the only eggs god knows how to make are scrambled

he’s at the stove. the kitchen smells like the gas. click click click. you have to turn it. here let me show you. oil in the pan. oh could you use the vegan butter? never mind. i make him a coffee. cashew milk. yesterday i practiced, learn how to make the fern-leaf latte art. you made ferns but whatever. eggshells. salt and pepper. i like to use cayenne, mostly it’s the color. busy time of year, huh? how’s the work-life balance? how many emails do you get a day? both our phones in focus mode, on the counter. the phantom notification thing. i keep glancing over and then pretend to take in the sky, spilling in through the window. he’s zoned out. the eggs are sticking to the pan. here, i’ll do it. stir and scrape. everyone’s calling customer service these days. can’t make everyone happy. he doesn’t laugh. plate the eggs. so much of it, stuck to the pan. i fill it with water in the sink. saturday morning brunch. they were better way back when. less complicated, in the beginning.

Rowan Tate is a creative and curator of beauty currently based in Romania. She reads nonfiction nature books, the backs of shampoo bottles, and sometimes minds.