studio? But I thought--"

"Nora, today was a crappy first day. I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I smell like shit. Can we not talk about it right now?"

"Of course," I replied. Turning back to the stove, I tried not to take his bad mood personally even as tears pricked at my eyes.

Get it together, Nora! He's not mad at you. He's just mad at his day. Focus on what you can do to make it better.

 "I'm, uh, making supper, if you want to go hop in the shower. It should be ready in 10 minutes or so."

I heard rather than saw Cole trudge up the stairs. I turned down the boiling pasta and broccoli to as low as it could go, trying to ignore the urge to cry. 

This was not how marriage went in any romance novel I'd ever read. This was not how my parents acted with each other when they got home from work. They always greeted each other with a hug and a kiss. Even on their bad days. 

When was the last time they even had a bad day though?  They had each other. That was all they needed.

Am I not enough for Cole?

No, of course, you are. He's just upset, that's all. You'll make him dinner and everything will be okay.

Hearing steps on the stairs, I called Cole over. "Hey, do these noodles seem done to you?"

Good, that sounded normal. Everything is okay.

I grabbed a noodle with the tongs, handing it off to Cole. 

He chewed, swallowed, and answered, "That's done to me. Is tonight macaroni and cheese night?"

"According to our schedule, yes," I confirmed. "I thought I would make it for you."

Cole looked at the stove. "Did you make the cheese sauce already?"

I paused, ready to strain the pot of boiling pasta into the colander I had set up in the kitchen sink. "Uh, no? Don't you just add the milk and Velveeta right into the noodles?"

"No, you melt the milk and Velveeta together in a separate pot, otherwise it gets lumpy!" Cole said, rubbing his fingers on his temples.

"I'm sorry," I stuttered as his anger washed over me. "I didn't know. I was just trying to—"

"It's fine. I guess it's better to have lumpy pasta than cold pasta." Cole yanked open the fridge and pulled out the jug of whole milk and block of unopened Velveeta cheese.

"Okay," I said, so soft he probably didn't even hear me.

I was just trying to do something nice.

Pride roared in my head. That's right! You were! He doesn't have a right to yell at you! You're not his punching bag! Tell him!

No! I can't tell him that!

Why not?

Well...because!

Wow. Good comeback.

Leave me alone! Nobody asked you!

Upset, I tried to figure out what to do. Would it be better to stay in the kitchen or leave? Do I tell him that what he said was hurtful? Do I curl up in a blanket on the couch and cry like I wanted to since Cole first yelled at me? 

"I'll just, uh," get out of your way, "set the table," I said instead, turning my back to Cole. "The broccoli should be done soon."

I gave Cole a wide birth as I grabbed plates, cups and silverware.

How had I screwed this up so badly? God, what did I do wrong here?