Tree of Life - A work of fiction

“Enjoy your evening.” He said “Oh, and happy anniversary, I’m so envious of you spending a romantic evening with your man!”

She waved goodbye in answer to her co-worker as she pushed through the heavy glass door of the store front. “Envious he says” she muttered “hmmmft”

He was envious.  He was envious of the one who would have this beautiful, talented woman cooking a romantic dinner for him this evening.  His imagination drifted to what would happen after dinner.  Distracted by his fantasy, he at first did not notice that she had left her jacket.  She could get it tomorrow, or maybe he would take it to her on his way home this evening. 

They lived in the same apartment building, though she never seemed to notice.  He first began falling in love with her through her cooking. He spent his evenings drifting on the fragrances wafting from her apartment.  The waves of olfactory delight carrying him through elaborate fantasies of a life shared with her.  The reality was that the only thing they shared was the leftovers she brought to work almost every day to share with her co-workers.                                                        

She made a mental shopping list as she walked the two blocks to her grocery mart.  She had a perfect job doing what she always wanted, being a window dresser for a prestigious department store.  She enjoyed using color to create beauty.  It was an easy four block walk from her apartment to the store and the Whole Foods Market was the halfway point. 

Really, her life was pretty perfect.  Sweet perfection precariously perched on a constantly shifting foundation of lies.  She set that thought aside as she concentrated on dinner.  It had to be right.  This would be her last chance to get it absolutely right.  In the produce aisle, she found an unblemished beautifully white head of cauliflower.  A thought began to coalesce in her mind. Roasted cauliflower…yes that would be perfect, but what else?

She added fresh parsley, a pomegranate, and some forbidden black rice to her cart.

Then she perused the fish market deciding on three sea scallops and a four ounce cut of wild caught salmon.  Should she get two?  No starting right now she would be honest, at least with herself.  A perfectly beautiful fruit tartlett and a perfectly red rose rounded out her shopping. She paid for her groceries and began her short walk home.

Home, not really.  She imagined home to include a family, a partner, someone to share her dreams.  That was not to be.  In spite of years of prayer, hoping beyond hope, she was still alone. Countless daisies giving up their petals hoping for finally a “he loves me”, but always ending on “he loves me not”.  Eventually, she created a family life, one that she talked about at work, with people who didn’t really care.  It was a perfect life to go with her perfect job.  She lied.

She would talk about what was for dinner and then go act out the fantasy cooking for two every night then not even having the appetite to eat for one.  She was happy when she was cooking, though.  Pretending her perfect husband would be home soon.  Every night it was the same.  Cooking completed, she would neatly pack the food away, everything labeled in beautiful glass dishes with colorful plastic lids.  But tonight was different.  This was her last supper, and it had to be perfect.

She set the bag down on the impeccably clean counter.  After putting the fish in the refrigerator, she opened a bottle of wine.  She had been saving this bottle for a special occasion.  It was a bottle of 2002 Renwood Sierra Series Red Zinfandel.  It was a complex, beautiful wine from the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains of California.

She poured herself a glass and turned on the “watercolors” station on the XM radio.

She went into the bedroom and stripped off her work clothes, carefully folding them before placing them in the bottom of the clothes hamper.  She went into the bathroom and washed her face then shaved her legs.  She rinsed the razor and carefully removed the razor blade.  She placed the blade on the side of the bathtub mesmerized by the way the light shined off the metal in contrast with the white porcelain tub.  It was like a star shining in the blue and yellow bathroom.  The silver gleam seemed out of place among the happy yellow moons and stars which festooned the dark blue shower curtain.

Tonight, she would be honest.  No lies.  She was cooking for one, a nice romantic dinner for one.  After washing all the vegetables, she contemplated what she wanted to do.  She cut open the pomegranate and extracted the arils from half.  She washed the blood red juice off her hands watching as the stained water swirled down the drain. Using scissors she carefully snipped the very ends of the parsley stems creating a pile of emerald green florets.  After putting the rice on to cook, she set the scallops and salmon out on the counter.

She put the bright blue table cloth on the table and placed the knife, fork and spoon on top of a deep red cloth napkin.  The tartlette went on a small yellow saucer, the varying colors of fruit created a perfect contrast.  She put the rose in a crystal vase which she placed in the center of the table.  The opposite side of the table she left empty.  This night was for honesty, no lies.  

She cut a half inch slab from of the center of the cauliflower.  After browning the slice on both sides in some butter, she finished cooking it in the hot oven.  The slice of cauliflower was now crispy and golden brown as she salted it with oversized grains of kosher salt.  Pouring another glass of wine, she stared at the cauliflower.  It looked like a Tree of Life.  The salt glistened like a fine frost on a perfect winter morning. Now that’s some irony for you, a tree of life for your last supper.

She put the cast iron skillet on the stove to pre heat over a high flame.  She carefully placed the cauliflower in the center of a round bright yellow platter and then began to decorate the tree with the parsley florets and pomegranate seeds.  Using tweezers she placed a floret then the ruby red seed in the center.  It was beautiful, like Christmas!  It could be Christmas, but no, this was an evening for honesty.  It was not Christmas, it was her last supper.

She took the pills down from the cabinet and took two with the last sip of wine.  She poured another half glass and took two more pills; she wanted to save the last glass of wine to enjoy with the salmon.  She oiled and seasoned the salmon and seared it for 4 minutes on the first side then turned it and added the scallops to the pan.  After a couple of minutes, she turned the scallops then a couple of minutes later scooped salmon along with the scallops onto a plate to rest.

She mounded the black rice along the base of the tree, placed the salmon on top of the rice on one side and the three scallops on the other side creating perfect symmetry. She sprinkled a few parsley florets and pomegranate arils over the fish and rice.  It was perfect, a serene beautiful scene.  She placed the platter on the table and poured the last of the wine into her glass.  A drop of wine escaped to the bright white counter top looking like a drop of blood.  She wiped up the drop of wine with the tip of her forefinger and with her finger in her mouth she turned to the table.  She took a moment to enjoy the sight.  The table looked beautiful with all of the bright, vivid colors and the food looked inviting.  She sat down and with a deep breath she took in all the aromas of this fine dinner.  This was a perfect last supper. She picked up her knife and fork.

He finally finished his task and grabbed his jacket as he headed out the door for home.  He was turning the key in the lock when he saw her jacket on the hook by the office door.  He paused for a moment then unlocked the door and tossed her jacket over his shoulder.  It smelled like her, sweet and earthy with hints of the spices he knew she used in her cooking.  Her jacket held a complexity of fragrances like a fine wine.  They were probably having wine right now.  Maybe he shouldn’t take the jacket to her tonight.

“Fuck it!”  He thought.  He wanted to see this guy who was all perfect and see if he was deserving of this woman.  A woman more complex than any wine he’d ever had.  He wanted to knock on her door and see her smile welcoming him home.  She would greet him at the door with a kiss and a “How was your day?”  Then he would walk in and smell a great dinner cooking from inside the apartment instead of from down the hall.  He would surprise her with flowers and linger as he held her.

He could smell dinner as he turned down the hall towards his apartment.  What was he doing?  He should just stop at his own door and return her jacket tomorrow.  His feet betrayed him.  In less time than it took to question why, he was standing in front of her door.  He could hear soft music and the smell, the smell was intoxicating.  He could smell her standing next to him, or maybe it was the jacket in his hands.  He could almost feel his arms around her.  His heart was pounding the rhythm of his fantasy.  With a sweaty palm, he made a fist and softly knocked on the door.