“Yes, yes I am. Because I’m a good wife,” Cara said, posing in front of the stove.
“What on earth are you wearing?” I asked, taking in the full picture. There was so much going on.
“Oh, this old thing?” she said lightly, twirling so that the skirt of her dress flared out perfectly. “You’re too kind.”
“And the apron?” Over the pink checkered dress that looked like it had been ripped from a vintage 1950s closet was a white apron, complete with shoulder frills.
“You look like a period piece,” I said, walking around her to get the full effect.
“Why thank you,” she said, dipping a little curtsy. I had no idea where she even learned how to do that. “I just wanted to feel like a wife, and I figured this was a good way to start. Plus, the skirt is awesome.”
“I mean, this is one version of a wife before women had, you know, a lot of rights.” She scowled at me.
“Don’t rain on my vintage parade.” I put my arms out and she hugged me.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your fun. You look gorgeous, really.” The ensemble worked on her in a strange and perfect way.
“You should totally get a suit and then we could be an old-timey couple for Halloween.” A tailored suit did have its appeal. I’d always wanted to try one.
“I think that’s an excellent idea. You’re on.” Cara beamed and the timer went off.
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to get dinner on the table, and here is your martini that is actually cheap wine.” She handed me the drink and motioned to the tiny table we’d managed to squeeze into a corner of the kitchen with two chairs. It was already set with the nice plates, a vase with fresh flowers in it, and a few candles.
“This is fancy. What’s the occasion?”
“Uh, it’s Monday? And I felt like it since I got home early from work?” I nodded.
“Fair enough.” She brought the lasagna out of the oven and I was so hungry that I almost started attacking the pan, but Cara slapped my hand with her spatula.
“It’s hotter than the surface of the sun. I don’t want you burning your mouth. Just wait a few minutes. I set a timer that will tell us when it’s ready.” She went back to dressing and tossing the salad and adding that to the table while I pouted at the lasagna and listened to my stomach growl.
“Is it time yet?” I whined less than a few minutes later.
“No. Just sit down and have some salad.” At least there was that. I sat down and started to dish out salad onto my plate, but I didn’t want to eat without her, so I left my fork on the table and folded my hands.
“I thought you were hungry?”
“I am, but I don’t want to start eating before you, like an asshole. We eat dinner together in this family.” Cara swooshed her skirts out and sat down across from me.
“Is that so? Are we a family?” I gave her a look.
“I mean, what makes you think we aren’t a family? We’re two people who live together, spend our time together, and love each other. Even if we weren’t married, we’d still be a family.” She set her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand.
“Huh, I guess you’re right. I always think of the very traditional nuclear family, whatever that means. You know, mom, dad, and two kids.” I made a face.
“I’m pretty sure that families unlike that have existed since the dawn of time and it doesn’t make them any less traditional. I mean, look at how many guys in the bible had multiple wives. That’s traditional right there.” The timer went off.
“I don’t think we need to follow that particular tradition.”
“What, you wouldn’t want to take more wives?” She reached for my plate and I got up to hand it to her as she cut a perfect slice of lasagna.
“I think, for me, one wife is more than enough, thanks,” she said. “What about you?”
“I’m still getting used to one, so let’s figure that out first and cross the ‘other wife’ bridge when we get there.”
We sat down to dinner and I finally got to shove forkfuls of perfect lasagna into my face.