By Sharon Mowery

“Oh, God, not another bowl of chili.”

Gary stood staring at the leftovers he’d pulled from the fridge. Single Gary. Not Gary and Amanda, but just Gary. Amanda was a great cook. The problem was, she didn’t cook for two; she cooked for ten. So, there were always leftovers. That had been the final straw. The chili, that is. After four bowls, he’d had enough chili and enough of Amanda.

The garbage disposal gargled as it sucked down the last he’d scraped from the plastic container. He didn’t know what he’d eat tonight, but he knew what he wouldn’t eat. He felt good. The steam from the shower melted more than the day’s sweat from his plump body. This, too, he blamed on Amanda.
He stood naked in front of the mirror, his gut sucked in. After less than fifteen seconds, he had to exhale. He grabbed a pair of sweats from the bureau and slipped an oversized sweater over his head. Not seeing his actual figure made it easier.

He flipped the light off.

Just as he picked up his keys and wallet, the doorbell rang. He wasn’t expecting anyone. As he opened the door, he caught a whiff of something extraordinary. His stomach growled. His eyes first landed on the takeout bag from Tony’s Italian Cuisine. He was puzzled; he hadn’t ordered takeout. He opened his mouth to apologize, sure the delivery person had the wrong address.

“Chicken parmesan?” Amanda said, holding out the bag and interrupting his thoughts.

Gary was speechless.

“It’s from your favorite place just around the corner,” Amanda said, breaking the awkward silence. Her face flushed, and he could tell she wasn’t sure what he’d do. “And just enough for two,” she added, smiling.

His eyes moved from her face to the bottle of wine tucked under her arm. “It’s Beringer. Red Crush,” she said. “Also your favorite.”

Gary hadn’t had chicken parmesan in a long time. Probably because Amanda needed to learn how to make single servings of such an entree. After moving in together six months ago, she’d insisted she handle the cooking while Gary took care of other domestic duties. An arrangement he’d been thrilled about at first.

He wasn’t sure which it was, Amanda or the carry-out bag with only two containers, but he smiled and stepped back. Amanda, too, smiled as she walked past him into the foyer.

They didn’t talk about it, but within days the refrigerator was practically empty, and Styrofoam takeout boxes littered the living room. And this was an arrangement Gary could live with.