9.

Long before Amphion entered the apartment, Rachel had everything prepared.  She kept her mind occupied and her eyes glued to the meat thermometer, coaxing a perfect roast into existence with the precision of a craftswoman. In between cooking and dishes, she found time to launder her grandmother’s lace tablecloth, and with vigour spread the heirloom over the kitchen table and topped the affair with a tall, ivory candle and her best silverware.  She attempted to fold a pair of napkins after the manner she’d seen in a Caribbean restaurant once, and did a mediocre job in the matter.
    In the middle of the kitchen she swayed on both feet and surveyed the work of her hands. Here was a cozy table set for two, but out there, all around her, were empty rooms -- dark rooms which would be just as lonely tonight, when a singular human being fit neatly inside each. Rachel wrung her hands as she felt the vacancy of space press all about her. The glint of fine china on the table and soft glow of silver pots and pans -- all the trappings of domestic abiding -- stared her straight in the face, and froze her where she stood. For the first time, Rachel caught herself wondering if pots and pans and lonesomeness and waiting were the only things in store for her, if a day of ceremony, dress for her and tux for him, the words of a kindly preacher -- if all that could really make a difference in what she saw racing towards her, towards them.
    Then came a rapping at the door, and she vanquished all those petty thoughts to the tiny cage she kept around her heart, the tiny cage she was always welcome to look into and examine, gawking and scoffing at the vile condition of humanity as found within herself.
    “Come in!” Rachel’s voice wavered.
    Amphion entered, his footsteps heavy. He removed his cap and peered at her, not in a gesture of longing but a mere inspection, as if he were searching for any signs of illness or meekness.
    “You’ve been busy,” he noted.
    Rachel glanced down and saw that she was still in her jumper and apron, which was smeared with the grime of her labours. “Pardon? Oh, yes, I’ve been a little distracted.”
    Hurriedly, she undid her apron strings and threw the thing away -- but she still felt greasy and vulgar beside the lace tablecloth. In all her attention to detail she’d forgotten to arrange herself.
    Amphion took her by the elbows. “Let me slip into something nice first!” she gasped.
    “Darling, I could care less what you’re wearing. It’s been a long day -- let’s eat.”
    He released her but continued to stare, as if he’d forgotten what was supposed to come next. Rachel cleared her throat. “Have a seat, and I’ll carve up the roast.”
    She asked him how his day was, he made speeches on the cruelty of the world, and they proceeded to eat in silence.