Pink Lemonade

The Secret in the Oven Mitt

What was once the dancing light that moved through the windows and lit up the house, had finally retired for the night. Only dusty light from electronic bulbs lit the dim pink countertop in the kitchen, the outside, was pitch black. Not a soul stirred outside. Not even an animal. The greenish clock that had glimmers of copper flakes, which had managed to remain on its surface ticked loudly through the quiet. The light hum of the air conditioner turning on every now and then was the only thing that was as talkative as the clock. But it wasn't the ones whom spoke which had a presence. No, this presence lay where my husband and I used to eat dinner together. There lay a small envelope, with the name:

ROBERT GOSLING

Written on the back of it.

The pressed in beautiful curls and loops, gave the handwriting a sophisticated look. One in which I did not recognize.

It had sat there for 2 hours alone on the dark wooden dining room table which it had made its own personal throne. For nothing else sat with it. Staring at me. Watching me.

Who sent this?

I'm afraid to touch it. It's not mine after all, probably an aunt who was never introduced, or an old colleague. But no. It's not that is it?

The letter held a dark secret inside it, the black ooze of its inky contents loomed around its crisp white skin. A wolf in sheep's clothing. A bomb I could easily set off.

He isn't home.

He'd never know...

I watched as my hands slowly reached out and touched the smooth silky flesh of the envelope.

But they couldn't move themselves any further. My intentions were to tear it open. But I couldn't.

So I hide it instead, putting it inside my grandmother's old baby blue oven mitts she'd passed down to me when she died. There was a hand knit yellow flower on the side of it, which I always loved because it reminded me of her light blonde frizzy hair. She'd make me help her cook, and she always wore her blue oven mitts. But after she passed away it had become an old memory. A wall decoration, to match the kitchen's aesthetic. But today it had a new purpose, to become my secret hiding place for this unexplained letter. I carefully slipped the thin white square into the mitts fuzzy matted down tan insides, making sure not to bend it. There. Now he'd never know. Maybe in the morning, I could bring myself to open it...

That night I went into my cold empty bedroom alone again. I lay in the ghostly lace sheets alone. Staring into the black nothingness that surrounded me, and gradually making out a few things that appeared highlighted in a dark blue. So I cried myself to sleep. Alone.

I don't recall having a dream. My eyes shut wet, then open dry. Birds sang to each other, and the once black and blue room had returned to its bright ugly pink wallpaper, and reddish cool wooden floor. I shifted my head, despite the complaining of my neck, to see if he was still in bed.

Empty.

The smell of him fresh however. I had just missed him. I pressed my hand to where he lay, warmth of his body gone from the bed, but evidence a man had been there remained. Fine thin wrinkles that disturbed the bed's usual smoothness, and a dark hair tainting the white of his pillow. As well as his smell. A cologne he wore ever since we had gotten married.

I shifted my body over onto his side, resting my cheek against his pillow. Mixed with his cologne was just the pure scent of him, his musk if you will? It was stronger here. I moved away though, not wishing to disturb the smell. I wanted it to linger, so I could come to it later.

I began to grow tense lying in bed. Feeling my back cramp up. It was time for my everyday routine, get out of bed, strip, take a shower, dry off, and get dressed. This is a ritual I have done since I was in elementary school. The newest ritual however, is after all that, and after I make and eat my breakfast, I make lemonade. This started around a year ago. Maybe less.... it started when work for him grew busier. And I saw him less and less. Now I almost never see him.

I still always make a second glass for him though.