I’m sitting at the table, typing while I watch my wife move around the kitchen. It’s getting dark outside and it’ll soon be time to turn the heat up a notch as the cold starts to seep in. Though I have my back to the window, I know it’s wet outside as I can hear the splashing of the car tires as they drive past. The kitchen tap makes a noise as Nicholle fills the kettle. The noise of the fridge opening follows the clatter of pots as N puts one back on the shelf. The fridge, the temperature having dropped, becomes louder as the motor clicks in to bring the temperature back down. N covers a bowl with some film and puts it in the microwave. She slides a drawer open; a gentle swoosh followed by a clink as she takes out a spoon. Two quick presses on the oven set the temperature to 350. She turns on the ball of her right foot; three presses on the microwave and it starts. She reaches for a paper bag filled with bread rolls she brought home yesterday; I can remember the crunch they made biting into them last night. She leans back against the counter and taps on her phone. The oven makes ticking noises, the increasing temperature making parts expand. She brushes some of her hair behind her right ear and reaches for the breadboard. The microwave beeps; a quick turn - one bowl out and another in; one more beep to restart. Now, leaning over the same counter, again tapping on the phone. She’s chewing on some bread; semolina bread roll I think. The oven ticks some more as I imagine the bowl rotating in the microwave. She taps away some more; probably that game she likes or maybe a long WeChat message. Dishcloth in hand, she opens the microwave and uses the dishcloth to take out the hot bowl. The plastic covering has bubbled up into a dome, droplets of water in the inside. She opens one edge of the covering, stirs a bit, replaces the film and returns the bowl to the microwave. I can smell the food now. The oven beeps, the bread rolls are warmed. The microwave beeps three times. It’s time to eat.
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