By Melissa Ostrom
At the end of November, a week after her husband’s funeral, Olive Phillips packed up Pete’s neckties and drove them over to her friend’s house.
Meredith opened the front door with a heavy hello.
Olive sensed a poor you in the greeting, and this irked her, though she tried not to show it. How else was her friend supposed to sound? Cheerful? The box of ties prevented a hug, so Meredith prodded Olive’s shoulder and shifted the pat to the head. The touches were searching, like a physical examination. Olive hoisted the box higher.
Meredith briefly sucked in her upper lip. Her eyes narrowed. “Come on in.”
“Wish I could.” Olive put a sigh in the words to make like she meant them. Which she didn’t. She didn’t want to visit. She didn’t want to talk to anybody, not even Meredith, who’d lost Frank last year and thought she knew how Olive was feeling. Olive and Meredith: They were members of a club now. “There’s so much to do.”
Meredith mentioned the coffeecake from D’Angelo’s (“still warm”), the pot of coffee (“fresh decaf”), and the quilt books Olive could look through to pick out a pattern (“and you’ll have to think about the background and decide what size you want this thing”). Then she said, “Speaking of size,” and went on to describe the growth of her bunion.
Meanwhile, Olive shuffled in place and impatiently jiggled the box. From the loose fold of the cardboard flaps, the end of a tie escaped. The diamonded satin slithered toward Olive’s chin. “I have to clean the bathroom,” Olive interrupted and flinched from the fabric that had scrunched up and poked her mouth. She added something vague about a grocery list. Her arms trembled. Who knew ties could weigh so much?
Meredith accepted the box reluctantly. “Want to take some crumb cake home with you?”
Olive shook her head. “Thanks for making the quilt. Just tell me how much I owe you.” She retreated a step.
“Any particular pattern you’re thinking about…?” Meredith frowned down at the stuffed box. There were enough ties inside to cover a king-sized bed.
“Whatever.” Olive half-turned toward the porch stairs. “Maybe something with stars.”
“Oooh. The hunter’s star would be nice.”
“Perfect,” she said, as if she knew what this pattern looked like. “Jack and Susan will love it.”
Meredith started. “The quilt’s going to Jack?”
Olive nodded, delivered a hasty “thanks-so-much-Merry-appreciate-it-talk-to-you-soon-take-care-now-bye-bye,” and left. In the car, she thought defensively, Jack would want this reminder of his dad, and another, less comfortable thought: I couldn’t sleep under that thing. She pictured the pieced-together pinstripes, dots, plaids, and solids pinning her to the bed and shuddered.
At home, she scrubbed a bathroom that didn’t need to be cleaned.
She opened the fridge but couldn’t decide what to buy at the store. Milk, lunchmeat, lettuce, coffee: She had plenty.
She drifted into the living room, gave the recliner a wide berth, and perched on the edge of the couch. After turning on the television, she kept the remote pointed at the screen but lowered her hand when she realized she didn’t need to change the channel. It was still on the Food Network, that show with the skinny cook.
Doesn’t she eat her own food? Olive wondered sadly, watching the woman layer ingredients into a roasting pan. She was fixing a lasagna, the biggest one Olive had ever seen.
Her stomach rumbled. Maybe she’d go online and print out the recipe…
Maybe she’d head to the store, after all.
She could make that lasagna. Why not? And if she wanted, she could eat the whole goddamn thing herself.
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Melissa Ostrom is the author of The Beloved Wild (Feiwel & Friends, 2018), a Junior Library Guild book and an Amelia Bloomer Award selection, and Unleaving (Feiwel & Friends, 2019). Her stories have appeared in many journals and been selected for Best Small Fictions 2019 and 2021, Best Microfiction 2020 and 2021, and Wigleaf Top 50 2022. She lives with her husband, children, and dog Mocha in Holley, New York. Learn more at http://www.melissaostrom.com or find her on Twitter @melostrom.