
The MasterChef Mouse
By Annie Littlewolf
Meredith Cooper scurried, letting the dogs outside, the cats inside, putting food down for the cats, and a bowl of cream for them. She checked the bird feeders and quickly watered the plants. It was still early in the morning, but she had to make sure everything was done before the husband came down for breakfast.
She started his coffee and set the table. For one. She quietly walked out to the driveway and retrieved the morning paper and took it from its wrapper and unfolded it and laid it beside his napkin at the table. She double-checked everything. She thought she had it all done, right and perfect. She then remembered to empty the kitchen garbage and put in a new trash bag. He did not like to smell anything from the kitchen garbage can, though she was careful about that, or so she thought. Just in case, she went out back and snipped a few flowers from her garden and put them in a small canning jar and added water and put that on the table. Then she worried that he might find that either a bit too feminine or a bit waste or extravagant, and she was trying to decide when she heard him thumping down the stairs. Her heart rate picked up.
She had started the bacon, his bread was in the toaster. She poured his coffee as he got seated. He took it black, so no need for milk or cream or sugar. She flipped the bacon carefully, so as not to let it spatter. When it was done, she laid it carefully on folded paper towels to drain and crisp up a bit. She cracked two eggs into the bacon grease, just as he liked them, and pushed down the toast into the toaster. Thank God she had remembered to set out the butter the night before.
He took a sip of the coffee and grimaced — it was hot. Maybe too hot. She should have poured it when she first heard him, then it would have had time to cool just a little bit. Well, next time. She’d learn. He opened the paper, shook it out and folded it properly and began reading it. She paced back and forth between the frying eggs and the toaster. He liked his eggs properly done, whites done, yolks set just right. She had to watch for that moment. Then carefully lay them on the plate and salt and pepper them, while grabbing the toast and buttering each slice. Cutting the toast on the diagonal, as he preferred and framing the eggs and bacon with the triangles. Perfect. Gosh, if she only had some parsley to garnish the dish! But then again, he’d think that extravagant.
He frowned as he had to move his arms out of the way as she put his plate on the table in front of him — could she perhaps do this a better way? She’d try, of course. He snapped the paper and turned the page and re-folded it. Reading today’s or yesterday’s news.
She began to quietly wash up the dishes and then scurry the cats back outside before they got under his feet and ended up with a swift kick out the door. She took food to the dogs outside. She wiped the stove top clean and polished it to a shine and wiped out the sink. Even though she’d be doing it all over again in a few minutes when he finished eating. She stole a glance at him — he had absent-mindedly picked up a piece of toast and was nibbling at it. Then he seemed to gain his appetite and laid the paper down beside his plate and while reading it, he gobbled down his eggs and the bacon and drank his coffee — holding up the empty cup in the air towards her while he read. That meant “fill it” — so she did. He went back to drinking it while reading. She cleaned up his plate and utensils. And once again wiped out the sink.
Right at that moment, she was glad that they didn’t have any children. She didn’t think she could manage the extra amount of work. She couldn’t even THINK of what it would take, or how she could manage making him wait while she cared for the children. She shook her head for a moment to clear those thoughts away.
Meredith was still young. She was 27 years old and her husband, Larry was 35 and a busy accountant with a schedule to keep. She had a schedule too — one he had drawn up for her, since it was apparent to him that she had no idea how do to what was necessary for him. So he wrote up a chart for her, and she could put checkmates beside each item as she completed them. Since they had been married for four years now, she had the chart memorized and did not need to read it or check things off.
He had finished the paper. That meant for her to get his suit jacket and briefcase and stand by the front door — so she did. She handed him his coat first, then his briefcase. He pecked her on the cheek and said goodbye and reminded her to have dinner on the table by 6:30pm. She said she would. Then he was out the door.
She drew a deep breath. She watched him back the car out of the driveway and pull off. Then she sat down on the couch and laid back for a moment. She was tired. No — weary. In order to just do what was necessary for his breakfast, required her to get up an hour before him, shower and fix her hair and make-up and dress, all in the dark and quietly so as not to disturb him. Then go downstairs into the kitchen and get started. It was quite the routine. But it had been drilled into her for so long that she gotten used to it.
Meredith had been the middle sister of three girls. The ignored child of bored college professors, who liked to stay up late at night, in their library, drinking and smoking with their boring friends. The girls were to stay upstairs and out of sight, not that Meredith ever felt that she was in their sight at all. She was the mouse of the house. Her older sister was tall and beautiful and smart, and had many boyfriends, but singled out the most handsome and richest one to marry. The younger sister was petite, somehow, kind of like their mother, and also smart, because she was the baby and her older sister enjoyed playing with her like a doll when she came along.
Meredith knew she had better get busy if she was to get everything ship-shape before he got home. There was the house to clean, dinner to get ready, laundry to do. Dogs to bathe and a lawn to water. Everything needed to look perfect.
So she got busy. First she straightened up, filing the newspaper in his office, as he preferred it. It had to look normal. Then she started the water sprinkler on the lawn and bathed the dogs and dried them and brushed them out. Perfect. Time to vacuum the house, and then dust all the furniture. She cleaned the bathrooms and polished the mirrors. She spot-cleaned all the windows.
She went to the kitchen to make a special tiramisu. She had never tried to make before, but she had a recipe, and only needed one special ingredient, that she had already bought just enough of. She carefully whipped the cream and added the espresso powder and the rum soaked ladyfingers. She folded in her special ingredient — sure to make it taste even better. All layers were done, and she put it in the refrigerator. That would be a nice surprise for someone, she hoped.
Then she turned her mind towards dinner. She had already taken a nice beef tenderloin out to defrost earlier and it was time to season it and get it ready to go in the oven. She had some rolls to bake, and potatoes and carrots to peel to go alongside the roast and she cut up some onions to add in also. Popped those in the oven.
She would hold off baking the rolls until about 6:15, so they would be coming out right on time. She set the table with their nice linens and even put chargers under their nicest plates. She brought out a wine glass for him — she was not much of a drinker herself. She cut a few flowers to decorate the table and lit two ivory tapers. She heard the car come into the garage and so she put the rolls in, and removed her apron. This would be nice.
He unlocked the front door and glanced around as she stood outside the kitchen, looking for his approval. He nodded at her, and handed her his briefcase and removed his jacket. She set the briefcase down and hung his jacket in the foyer closet. She carried the briefcase to his office and came back to find him in the den, pouring himself a small snifter of brandy.
“When is dinner going to be ready?”
“In about five minutes. I was a little slow getting the rolls into the oven. I hope you are enjoying the smell, though.”
“I’d enjoy tasting them more, you know,” he said, glancing at his watch.
“Yes, dear. I did make a special dessert for you tonight — I think you’ll enjoy it.”
Then the buzzer went off on the kitchen timer and she pulled the dinner out and set the food in bowls on the table. In silence they ate. Luckily, she had remembered to put the butter out to soften for him. He disliked hard sticks of butter.
After they finished the main course, she removed the plates and put them near the sink — she’d wash them later. She pulled the tiramisu out of the refrigerator. It looked beautiful. Chocolate shavings were on top of the whipped cream. She showed it to him.
“Yes, yes, it looks divine. Can I taste it?”
She cut him a nice square and herself one too. And she watched as he ate it. He nodded his head.
“This is good,” he said. And he finished it.
“Would you like a second portion?” She asked.
“Yes.” And he ate up a second portion.
She finished her portion and refilled his coffee cup as he held it in the air. And then removed their plates and began washing the dishes. She did not turn around.
She finished up the plates and the pots and pans. She was in no hurry and took her time. It was nice and quiet in the kitchen, so peaceful and no demands.
Slowly she turned around. His head was slumped on the table. His lips and cheeks were swollen up. His tongue was purple and swollen and stuck out of his mouth between his teeth. His eyes were dazed and open, non-blinking. She turned back and smiled to herself. Only she knew he was allergic to that peanut powder she had added to the tiramisu and it was long gone now, thrown into that morning trash can that got carried off. She’d call the EMT’s for Larry, in a little while, when she noticed him.
Thanks to Reedsy for the prompt that gave me the idea for this story.

