Once upon a time, there is a man called Felix. 

One evening this perfectly normal man returns to his certainly ordinary house and his surely average wife. If you pass this guy at the gas station, you will forget him as soon as you drive away. He’s an expectation, a part of the framework: You’d think: “Yep, that’s one of my neighbors.”  

Felix’s house is nothing exceptional in his neighborhood. It’s a red-brick shelter with one level. He’s got three bedrooms and two baths as well as a front porch that only one person at a time could walk across.

On this particular evening, Gwen stands at the kitchen sink as always. For the past two years, Gwen meets Felix here as though his arrival is totally unexpected. Though, Felix suspects it’s all theatre for his sake.

Except, Gwen is not simply washing dishes. She looms over the sink – hunched nearly enough to put her black hair in the water. Gwen drives a rag into the skillet like she’s trying to push the rag through it. The rag fails in its efforts, so she brandishes a plastic scraper. No, this is a battle against whatever blackened abomination resides in that skillet.  

Felix lingers in the doorway of their kitchen. The white tile floor feels like a pit between him and Gwen. She doesn’t even turn around to say “hello.” She’s immersed in the ordeal before her. Felix watches the battle. He’s never seen anything like this, and his astonishment silences his own greeting.

Gwen stabs at the charred remains and sends chunks onto the neighboring counter. She drags the scraper down the skillet with a sound that brings only a desire for deafness. Then, Gwen only flips the offending cookware into the other side of the sink. She doesn’t look at it or make any comment about its mistake. 

Felix, meanwhile, knows he’s got to get in there – for Gwen’s sake. If his wife is involved in this kind of battle, it’s his duty to fight alongside her. So, he follows the skillet to the other side of the sink. 

She makes no sign of acknowledging his presence. Her scraper begins its assault on a baking sheet while Felix’s shoulders tense. He’s not comfortable being in attack position. He may not predict what damage that scraper could cause him, but he’s none too keen to find out either.

The sink’s sprayer becomes his weapon against that skillet. It’s clearly the biggest problem, so it must go immediately. 

Gwen snatches the skillet back before Felix can even start the sprayer. Her eyes dart over the skillet, and sure enough, she finds one more bit of grime.  The scrapper is on it before Felix can blink, so he takes a step back.

He wonders at Gwen’s fixation on the skillet. He considers that dinner obviously didn’t go as planned, but he’s starting to feel bad for that skillet.  Plus, her hair falls over her face – Gwen shuts him out.

So, he steps back again from the sink with palms padding the air in Gwen’s direction. It’s a gesture of defeat. What did he do wrong? He’s just trying to help. Still, he hasn’t looked around the kitchen, so if this is not his fight, what is?  

He scans the kitchen. The rest of the small room lined with flowered tile is spotless. Gwen, apparently, started with the kitchen, because there’s a week’s worth of grime that’s just gone. Well, he can’t just leave, can he?

Then, he spots them. They’re stacked, neatly, between the sink and the stove. In fact, the two plates are exactly halfway between the stove and the sink. That’s a level of precision that can only come from Gwen. 

Felix should’ve seen this earlier. She’s trying to tell him where to go. His part in this war is the dinner itself. 

He begins his quest with a sidestep to the refrigerator. It doesn’t look good; a trip to the store is unquestionably in their immediate future. Wait, there – behind the orange juice and milk – is the first step to a solution. He grabs some fish and pivots to the pantry. 

One quick glance confirms Gwen stays at the sink. Now, it’s a pot’s turn for the scraper. Felix can’t even see what’s getting scraped, but something clings for its life.

Now, the pantry looks better than the fridge. What will Felix add to the fish? Ah, there’s a couple cans of beets; that’ll do. With some spices, Felix’s inventory is complete, so he makes his way to the stove.

Gwen never looks up from the sink. She’s made it to the sauce cups, so maybe she won’t have too much longer. Still, she fights on.

The beets go into a pot from under the oven, as Felix takes the next steps on his quest. He reaches around Gwen for the offensive skillet. With her first look at him, she sends her daggers. He knows this skillet is enemy number one, but it is, also, their only skillet. Besides, she has a couple more dishes to distract her. What else can he do?

Butter plops into the skillet with the delightful sizzle, and Felix solidifies in front of the stove. Only his arms move. Spices sprinkle over both the fish and the beets. A spatula flies from a drawer between Felix and Gwen. The fish gets a crispy sear on both sides before the heat gets cut, and everything takes a gentle stroll through its remaining time in the heat. 

Now, Felix’s hands dart for the two plates; he slaps the countertop. The plates are gone. There’s nothing between Felix and the sink but counter space; he spins on his heels. 

There, Gwen stands as the model of tranquility. She’s thoroughly straightened out with the hint of a smile; her black hair rests behind her shoulders, and two plates hover in her hands with a bit of salad on them. She looks, with complete satisfaction, only at Felix. 

Felix smirks in return: He’s glad to see his wife. He takes the plates with a “thank you.” His fish and beets join her salad before Gwen steps to the counter. 

She takes a plate and his hand; Felix picks up his plate, and they walk toward their dining room – together.