Freshly Made or Nothing at All

The air between them grew tense, a familiar unease settling in. Joseph’s insistence on freshly made meals had always been a point of contention, but Elizabeth had hoped he might be more understanding, given the circumstances.

Joseph had always been particular about his food. It wasn’t just a preference; it was a principle. He believed in the vitality of freshly prepared meals, convinced that anything less was a compromise on quality and health. Elizabeth, his partner of three years, knew this all too well. She had adapted her cooking habits to align with his expectations, often spending hours in the kitchen crafting meals from scratch.

On a crisp Thursday evening, Joseph returned home later than usual. His job as a financial analyst often demanded more of him than he liked, leaving him drained and hungry. As he walked through the door, the aroma of something unfamiliar greeted him. It wasn’t the usual scent of spices and herbs that Elizabeth painstakingly prepared; it was something else, something… reheated.

“Elizabeth, what’s for dinner?” Joseph asked, trying to mask his growing apprehension.

Elizabeth, who had been sitting at the kitchen table sorting through mail, looked up with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I made your favorite, lasagna. But I must confess, it’s not entirely fresh. I prepared it over the weekend, thinking it might save us some time on a busy night like this.”

Joseph’s face fell. “You know how I feel about reheated food. It loses its essence, its nutritional value.”

Elizabeth sighed, a sound that carried the weight of many similar conversations. “I thought it would be okay just this once. I had a lot of errands to run today, and I didn’t have the time to start from scratch.”

“I’m sorry, Joseph. I thought it would be better than ordering takeout or making something simple,” Elizabeth said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Joseph’s disappointment was palpable. Without another word, he grabbed his coat and headed for the door. “I’ll find something else to eat,” he said, leaving Elizabeth alone with the lasagna that had taken her hours to prepare.

That night, Joseph didn’t return home. He spent hours wandering the streets, wrestling with his rigid principles and the realization that they had driven a wedge between him and Elizabeth. When he finally returned, the house was dark, and Elizabeth was asleep.

The next morning, Joseph found a note on the kitchen table. Elizabeth had left early for a work trip, a detail he had forgotten amidst their argument. The note was brief, but its message was clear: “We need to talk about us.”

Joseph sat at the kitchen table, the uneaten lasagna still in the fridge, a symbol of the rift between them. He realized that his insistence on freshly made meals was more than just a preference; it was an obstacle to their happiness. But as he reached for his phone to call Elizabeth, he wondered if it was too late to bridge the gap his principles had created.