Stubborn plates: three days of patiencetesting.
Jonas spent three days scrubbing dishes, yet none of the plates or cups emerged spotless. When he finally came home from work he didnt even bother changing out of his work clothes. He slipped on an apron and got straight to the task. He also wanted to whip up a soup, having forgotten what a real one should taste like.
Food residue clung to the plates so firmly that they had to be soaked first. About ten coffee mugs suffered the same fate. Cant I at least wash one for myself? he muttered, feeling a lump rise in his throat. He was hungry, but the fridge held only a few cucumbers and an empty shelf. Suddenly, the scent of Rūtas pastries drifted toward him. Their house always smelled of baked goodshis wife loved cooking. Fresh from work, the kitchen was already scented with cinnamon, or sometimes vanilla. The mixer buzzed, the oven roared
At that moment Jonas fondly recalled his wife. He used to think that, aside from the kitchen and the kids (the latter didnt count as work), she saw nothing else. She was constantly washing, dusting, or tidying. In summer the kitchen turned into a canning factory, and Jonas never managed to bring the glasses to the cellar.
One evening he walked in from work to find Rūta, as usual, simmering something on the countertop. She sat on the edge of the table, habitually peeling an apple while a concert played on the television.
Im leaving you, Jonas said, unnervingly calm, without even a greeting.
She flinched but kept her head down.
Ive found another woman, he continued. I love her and I cant keep deceiving you any longer.
Rūta set down her knife, turned slowly toward her husband, her face hot from the steam and the fresh news, and, in a subdued voice, said:
Take one of the rolls; we wont finish them all.
Jonas, of course, didnt take the roll, though he loved the ones filled with hazelnuts and walnuts. He gathered the essentials and left for the other woman, who could not have been more different from Rūta. She never wore jeans like Rūta; instead she favored short skirts and dresses, always in heels, never in sneakers. She could announce that she was heading to a beauty salon as if it were a crucial business meeting, and the whole world seemed to wait for her.
Rūta, on the other hand, never visited salons. She disliked wandering through shops or markets. When she needed something, she made a list, went out, and quickly returned with bags in hand. She didnt read glossy womens magazines, drank coffee, dye her hair, or work out. Yet she was always neat, slim, attractivetight jeans, short tops, a pynimėlisstyle skirt that made her look like a schoolgirl.
Jonas wanted a genuine partner by his side, so he found Audronė. Now he folds shirts, cooks meals, washes dishes. At night he dreams of Rūtas rolls and pastries; the dreams smell of vanilla and echo with her laughter
After restoring order in the kitchen, Jonas stepped into the bedroom. Audronė lay on the sofa, propped elegantly on her elbows. A magazine rested in front of her, and three coffee cups stood on the side table.
Youre such a genius, my little bunny. What would I do without you? his wife cooed, running her hands over his shoulders.
I just came from a manicure. Im exhausted! Look at these nailsperfect, right? Come here, my love, let me hug you
Jonas felt his anger rise. Probably just hunger, he thought, and headed back to the kitchen to peel potatoes.
