Out of Garlic

image from Magpie Tales 56

She pressed the flat edge of the knife against the clove of garlic then brought her hand down upon it with a sharp "smack," perhaps a little harder than necessary. She heard the satisfying crack as the skin of the garlic peeled open, revealing the smooth, white clove. How many garlic cloves had she peeled to saute in oil and add to the countless pots of tomato sauce she'd simmered for countless hours on the stove? She imagined that the months and years of her married life could be tallied up by garlic cloves and pots of sauce. Still, after 23 years, her sauce couldn't compete with his mother's. That she used his mother's recipe held no sway; there was always something missing. Probably those apron strings. Anyway, it didn't matter now. This would be the last pot of sauce he got from her. After this, he could go to his mother's for sauce. Or get it from the Ragu in the jar!

She put the heavy iron pot on the stove to simmer. It did smell good! She filled another pot with salted water for the pasta and left it, too, on the stove, unlit. He could figure out how to boil water, couldn't he? She set up the Mr. Coffee to come on about 10 minutes before he was to arrive home so that his coffee would be hot. There was a full container of milk in the refrigerator. The week's laundry was done early, so all of his clothes were cleaned and put away. She suddenly felt a small flutter of excitement and nervousness as she picked up a pen and wrote,

Dear Anthony,

I'm leaving you. I don't love you any more, and I know you stopped loving me a long time ago. There is sauce on the stove and water for pasta. Your sandwich for lunch tomorrow is in the refrigerator. 

Yours,

Angela

P.S. You're out of garlic

submitted for Magpie Tales 56