John didn't even raise his head. "Mom, from now on I'd rather eat Aunt Nora's leftovers every day than eat anything you make!"
I looked at the picked-over dishes in front of them. The scraped-clean plates. Other people's leftovers.
A feeling spread through me, slow and heavy, something I couldn't quite name.
It wasn't hurt. It wasn't anger.
It was just the quiet, sickening clarity of wondering what kind of man I had married, and what kind of child I had raised.
I went home. I sat down and finished my dinner alone.
Then I scraped every last bit of leftover food into the trash.
Starting today, I was only cooking for myself.
Vincent and John came back together after eating at Nora's.
Vincent noticed I'd cleared everything off the table and looked at me. "Where's the food?"
I pointed at the trash can beside me.
"Why the hell did you throw it out? I'm still hungry!"
"That sounds like a you problem. Not my concern."
Vincent had no comeback. He went and made himself a cup of instant noodles.
I glanced at my son's round little belly. Vincent must have let John eat most of the leftovers at Nora's, which was why he hadn't gotten enough himself.
"Johnny, starting tomorrow, Mommy's going to bring back food from Aunt Nora's house for you. Doesn't that sound great?"
He jumped up and down, beaming. "Yes! Finally I don't have to eat your gross cooking anymore!"
"But here's the deal. If you choose to eat Aunt Nora's food, then you can never eat Mommy's cooking again. Ever."
"Fine! Who wants it anyway!"
He grabbed Vincent's hand. "Daddy's with me too."
I looked at Vincent. He grinned.
"I'm with my son."
"Fine."
The first day of the new arrangement, I set the food I'd packed up from Nora's house on the table.
John craned his neck to look and immediately scrunched up his face.
"These are leftovers."
"Of course they're leftovers. You're the one who loves Aunt Nora's leftovers so much, so eat up."
"Whatever. Leftovers are still better than anything you make."
In front of me sat four freshly cooked dishes, still steaming: braised ribs, garlic butter shrimp, clam and egg custard, and baby bok choy in garlic sauce.
Every single dish looked and smelled incredible.
In front of Vincent and John sat the food I'd brought back from Nora's in plastic bags. Cold. Picked over. There was barely enough for John alone.
Vincent frowned. "That's all there is?"
"Can't help it. That's all she had left today."