She Made the Best Fried Eggs

Morning came with the smell of bacon. The hiss and spit of oil finally waking her up; the birds screaming love songs directly outside her window helped. Ava was still tired. She hadn’t gone to bed late, hadn’t woken up early, but it was hard to keep her eyes open. She wasn’t quite sure she wanted to be awake.

From the kitchen came familiar singing. It was a quiet sound, one she used to love, one that made her smile as she sat up in bed. She found it hard to peel the covers from her body, regretting how she always put off turning on the heating when the weather got colder. Her cocoon of warmth would be quickly snatched away from her. His bad singing used to make her chuckle, make her feel warm inside; it was charming and playful. But now she wished for a silent morning.

The sound of his voice grated against her ears as Ava threw her legs over the side of the bed, Ava reached down and grabbed her dressing-gown from the floor. She slipped the thin garment over her arms as she dragged her feet across the room, the bathroom attached just off to the side. When she looked in the mirror she grimaced. She hated the deep circles under her eyes, like bruises on her face. Lifting a hand, she pulled at her cheeks, her forehead. She hated the wrinkles she saw there. Grabbing her brush, she went about a routine she did so often, her movements that of a programmed machine. Ava liked to think maybe she was just someone’s character in a game of ‘The Sims’, it made it a little easier to keep going. Thinking her actions were ultimately controlled by someone else. Hair, teeth, make-up. Three things she did every morning before going out to the kitchen. At least she could look better than she felt.

As she walked down the stairs, she made a mental note that the hoovering needed doing. She did it last time, and the time before. He could do it this time; if he remembered. Ava cursed under her breath as her toes cracked, kicking against the coffee table as she made her way through the living-room. She looked down and cursed again, pieces of paper slipping from the table like the guts spilling from a cut fish. He left his work out. Again.

The kitchen smelt burnt by the time she reached the doorway. She hovered there for a moment, watching his back as he moved about the kitchen. He dropped toast between his hands, air hissing between his teeth as he let it clutter onto the plates. Burnt again. She should feel grateful. She used to love when he made her breakfast.

When he turned around, her face automatically lit up, a smile gracing her mouth. Her eyes felt tired.

When she walked over to the kettle and grabbed her mug, she hesitated. Then grabbed his. Ava stood watching the water begin to bubble and the steam begin to rise. Her body jumped when arms slipped around her waist and pulled her back against his torso. She even chuckled as he fluttered kisses on the back of her neck and smiled up at him as she twisted around in his arms. She muttered a returned good morning to him, kissing him fleetingly on the lips before the click of the kettle released her from his hold. She went about making tea for the both of them. Two sugars for her, half of one for him. She didn’t think half a sugar ever made a difference to the taste, but apparently it did. Once she didn’t bother with it, and he liked it all the same.

By the time Ava was done, breakfast was on the table. Their kitchen was a small one, their table sitting against the wall in the middle. She placed the mugs down in their respective places, dragging the chair out from under the table and sitting herself down opposite him. Her knees touch against his. She fought the urge to shift.

There was too long of a moment that passed, as she stared down at the food on her plate, knife and fork in her hands. Burnt toast. Limp bacon. Lumpy beans. Two fried eggs with a gloopy mess of bright orange yolk. Ava swallowed the sick feeling that rose in her throat and started with the bacon. She didn’t understand how he didn’t know how to cook, even after years of practise. Ava half listened to him talk about something someone did at his work sometime. It was apparently something funny, so she made sure to laugh whenever it seemed appropriate. Ava was good at timing.

“It’s not as good as your breakfasts.” He said that every time he cooked, always wanting her to do it instead, but he woke up before she did, he didn’t have to make breakfast. Ava smiled.

“I’ll get the hang of toast one of these days.” And eggs. “Not to mention you make the best fried eggs.”

Ava placed her knife and fork neatly next to each other on her plate, her hands drifting back down to her lap. She watched him as he finished eating, the careless scrape of his cutlery making her back tense. She still didn’t say anything as she took both plates, putting them into the already full sink. She could smell the bin.

When she turned back around, he was there embracing her again. His hand rubbed gently against her back, his face pressed against the crook of her neck. Ava stared up at the ceiling, her arms hanging down by her side. He asked her what was wrong and she didn’t know how to respond. When she opened her mouth, she wasn’t sure what to say. Maybe that he still hadn’t done anything around the house, even after she stopped cleaning up after him. That he always tried to make her feel bad for it. Or how he always seemed to be working. Maybe that he never wanted to visit her family, or that they never went out on any dates anymore. There was so much she could say.

“I’m leaving you.”

Everything froze. His hands slowly leaving her back, his body pulling away and his face coming back into view. A look of shock spread across his expression.

Ava felt relief.

She didn’t hear his arguments and pleas as she left the kitchen. Didn’t have the energy to fight about her decision. Once the words had left her mouth that was all she could think of. Ava knew sorrow and grief would enter her heart later, but at that moment she felt relief. She was leaving him. She could go back home, because this never was. Not really.

When her stuff was packed and she was opening the door, that’s when he finally stopped her. The words fell from his mouth, a stream of begging and ‘why’s. There were so many different reasons she could list for him, maybe she should. Maybe it would be easier for him. But hadn’t she said them all, already? Asked for change, and received nothing? There were so many things she could say to him, but in the end, it all boiled down to something simple.

“I don’t love you anymore.”

It wasn’t the goodbye she had ever imagined saying.