The Wait

by
HUDA Ansari

She looked out the window of her penthouse. The sun had nearly set. Tiny cars were rushing past to reach their destinations. Even tinier people were gathering outside the pub at the corner of the street. She turned around, glanced at the clock. There was still an hour before he’d be come.

She went and checked on the roast. Its juices were simmering in the oven. It’d be done in another fifteen minutes. Forty-five more to go.

She picked up the latest edition of Vogue. She flipped through the pages thoughtlessly. She was done soon. She put down the magazine beside herself and looked at her soft delicate hands. She ran her finger over her thumb and felt the chipped off nail guised under an impeccable manicure. A tear rolled down her ruddy cheek. But the timer went off. The roast was done.

She took out a salad bowl from the fridge. She picked up the salt and pepper shakers and gently put some into the bowl. She put the shakers back into place. She pulled a foot-stool from the corner of the kitchen closet, and reached out to grab the olive oil from the top shelf. She five three frame didn’t help her much. Her nimbleness was absorbing though.

She was soon done with garnishing the salad and put everything exactly back into place. She glanced at the watch. Thirty five minutes to go.

She walked over to her room. The room smelt of fragrantly blackberries. There were scented candles glowing over the nightstand. Everything was in order. Except for that one solitary candle which had managed to get itself extinguished. She walked over and lit it. “Perfect,” she thought.

She walked into her walk-in closet. The maroon gown she was dressed in didn’t do enough justice to her slender form. There wouldn’t be any dress that would do justice to the piece of art her figure was. She looked at herself in the full length mirror. Her long curls just covered her poised cleavage. She ran her finger through them, stopping to fix that astray curl. She opened a cabinet and picked out one of his favorite perfumes. She dabbed it on her neck and down the beautiful dip of her bosom. She put the perfume back, and stood in front of the mirror, taking in the fragrance. “It’s… perfect,” she told herself.

She came out her room, and glanced at the clock again. Still twenty to go.

She went out on the balcony. There was nothing to look at so she started pacing about the balcony. Her breathing got shallower. Her hands turned clammy. She stopped pacing about and grabbed tightly on to the handrails. She stood there a moment, and just as quickly as a glass shatters when it hits a concrete floor, she had her composure back.

She went back inside. She must wait for another ten minutes.

She looked around for something to do. One of her fluffy cushions seemed out of place. She fixed it into place quickly. “Perfect!”

She walked over to the fishbowl on the side table. She stood there watching her little goldfish swimming around in circles. She finally took out three little pellets of fish food and dropped them into the fishbowl. The little guy ate them quickly and went back to swimming in circles.

Her cell phone buzzed. She dreadfully looked up at the clock. It was time. He was never late. But today wasn’t like any other day.

*******

He rang the doorbell. She opened the door for him. He smiled nervously as an ecstatic child came rushing into his arms.

*******

She sat there alone, clenching her cell phone, tears rushing down at the imperfectness of her perfect life.

*******

“You came home early, Daddy!”

*******