The oven is beeping out of time with the alarm on my phone. Cinnamon and onions combine in the air and line my stomach. I rip off the stained blue apron I've had since high school culinary and throw the knife down so hard that Trevor sticks his head through the doggy door with one of those faces. He reverses away from this disaster and trots under the trampoline to chew on his paws. The maze of stock pots, spatulas, and burnt pie crusts has now covered the entirety of the counter. I pick up my phone and blow off as much flour as possible. 

Jordyn

2:30pm

happy anniversary douchebag. 

Seeing her notification lifts the corners of my mouth into a soft smile. I wasn’t sure if I would see it again. The fight we had last night was one of the worst we’d ever had. This dinner needed to be better than perfect. She had every right to be pissed off and I owed it to her to at least put together some food. After four years, ‘anniversary’ has just become a day to prove our relationship is still worth ripping each other's throats out the other 364 days. This time, I needed to go the extra mile. Since about three months after we got together she has been hinting that she wants to get engaged, and she finally asked why I was hesitating so much. I pull up a snapchat memory of Jo laughing as something I said to impress her one of the first times we met. Thinking about it now makes my vision blurry. I shake away the guilt and rub my eyes. 

Incoming call from Dallas

"Hey man, now's not a great time, can I call you back?"

"Philly, you still owe me a call back from Monday." 

He knows I've been avoiding him, I'm usually the one chasing after him in phone tag. He's starting to sound more and more like our mother, and the last thing I need today is 10 minutes of awkward disappointed sighs and unsolicited relationship advice. 

"Oh, yeah I guess so. This week flew by…sorry. What's up?"

"Is Jordyn home? I left her a voicemail but I know how she is. Not expecting a call back. I hope you've worked things out after yesterday. She's a good kid, did you get flowers?” Dallas believes as my older brother he is responsible for making sure I don't screw things up too badly for myself, which is humbling considering he's in the middle of his third divorce and balding at 46. 

“I'm not sure where she’s at exactly man, she crashed at her parent's place. I'm pretty sure she's on call at work- and I'm not getting flowers." I pause and give him time to scold me.

“Well, maybe you should. I talked to Mom.” 'Course he did. 

“I'll let you know when she gets back. Don't hold your breath though.” I flinched at my tone of voice as it echoed back at me through the bad reception. I can hear his daughter fighting me for his attention in the background. Something angry gets caught in my throat and I hang up. 

I throw a piece of burnt chicken in the dog bowl and toss the rest. The rug is vacuumed, the candles set, and my third attempt at corn casserole is in the oven. I lean against the wall and look around. A hurricane would be the only acceptable reason for the kitchen to look like this: not a single cabinet avoided getting camouflaged by the standing mixer splash zone or the powdered sugar that refused to be herded into the bowl. 

Jordyn

3:23pm

 sorry I got so worked up yesterday

Read 3:44

6:14pm

you know I didn't mean it, don't take everything so seriously Jo

I don’t think I’m coming home tonight. 

An old friend said I could crash on his couch for… a while.

??? did something else happen????

…

A lengthy back and fourth followed, concluded by me powering my phone down and sliding it across the kitchen floor. Another half hour goes by before I move from the comforting chill of the tile.. The herb smell in the apartment has gotten heavier and the candle on the table has burnt to the rim. Trevor is lying across my lap and there are golden-doodle curls everywhere. I watch eyes dart from the window to the front door. He’s getting old; his face has gone grey, and he struggles to get up on the couch. I run my fingers through his fur and a 

   “So much for vacuuming huh buddy.” He just snores back at me. He’s been here for the better half of a dozen of these interactions. Without even is ears shoot up suddenly and are followed by three heavy knocks. Barely enough time goes by for me to roll my eyes before the deadbolt clicks and Dallas ducks through the doorframe. 

“Yo!! I called you like 40 times where have you been?” He looks like he’d been hiking; his boots were still wet with mud and he smelled like rain. I glance outside and groan at the Southeastern spontaneous weather. 

“I don’t know why you knock if you always just walk right in after. Especially with those disgusting boots, I just cleaned man.” I could have changed the lock the first time he picked it but with the house being so quiet lately I don’t mind the distraction. 

“Just being polite. I figured you would have some food left over, and it looks like I was right.” He smirks and nods at the set kitchen table and folded napkins. “Jordyn no-showed again?”

“If you’re here to gloat you can leave, D. I already know I’m the bad guy and I don’t deserve her and everything else.” He doesn’t laugh at my irony and goes out of his way to show me he’s not on my side. His eyebrow is creased with the same disappointed look as when I told him I cheated on Jo. I look at him for enough time to see a sliver of condolence behind his eyes, something I searched for a long time after she cheated on me right back. We go back and fourth for awhile about the countless fights that have torn me and Jordyn apart. 

“I really do love her, D. It’s clear there’s no coming back from this debate so I shut up. He tells me about his wife, their relationship, and the countless times he’s apologized to her. 

“I don’t know her as well as you do Philly, but...” Dallas takes another bite of the casserole and with his mouth full muttered incoheriently.

“You got something else to say or what?”

“I think you should drop the entres and just go say you’re sorry.” He nods at the front door and tells me he’ll watch Trevor. 

I grab my drawstring, slap on a baseball cap and pray the elevator is working. I look more closely at the apartment building I’ve lived in for years and notice more cracks and bruises than usual. Stepping out of the elevator I can see through the glass door across the lobby. Jordyn is frozen still, handing her bag to the doorman and looking directly at me. I stand there gaping for so long the lift doors close in front of me. 

I curse way too much as I get off on the next floor and sprint down the stairs. I burst through the fire door and look around like a fool. Jordyn’s car is gone. 

“Are you Phil?” 

I spin on my heel, almost crashing into the doorman Jo was talking to earlier. He’s holding out a small velvet square box about the size of my palm, ties shut with a few colored hairties. 

“What? Yes, I’m Phil. Yeah.” Tears are starting to pool up in my eyes again, I shake my head and reach for the box. 

“It’s from Jordyn,” he says, pulling his hand back a bit. 

“Yeah, I figured.” I grab the box and waste no time tearing back the restraints with my teeth. The top of the box falls to the sidewalk at the same velocity as my heart. The doorman looks in my hands and giggles lightly.  

“She’s pretty creative I’ll give her that.”