Gloria played the hammer dulcimer in the next room, and he cringed a little as she missed a note. He hated imperfections on feast nights but he force himself to focus on the task at hand. All in all, she’d come a long way from when he had found her, living on the street panhandling in front of a fast food restaurant. The sound of Green Sleeves, no matter how imperfectly played, filled the apartment just as much as the wonderful smells coming from the kitchen, and he should be content. He ignored the slight rattle of the chain around her ankle as she played for him.
After all, that was his doing not hers.
It had been a while between feasts. He resigned himself to going out for a bite when the doorbell had rang. No one ever rang his doorbell, it was as if an invisible do not disturb sign had been placed there by the universe, but rang the doorbell had. Gloria had gathered her breath for a scream and he suffered an uneasy moment until he remembered that he enjoyed her tongue in a sandwich with stone ground mustard and organic Swiss cheese on dark rye the week before.
The young man at the door had been handing out fliers advertising the opening of an art gallery a few blocks away. He was handsome in a sneering art student sort of way, and his contempt for who answered the door had been evident in his eyes.
Oops! Speaking of eyes, he lifted them gently out of a pan and placed them on paper towels. Mustn’t overcook them. Everything should be perfect on feast nights. The smells coming from the kitchen seemed to be inspiring Gloria to play better. He closed his eyes savoring the moment. He always considered himself an artist in his own fashion and had invited the young man in to discuss art and share a glass of wine. If the lad had not mocked the quality of the wine that he’d been offered, well, they might not be dining so well this evening.
He added a splash of burgundy and a dash of sea salt to the ribs simmering in the crackpot and a dash of sea salt. Just a dash mind you, all things in moderation. Sipping from a goblet of the same burgundy, he lit a candle and placed it in the center of the table. He so loved feast nights, especially these rare unexpected ones. He popped one of the lightly sautéed eyes into his mouth and moaned in pleasure as the flavor burst against his taste buds, he put the other on a small silver plate and offered it to Gloria.
She shook her head in violent refusal. For a moment, he felt rage at her ingratitude. He took a deep breath and told himself not to let it ruin his evening, and her refusal did nothing to diminish his pleasure. Just because he was in culinary heaven, didn’t mean she had to be.
After all, it was all a matter of taste.