Flash Fictions

7

 Maisie's fingers brushed over the cold metal knocker. The wind stung her cheeks as she gripped the containers in her arm in her arm, yearning for their warmth. She gave the door three hard knocks before adjusting the homemade chicken divan. Mrs. Stevens swung open the door. Her bright smile contrasted against the dull landscape.

"Hi, honey. What're you doing here?" Mrs. Stevens opened the door wide enough for Maisie to step in. The heat from the house seeped onto the front porch, acting as an invitation to the cold girl.

"I know Stevens is supposed to work late tonight, so I thought I'd make you dinner. It's chicken divan."

"You're so sweet. Come on in, darling."

Maisie entered Stevens' living room, and the smell of old leather greeted her. The room was suffocatingly small, and the small walls seemed to contain all of her nerves. Papers littered the stained carpet with mountains of paperwork everywhere from the couch to the pool table. Books were strewn on the large bookshelf lining one of the walls, not a single one of them in its place. She could see the kitchen from the doorway across from her, and a small hallway to her right hid in the shadows.

"I'll get some plates. You can set the chicken divan on the table while we wait."

"Wait for what?" Maisie asked. The door in the hallway opened to reveal Stevens. His tall stature sent an overbearing shadow sprawling across his home. Stevens' white tee shirt complemented his denim, and tousled brown locks brushed against his forehead at uneven angles.

Maisie tried to conceal the shock on her face, but she knew her gaping jaw revealed all. She and Stevens hadn't been on the same page ever since the night before, and the way he had used her to get his way was burned into her brain. Stevens wanted the promotion, and Maisie wanted justice. The two knew they couldn't have both, but she'd be willing to work for a compromise. Maisie wasn't sure her colleague would agree.

"M-Maisie? What're you doing here?" Stevens stammered. He shifted his weight, leaning against the wall. His rough hands inched towards the back of his neck, and Stevens rubbed it nervously, his gaze shifting around the cluttered room.

"I thought I'd make you guys a dinner. Weren't you supposed to be working late today?"

"Bloom let me off early. Is that a problem?" His voice turned stiff at the end as if someone had gripped his vocal chords with a tight fist. Before Maisie could respond to Stevens, his grandmother stepped in.

"Who's ready for dinner?" Mrs. Stevens asked. Stevens and Maisie didn't have time to react, for Mrs. Stevens was already dragging Maisie into the kitchen. Stevens followed behind in brooding silence.

The plates clattered against one another as Mrs. Stevens sat them on the table. After Stevens grabbed a handful of dull silverware, they dove into the dish. Maisie and Stevens sat as far away from each other as possible, leaving Mrs. Stevens sandwiched in the middle.

Silence engulfed the table, and the only sound was the silverware scraping against the porcelain dishes. Chicken divan disappeared from the container Maisie had brought, but the quiet continued. It was almost painful to Maisie, for she wanted to speak but no words came to mind. No one made an effort towards a conversation. As a last resort, Mrs. Stevens opened her mouth, causing Maisie's attention to snap to her.

"Have you opened your sense since Thursday?"

"No. I've honestly been too scared to."

"Oh, honey, the only way you can grow is to keep trying," Mrs. Stevens reminded, rising from her chair. "You'll learn nothing if you stop. We all make mistakes, but it's what we learn from them that matters."