New Kitchen

Jonah handed me a stack of mismatched Fiestaware plates. We were the kitchen sorting through hand-me-downs and thrift store finds. We’d just returned from mass.

“These are from my mom.”

I put the plates into a cabinet next to the Corelle bowls I’d stolen from my mom. I remembered when my mom bought those bowls. We’d saved up green stamps from the grocery store, licked them until our tongues were a vomitous shade of green, and redeemed our sheets of stamps for a discount on the dishes.

“That was nice,” I said.

“Yeah, they were a wedding gift.”

Jonah returned to sifting through boxes. Most of the boxes were empty now as a year’s worth of crumpled newspaper littered the floor.

“I think we have everything except silverware and glasses.”

“I bet my mom has some old silver we could have.”

I was loath to accept another family heirloom from Maureen. It was ironic. As I walked around our new home his family’s treasures were placed next to the trinkets I’d saved from my mom’s yard sale pile. Waterford crystal found a home next to plastic Wal-Mart cups.

“What do you want to eat tonight?” I asked.

“Chicken.” Jonah said chicken like a protracted sneeze.

“That’s all you ever want.”

“What can I say? I like chicken.” Jonah crossed the kitchen to me, wrapped me in his arms, and kissed me. The kiss was innocent in the beginning and then it became desperate, seeking, passionate. He lifted me into a tree frog position, a backwards piggy-back ride. His grip became needful, holding me tighter, like our bodies couldn’t get close enough and would soon meld into one.

Photo: DrumMajorMiriah