She liked to watch cooking shows. Quick, easy recipes to cook at home for her husband of thirty years. She thought ingredients like curry, cardamom, and cloves were exotic. Tried her hand at hams, roasts, chicken cooked to perfection, various cream sauces. He always smiled.
The kids had left the nest a few years ago. This allowed her to be more adventurous. No more mashed potatoes and honey glazed carrots. Now she only cooked with vegetables in season; fresh herbs, bottles of wine. Her days of making meatloaf were over.
The grayish blonde tried everything to make her husband happy. Both in the kitchen and in the bedroom. She followed Jerry Hall’s directions; a chef in the kitchen and a whore in the bedroom. She thought her marriage would last forever.
One night she waited at the dining room table alone. His car had not pulled up in their long driveway, office phone unanswered, cell was dead.
She went out looking for him. Drove all over town. Down Main Street, on side streets, passed the liquor store, the golf greens, she drove everywhere. He was not to be found.
The Chevrolet was discovered a day later in a town over in Jasper County. Parked by a train station. He’d left without her. Gone with another woman, a younger model. The bank account had been dwindled down to where she had half. A note was found in his desk. I have to move on, the letter said. It is time, she cried.
The days of cooking gourmet were over. The days of pleasing him were done. She ordered a pizza.