Eggs, swiss cheese, mushrooms, and spinach. It was one of the few things we actually agreed on, and I figured it wouldn’t be the worst way to start the day. As the scent of melting swiss filled the small studio apartment we shared, I realized there was something missing. Onions. I tiptoed over to the refrigerator and opened it as quietly as I could. I had done a good job sneaking around so far. I had even cracked the eggs inside a kitchen towel earlier. Sometimes you just want to do everything right. Or at least close. The kitchen towel now laid in the hamper, covered with egg yolk. And now that I had the refrigerator open, I realized there weren’t any onions in the vegetable drawer. I found a half-eaten bag of fried onion chips tucked away behind a jar of pickles, but I thought that would be a bit too tacky for an omelet. Well, too tacky for her. I’d try it. I’d try anything.
When I got back to flip the omelet, I found the bottom of the eggs stuck to the pan. The smell of burnt eggs began to intermingle with the savory aroma of the other fairly fresh ingredients. Sometimes you try too hard to get everything perfect, and things end up a little worse than if you had tried just a little less.
I shoved the spatula between the charred egg skin and the rest of the ingredients. When I flipped the omelet over, I realized more than half of the bottom face remained stuck to the pan. It was clear that I was now cooking a frittata. Maybe I could play it off as something I did on purpose. I peeled back the flaps of eggy skin still resting atop the ingredients of my once-an-omelet and pressed them against the bottom of the skillet. Eventually my now-a-frittata stopped trying to fold back into a not-quite-an-omelet. It actually didn’t look too bad.
Coffee! Getting things right in the morning is really hard. I turned the skillet down to low and went about the business of making coffee. I usually used more water and less grounds, but Charlie liked her coffee a lot stronger than I did, and this breakfast wasn’t for me, anyways. I could make another cup after she left.
With the coffee started, I sat down at our little table and winced as the frigid metal chair met the bare skin of my thighs that extended out from my briefs. Pajamas would have been nice, but even now I can’t bring myself to buy them. I wear pants all day, I don’t want to have to wear them to bed, too.
As the chair began to warm up and the scent of coffee overtook the smell of slightly burnt eggs, I settled into working on the unfinished puzzle that lay on the center of the table. Charlie always liked puzzles, and I was trying to like them more than I did. I liked that she liked that I was trying to like them. I think. Anyways, this one was a tropical scene. The easy stuff was done, but there was still the big blue sky, and the big, blue, glassy ocean.
The last puzzle we did together pictured a big city with lots of people – which was hard – but each little piece seemed to have a story behind it. A person going somewhere, doing something. Unfortunately, this new puzzle’s pieces were almost all comprised of varying shades of blue. No story there. Just blue. I fumbled around with a piece between aquamarine and sky blue. I think. It may have been the biggest test of patience man ever devised, and I was ready to give up when I heard Charlie tumble out of bed. It was time to set the table.
She came through the doorway of our bedroom into the kitchen just as I finished placing the napkins under the forks. Her dark hair was wrapped in an intricate bun, and she wore one of those sweater-dress outfits with black leggings. She even had her make-up done. I was always impressed with how quickly she got ready in the mornings. I was still wearing boxers and a worn-out t-shirt. But I had made omelets, so that was something. Frittatas, I mean. I had made frittatas.
“Awe, thanks hun,” she said with a pout, grabbing a forkful of frittata and gulping it down while standing by the table. “But I’m late to my meeting this morning. Mmm, these are so good. I wish I had the time. But I’ll make it up to you – I’ve made reservations at Jody’s tonight for us. Your favorite!”
She threw her arms around my shoulders and gave me a peck on the lips and smiled. “Seven thirty. Don’t be late!”
Charlie turned and walked out the front door of our apartment, leaving me in the kitchen with two frittatas and a puzzle. And dinner reservations at my favorite restaurant. Actually, Jody’s wasn’t my favorite. It was all right, but I didn’t have the heart to tell her. We had our rehearsal dinner there the year before, and I made a sarcastic comment about the food that she took quite seriously. I let her run with it. Her heart was in the right place, and it wasn’t a horrible restaurant. But definitely not my favorite.
I sat down and ate my frittata. Charlie’s abandoned breakfast stared back at me its plate, and I figured it would be better to eat the lonely frittata than let it go to waste. I don’t know why she skipped breakfast this morning, omelets are her favorite. And a frittata was pretty darn close to an omelet. Come to think of it, she had an early meeting the last time I made omelets.
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