The Between Years

chocolate syrup. That he was planning for the long haul so soon alarmed him, but depressed him as well. Certainly he and Carol wouldn't stay pissed at each other forever, would they?

    Carol must have phoned him by now, he figured. Since he'd kept his phone turned off all day, she might have phoned his parents, and knowing Dad he would have been passive and noncommittal to avoid meddling. A cooling off period had passed and he felt ready to speak to her. So he fished the phone from his pocket, switched it on, and found an empty voicemail box. Son of a bitch, he thought. Eighteen hours had passed since their blow-out and she hadn't done him the courtesy of a phone call. But then, neither had he and he had no intention to now. Fuck it.

    His eyelids growing heavy again, he splashed cold water over his face to keep himself moving long enough to eat dinner. So much goddamn work involved, he thought. He peeled potatoes, steamed carrots and broccoli, and baked two chicken breasts. At first, he was reminded of the nights Carol spent teaching, leaving him alone. Often he ate takeout from the neighbourhood Italian deli, but other times he cooked something small for himself. He and Carol normally shared cooking duties the rest of the week, which he secretly enjoyed save for tonight.

    Randy didn't have to close his eyes to remember the dinner's he'd made with Nana and Bupa when his parents had gone away. Florida or California was the usual destination, but that meant almost nothing to Randy. He only remembered how filled with excitement he'd been because their trips meant a week spent at Nana and Bupa's house. As always, he stayed in the guest room-what Nana liked to call the 'front room'-that was twice the size of his bedroom at home. The next morning always meant a scrumptious breakfast of pancakes, waffles or poached eggs, and never served without tea. Most of all, Randy enjoyed the little things about staying there, like helping Bupa in the yard, or painting with Nana.

    Reflecting on those things didn't generate visions like the ones he'd seen before he left the house to grocery shop. Yet he still felt like he'd been warped back to a time when life had been much simpler, when he hadn't endured such pain, and he didn't long to fix so much.

    He'd barely remembered to pick up a bottle of Frank's Red Hot Sauce at the store, which was a relief since he decided that boneless, skinless chicken breasts were never the same without it. He pulled the oven door open and felt the intense warmth spread over his arms as he removed the baking pan. At least he was eating healthy and not letting himself go now that he was baching it, he thought.

    The dining room table was littered with mail, newspapers and pill bottles. He cleared through the slush with his arm to create a space for his plate and glass of milk. When he pulled his chair, Randy noticed two candles standing in the center of the table, with black wicks and streams of hardened wax running down the sides. He grabbed a pack of matches from the china hutch, lit the candles, and sat down to dinner.

    As he ate, he remembered how he used to picture himself seated at the head of the dinner table. Bupa had sat in that very chair each Christmas, and any other holiday or family dinner held at the house. When Kenny was born, Randy sat at the head of his own dinner table, while Carol sat opposite him, and Kenny sat to the side in his high chair. Randy liked to pretend he was Bupa, but always hid it from Carol, figuring she would laugh since their family was so tiny. But when they gave birth to their little Martha, he would have plenty of family to oversee.

    Little Martha. Thanks to Carol, the little girl they'd planned for would forever be a conversation, an idea, a dream that would never materialize. He rested his fork on his plate and stopped chewing. His appetite had dulled. He reminded himself that Carol wasn't literally at fault for their childlessness, but he swore she'd fought tooth and nail to avoid ever giving birth to their little girl. After Kenny had died, all he'd wanted was a second chance at parenthood, and he needed Carol to be on the same page.

    Every night, they rolled into bed together and kissed before they switched the light off. Carol fluffed her pillow and prepared herself for sleep, but Randy liked to run his finger up and down one of her arms, and spool her hair around the other finger before she dozed off. Then he cupped her ass, her breasts and kissed her