The Anniversary
Myra stepped out on the wooden patio. She had painted it a pale russet last spring- the color of her cat- Russet’s eyes. The cat sat royally on the porch-swing under the old Edwardian lamp. He looked expectantly at her. Myra stared back at him with a look that clearly said — I just fed you — and sensed his eye-roll. She gave her own.
She looked at the rain-water dripping steadily from the plant hangers. The patio was covered with fall colors. A lot of colors, and still not enough, in her opinion. But it held a warm welcome from the cold ferociousness of the day’s cloudburst.
She placed her phone on the small coffee table and swung her legs on the high-back cushion of the swing. The cat sprang to the floor. Swaying its full hips, he moseyed inside the house. She wanted to remind him he was a male, but that would be pointless for Russet did what Russet wished.
The damp darkness of the night made her uneasy as she waited for Damien. He was late again. It was their fifth wedding anniversary, and she had a right to feel mildly annoyed. It was his turn to cook, but Myra had done that. With flourish. The candles she had made in her candle-making-class sat on every flat surface of the dining room. Like every year, she expected Damien to bring the flowers and wine. But in case he forgot, which was likely, she had done that too.
