Against Inevitability

Steam escapes as a lid is lifted from its pot. A quick sniff, and then satisfied clink of the lid coming back down to seal the ghosts that threaten to whisk away to where we cannot follow. A father wipes his hands on an apron, noticing erratic click-clacking of wooden blocks, their brethren scattered around his two children. Maybe Katie will be an architect, he thinks, eyeing the blocks meticulously stacked to ensure the maximum stability achievable by her 6 year old hands. His son pretends the blocks are planes, propellers sabotaged. He hurls them downwards, shrieking in glee at the din they make, clattering harshly to the floor. Timmy is no architect.

The front door is opened with the fumbled turn of a key, and wearily closes itself behind a mother wearier still. She falters in the doorway, trying to compose herself before her children notice her. Her husband rushes to embrace her fiercely; protectively. I’m so sorry honey; I heard about Margaret. It’s okay, we’ll face this together, it’ll be alright, Ellie. It’ll all be alright… He notes her puffy eyes, sore and ringed with red. She crumbles in his arms, eyes closed, the corners of her open mouth wrenched downward in silent hysteria.

Somehow she eventually opens her eyes to find herself seated at the dining table. Her husband brings the food out, tries for a sheepish grin, and reveals his latest masterpiece. “Wow!” Katie stares in wide-eyed wonder at the painstaking presentation of the food, picking up a little rabbit carefully fashioned out of carrot slices. In between bites, Timmy pipes up: “Daddy, why do you make dinner so pretty if it’s all going to end up in our tummies?” His father laughs, “Would you rather I didn’t?” Ellie shakes her head vigorously, managing a giggle.

The table is set for four. The fifth portion of food remains in the serving dish. Katie eyes it, puzzled. “Didn’t you invite that nice lady from last time?” Her mother’s face creases back into its previous anguish. The father hastily conjures a vague reply to satisfy his daughter.

The children retreat to the living room, resuming their building. “Mommy, come look! Come and –“ A deafening crash. “You did that on purpose!” Katie wails mournfully. Timmy comforts her, “No, it’s all good fun, see? You try!” He urges her to destroy his own block tower. She does so, and finds herself repeating the process with glee.