The Apron– by Victor Moore
Disclaimer: All charatchers created by me.
The apron still hung on a peg by the kitchen door. She was shocked. Apparently she forgot to pack this away. It was white with blue trim on it. Gingerly, she grasped the apron and stared at it. Silently tracing the words 'Kiss the Cook' with a finger.
Some faded stains adorned it. A shy red spot, a strawberry parfait on her birthday, faint purple, blueberry cheesecake for her promotion, and an ancient tan; the chocolate fondu on Valentine's Day. A wistful memory in every stain, something special he made for her.
Everything he made was as if made for the Gods. Every dish a delectable treat, even the simple ones. But the deserts, the deserts would make the gods weep with joy. He only made them on special occasions or when she was feeling down. In hindsight, that made them even more enjoyable, more exceptional.
Puzzled, she saw a yellow stain, still bright. "When did this happen?" Yellow. Fruit. A lemon.
Lemon meringue pie. Three weeks ago, for their wedding anniversary. The night that…
The night he died.
Clutching the apron to her face, she sank to her knees. Tears flooded onto it, mingling with the stains.
He was gone. Taken from her, forever. Now she was alone. She didn't want to be alone. She wanted him here, with her.
"Why did he have to die? Why not me?"
The questions hung in the air, slowly dissipating as her tears began to trickle then stop. Silently, she stood up, folded the apron, and set it upon the table.
"I never got to tell you, how delicious that pie was. How wonderful you were. Thank you."
Shakily, she stepped out of the kitchen, and with each stride her composure returned, until she exited the house, got in her car and left it behind.