[Read] Kanika Chopra - The Orange Incident

‘Smells delicious, babe,’ Anaya lied sitting across from him. She hated that he thought of himself as a hobby chef. His cooking experiments were average at best. She wished he’d just take the job his father was handing him, since that’s where she was sure he’d end up anyway. Dain didn’t have the fortitude or stamina to strike out on his own––or with his friend for that matter. She was convinced he was only doing the whole restauranteur thing because his inheritance would be at stake if he went down the chef path – too much manual labour to be seen as a dignified career choice. For a few years now, she and Dain had skirted around the specifics of how he spent his nine-to-five hours.

At twenty-seven, he’d taken time off after two years at a hedge fund. He worked there to get experience in the real world before going to work for his family. After his stint there, he decided he wasn’t happy and wanted to see what else was out there, and somehow ended up in the world of food. Whatever he was planning, Anaya didn’t think it would come to fruition before Dain resigned himself to his parents’ whims. She tried her best to be encouraging anyway. Her best wasn’t very good.

Anaya grabbed a ladleful of ragu and doused her pasta. Vapour wafted from the hot meal and filled her lungs with the smell of meat and the bite of spices. There was also a freshness that cut through the soft edge of the pepper. Rosemary? she wondered, but it felt brighter than that, zingier, citrusy—she resisted the grimace wanting to take over her features. The bitterness only she could sense in this ingredient consumed her. That could only have come from one very specific kind of fruit.

No way, she thought — emotionally preparing herself––he wouldn’t. She topped her dinner off with some parmesan, holding back till she finished serving herself. Anaya didn’t want to jump to conclusions and hoped she wasn’t right.

Keeping her tone light she asked, ‘Citrusy almost, what’s in it?’
‘Orange ze—'
‘Orange?’ She knew it. She knew it and still she couldn’t believe it. Anaya took a deep breath, to stop the way her eyes prickled but was assaulted once again by the scent of oranges. There was no escape, she couldn’t control the swell of frustration, the pins and needles of disappointment, the utter disregard of her. How could she gather herself? How does one pull themselves together when there’s nothing left to pull? She might as well have ceased to exist at this point since no one fucking cared. There was a ringing in her ears, his confession the catalyst to the cacophony in her head like dirty dishes stacked too high inevitably crash-banging to the ground, one after the other, mess everywhere. How many times in a day could she be humiliated? Would that stop her from embarrassing herself now? Anaya’s skin fizzed. The tears didn’t retreat but she managed to prevent them from falling. God damnit.  She didn’t want to cry.

‘Yes, orange zest that I—’ 
‘You know I hate oranges,’ insides unsteady, voice small, she wanted to take deep breaths but the smell irritated her senses. 
‘There’s only the zest baby, no pulp or juice or anything.’
Dain’s eyes were pleading, his mouth puckered, his inhales sharp, exhales heavy.

Anaya used her silence like a shield, despite the onslaught of emotion. She didn’t want him to see her break, and she couldn’t be sure what would come out if she opened her mouth. His negligence hurt. It was a cut on a fresh bruise, but she wasn’t going to let him see it. She wasn’t going to tell him anything. Not about this, not about work, not about the trip. He should know better, after all this time together he should fucking know better. She stood her ground.

‘Baby,’ he said again, ‘Anaya?’ 
Still nothing.

Dain’s fingers formed fists under the table, holding on tightly to the tenderness that tried to escape him. Nails digging into his palms, pain holding him back from saying something he might regret, like grow the fuck up about it, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t just let his words fly, so he compromised. ‘At least take a bite,’ he said gently. ‘Try it. I worked hard on it. Made it with a lot of love. You don’t have to eat it if you don’t like it, but please just try it.’

Gross. Anaya felt her expression sour. She wasn’t sure if it was his earnestness or the smell of oranges that made her cringe. It didn’t last long though. She was incisive, and ready to snap herself out of being a victim of his inattentiveness. ‘I thought you said it was a set-and-forget kind of meal?’

Something akin to anger bubbled in Dain, but it erupted in laughter which sat just below the surface of his ego, preventing the moment from wounding him. Without a word, he walked to their kitchen, wishing she didn’t have a clear view of him so he could just stew for a moment. Instead, he rummaged through the cabinets. He pulled out a nondescript packet and emptied its contents into a bowl with liquids and powders ready to be microwaved. All he could hear was the low hum of the appliance.

Anaya slumped in her seat. She felt some of the fight leave her body when the vapour of the orange zest wasn’t directly under her nostrils. It helped that she wasn’t alone in her misery anymore either. Her eyes landed on Dain whenever he wasn’t looking at her. He stood with his back to the counter, arms and feet crossed, head hung. The microwave beeped as if signalling the end of their impasse. He picked up the dish and returned to the table. He replaced her meal with mac and cheese and switched his empty bowl with her untouched one.