Expectations

 

“Jean?”

“I am not asleep!” 

At 8:35 pm, Jean roused himself from his previously drooling state on the dining area table, which had a place setting at either end and full serving dishes in the middle.

Leaving her shoes, and almost as empty as when she had left home in the morning work bag in the foyer, Truly found her husband seated with the first day of work gourmet meal he had promised the night before. “You made all this?”

“Not exactly.” Jean grudgingly allowed a kiss on his cheek. He handed her the note that had been resting on the lukewarm peach cobbler tin.

“‘You will thank us later, smiley face inside a heart, Brad and Kinney.”

“Our personal welcoming committee from the company. Salad, entree, dessert, all delivered from Brad's favorite casual dining at 5:30 pm. When the doorbell rang, I thought you had forgotten your key.”

“I should have called.” Truly washed her hands in the kitchen sink.

“No need, I got the message.” Jean washed his hands as well, returned to the table, and distributed portions to each plate. “Initiation happy hour with the other junior associates, per your memo. Was there rhythmic chanting? Sworn oaths? Matching tattoos?” He scooted his chair in and bit grumpily into his kale and chickpeas.

“More like jalapeño poppers, air hockey, and chisme about the senior partners.” Truly joined Jean in the dining area, stood behind him, and stole dried cranberries off his plate. 

“Anything good?” Jean pouted as he offered his wife, without looking at her, a chunk of avocado from his fork.

Truly took the utensil, pulled out Jean’s chair to make room for her posterior, and sat on his lap. “Would you like the scuttlebutt on Silverio, Farouk, or Twain?” While on top of her husband, she fed him the green and yellow cube.

“Twain,” he murbled happily, back where they belonged. “Hallie seems like a spicy meatball.”