Love and Lasagna

Love and Lasagna

Emily hummed to herself as she took the fresh bread out of the oven, the aroma mingling with the sauce simmering on the stove. Today was special, and she had planned the meal accordingly, based on birthday traditions from her childhood. It was her husband’s 40th birthday, and Emily wanted to show him how important he was by cooking her mother’s special lasagna, with the homemade sauce that had to simmer until it was the perfect thickness. Emily tipped the bread out of the pans and buttered the tops of the loaves. She would slice one of the loaves later to make some garlic bread to serve with the lasagna. She’d already made a two tone pound cake, another recipe of her mother’s, which she knew James liked. Emily glanced around the kitchen as she stirred the sauce, wondering if maybe, by making this special meal for his birthday, they could reconnect. Sighing a little, Emily set the spoon down and filled a pot with water and set it to heat, then started grating the mozzarella cheese, already planning how she would set the table with the nicest tablecloth, their best china and glasses, cloth napkins, and candles.

Once the water was boiling, Emily carefully put the noodles in, stirring them occasionally so they wouldn’t stick. The steam from the boiling water curled into the air, making the kitchen even hotter. Emily stirred the sauce once again, then moved it off the heat. She tested the lasagna noodles, but they were still too hard. “Just a few more minutes,” she whispered. “Once I put the lasagna together, I’ll go set the table.” Glancing at the clock, Emily huffed out a breath. It was already 4:30 pm, and James would be home by 5:30. “I hope I can get all this done on time,” she muttered, poking at the noodles again. She knew if she left them unattended, they would stick together, but standing there waiting for them to cook wasn’t helping either.

Emily scowled at the pan of lasagna noodles, then turned to pull the casserole pan out of the cupboard to grease it. After setting it down, she checked the noodles again. They were finally ready, and she turned off the stove and poured the noodles and water into the colander that sat in the sink. She set the pan down, and ran cold water over the noodles. She turned on the oven to preheat, then began building the lasagna, a layer of noodles, sauce spread perfectly, cottage cheese, then grated mozzarella. Emily repeated the layers, topping it with the grated cheese. She sliced the bread, buttered it, seasoned it with garlic salt, and wrapped the slices tightly in aluminum foil. The oven beeped loudly, signaling that it was ready to receive the lasagna and garlic bread. Emily carefully put the food into the oven, shut the door, and set the timer.

Glancing at the clock again, Emily hurried out of the kitchen to the dining room. She took the regular placemats off the table, and put them away before pulling out the tablecloth. She smoothed it onto the table, making sure the edges hung evenly. As she took the china out, Emily thought of how it used to be when she and James first got married-cuddling in bed or on the couch, talking about their dreams, their feelings, their hopes. Where had that gone? She set the plates down gently, adding the glasses, napkins and silverware. The final touch was the crystal candlesticks, gleaning in the light, the red candles standing tall. Emily hoped that tonight, they could leave the phones in another room, keep the TV off, light the candles, and enjoy the lasagna, garlic bread, and cake, using the time to talk, to reconnect, to share again their deepest thoughts, hopes and dreams.

Her cell phone rang shrilly, interrupting her thoughts. Emily hurried back into the kitchen, hoping that James wasn’t calling to say he’d be late. It was her best friend. “Hey, Emily, how’s it going?” Brooke asked, her choice chipper.

Emily looked around at the dishes piled up and then at the clock. “Everything is in the oven,” she replied, “and I just finished setting the table. I want to get all the pots and pans cleaned up before James gets home so we can sit down and eat together. Wish me luck.”

“I do,” Brooke responded. “Let me know how it goes.”

“I will,” Emily promised, crossing her fingers as Brooke said goodbye. Emily set the phone down and started washing the dishes, pausing to remove the lasagna and garlic bread from the oven when the timer shrilled.

By 5:15 pm, everything was ready. Emily smiled to herself as she set the lasagna and garlic bread in the center of the table, with the cake at the other end. She rushed to the bedroom to change into a nice shirt and pair of slacks and freshened her makeup before sweeping her hair into an easy but elegant updo. She hurried to the front door when she heard James’ key turn in the lock. “Happy birthday, James!” she greeted him, stepping forward to hug him.

“Thanks, babe,” he replied, brushing her lips with a kiss. “I’m beat. Work today was brutal. I just want to relax and watch some TV.”

“I made a special meal for your birthday, James,” Emily told him. “I have the table all set in the dining room. I thought it would be nice for us to eat and talk, no phones, no TV.”

James dropped his keys onto the table by the door and kicked off his shoes. “Not tonight, Emily,” he called back over his shoulder as he hurried into the kitchen to grab a soda. “We’ll talk another time.”

“But James,” she began, only to be cut off by the sound of the TV turned on to a sports game. Emily stood by the front door, misery flooding her heart. She went into the dining room, stared at the lasagna that she’d cooked with love and hope, the table set with care, and something inside her snapped. Before she could think further, she marched into the den and snatched the remote out of James’ hand, shutting the TV off with a loud click.

“Hey, I was watching the game,” James protested.

“And I’m tired of feeling like I don’t matter,” Emily fired back.

“You do matter, Emily,” he assured her.

“Do I?” she questioned. “I spent hours today making fresh bread and lasagna the way my mother taught me because I wanted to do something special for your birthday, James, and all I get when you come home is a quick kiss and a promise to talk later so you can come in here and watch a sports game. What’s more important James? Spending time with your wife or watching a sports game?” Emily stormed out of the room before he could answer.

She went to the dining room and began putting everything away, tears filling her eyes. James came in and took the plates out of her hands and set them back on the table. “Emily, I didn’t realize,” he told her, and she heard the uncertainty in his voice.

She sat down on one of the chairs. “James, I miss us,” she told him. “I miss the way we used to talk.”

James nodded and carefully lit the candles before turning off the overhead light. He sat down and took Emily’s hands in his. “I miss us too,” he admitted. “I guess we somehow let all the ordinary stuff like bills and jobs take over the most important things. Let’s make a promise to each other tonight to start fresh.” Emily nodded, and he released her hands. She dished up lasagna and garlic bread, and tentatively began to talk, carefully sharing their feelings and thoughts on how to bridge the gap. They lingered over the meal, finding pleasure in the food and each other’s company, knowing that this was the beginning of building their relationship anew.