"The two of them are in there eating."
Vincent was hunched over a plate, grease glistening on his lips. He looked up and grinned. "Babe, no wonder Johnny won't eat your food. Your cooking really can't hold a candle to Nora's!"
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."