Significant Others

Illustrated by Tula Wild.

The salt grinder stands at one end of the kitchen table. Relic of a meal for one. Dim light dips round her. Wood grains ripple across her curves, stretching over the double roll of her belly. I move her back to her place, the dish she shares with the pepper grinder.

She leaves a thoughtless white footprint behind; I wipe it with the damp dishcloth, rinse my fingers, dry my hand.

I pour myself wine – two inches – gurgling from the box. A Friday ritual. I pause, cast a glance over my shoulder. Salt cellar and pepper grinder watch me, waiting to resume an intimacy. She performs for him, I think, when I can’t see. A salty dance, her feet crusted. He smirks, shifting on his dark, peppery grains.

She crushes in bare hands, dissolves. He is less amenable. He sits. Waits. Grit of his own making lurks in my food each evening, catches me in the throat when I’m least expecting, when I am swallowing lazily, watching darkness grow on the wall. 

His eyes narrow.

I click the stove light on. Bring the chopping board from the drying rack to the counter. Fetch the vegetables. My knife. Set the water boiling. Light the stove. Grind the salt.