The Wedded Foes
"Are you fucking kidding me," her husband exclaimed, tossing his head left to right as he looked down at the plate his wife placed on the pass.
The bold statement carried through the walls of the restaurant's kitchen walls, causing other employees to keep their heads hung low to avoid any unnecessary criticism as well. Her shaken hands grasped the sides of her slightly bulged hips in silent protest.
"There's nothing wrong with it, Keith," she bit out.
Their narrowed brown eyes met one another in a dance of rage. Each day ended up exactly like this. She busted her whole ass into every meal she prepares and her husband and top chef of the restaurant, Keith, bitterly criticizes everything down to the last detail. One would automatically assume that these two were just two disgruntled employees that didn't care to work together, yet the rest of the staff knew better. Wedded foes, some called them. They were at their peaks of displeasure these last few weeks, doing nothing except for bickering. Well, that came mostly from Keith.
His wife did as she was told, and while everyone else thought her cooking was superb, no one was more disgusted and vocal about all her mishaps than Keith. She sits back and watches him praise all the others for their hard work and delectable dishes, while receiving the utmost end of the stick. Today, however, became an all-time low.
Pinching the freshly made plate with their famous Lobster Thermidor between his fingers, Keith let his wife take one last look at her finished masterpiece and let it drop right next to her feet. Inevitable tears welled in her eyes as she tore their gaze to look down at the wasted food.
"That's what is wrong with it! It deserves to be swept up and thrown in the trash. And once you're done with that, get back to your fucking station and start it over again," he seethed, staring her down until she felt like a miniscule ant about to be stomped on by a big foot.
She knew bickering about spilled milk wouldn't do anything but land her in more trouble, so with her head still hung low she bit down on her tongue and walked past her husband to grab the broom and dustpan from the corner of the kitchen. Nothing stood more humiliating than sweeping up your own food in front of the entire kitchen crew while they threw sorrowful glances. In the world of cooking, this has been proven to be one of the most disheartening and cruel forms of punishment. Next to being fired, of course.
Scrapes of the broken glass penetrated the silent kitchen for a while before Keith went back around the kitchen to peruse the work of his other chefs.
"Nice work on your sirloin, Jamison. Add a bit more sauce on the side and it should be ready for the pass," he complimented gruffly, transitioning his voice back to its normal state.
She almost forgot the smoothness of her husband's voice, seeing that every conversation he has with her is in some form of anger. Words weren't exchanged once they got home either. Neither one had the energy to bring up what was done in the early hours of the day.
"Tell me why you still stay with that jackass," her friend Erin whispered, holding the mop in her hand and a smug grimace on her face.
"I love him."
Unconditional love and support kept her tied to her husband's hip. She wasn't one to run once the going got tough. These long hours and frantic workdays, although not an excuse, has put him on edge and she can see that with every day. Her man has worked his fingers to the nub for this restaurant. Coming in at the tip of dawn and leaving at the last sign of twilight. His dedication proved to pay off with the newly acquired five-star ratings from the top food critiques, but she still couldn't place a finger on why he only seemed to direct his anger towards her.
