Dinner For One

He kept trying the doorbell, which hadn’t worked in years.

It made no sense. The man had knocked yesterday. Yesterday was something of an embarrassing blur, but Meghan was certain that Trey had knocked. So why did he keep pushing the bell, to no effect?

Why did she feel so strange every time he tried? Like… tingles… a warm flush of tingles…

Meghan had decided not to open the door. It was not clear at all what had happened yesterday. She’d fallen asleep with the TV on and had odd dreams. That’s what it had to be. Not surprising when the TV now had over five hundred channels of high-quality streaming pornography. And not just that, also sports.

But even after that, she’d gone into the pantry and torn apart the fridge and cooked a three-course dinner for one. Or intended to. She’d felt a tremendous drive to do it. Meghan had taken out all her dusty bowls and measuring cups before realizing that she had no real idea how to cook – Austin and Doordash did the cooking – she had no ingredients to speak of, and she was wet between her legs.

It was all very strange.

She’d had actual meatloaf delivered, from a diner. It had come with a sprig of parsley. And mashed potatoes, something else from a distant era. She’d seated herself by herself and poked at it with a fork. Why did it bother her that it was – not homemade? That she hadn’t assembled it over hours with a white apron on, heels clacking against the vinyl tile?

It was a congealed lump of meat with bits of carrot in it, and it tasted incredible. The bottle of wine went down smoothly as well. She ended up ordering another, getting a strange look from the delivery man. Probably because of the ketchup stains on her shirt.

Drunk, full with meatloaf, she’d taken care of business between her legs. Meghan took pride in her masturbatory ability. She posted on reddit about it – to help other women. The key was getting a pillow to hump with confidence. Stomach full, grinding on cotton, she’d briefly paused to think: what is going on?

In the morning she’d felt uncomfortable. The black box for the TV was no less imposing in the morning light. She was pretty sure her dreams had involved ropes and a four-poster bed. She should’ve felt overly stuffed with ground beef. Meghan told herself: matcha green tea and granola for breakfast, and then ten straight hours in front of Microsoft Word.

Instead she’d made a lot of pancakes.

At that point Trey had started ringing their nonfunctional bell. It was only 8:30.

She’d decided to ignore him. There was no more porno he could give. Something deep in her said: don’t do it. Don’t open the door. She risked a glance out the front – he had disassembled her front doorbell entirely and was poking around the insides. “Okay,” she heard the man say. He was wearing the same polo as yesterday. “Lets see— now.”

He hit the buzzer again. Meghan felt momentarily breathless. It was like seeing a lover smile. It was the moment before she came. A happy second.

“The bell doesn’t work!” she said, throwing the door open.

Trey looked at her. Meghan belatedly realized she was wearing the exact same clothes as yesterday. Except they were a day older and she had come in them. Her face felt sticky.

“Umm… here to fix the shower?” he said.

—

“You didn’t mention the shower,” she told Austin. “I didn’t realize I had a plumber here as well as a TV repairman.”

“The flow sucks,” Austin said. There was the hubbub of a lot of business voices behind him. It made Meghan think of how few sounds she’d heard, home by herself. Being a housewife. Imagine, being around a ton of folks. “He’s a handyman. Building systems.” Pause. “How’s the new cable?”

“We have a thousand channels of pornography,” Meghan said. “Not a joke. Channels three thousand one through four thousand feature porno. I haven’t checked them but they’re sorted by category. Guess what number three thousand fifty-six is.”

“Uh. I’m in a public place. I’ll spell it. A-N-A-L.”

“Geriatric. We’ll watch it when you get back. Which is Friday?”

“Friday. I don’t know why I thought spelling Anal would be better. And now I just said it.”

“I’ll cook when you get back,” Meghan blurted. She felt breathless, just like that. She could read recipe books, and wear her apron, and so little else. Greet him at the door with a martini and a smile. Dinner is in the oven, and while we wait…

“Oh, that sounds nice,” Austin said, and then, as usual, felt the need to snark it up. “Popeyes?”

She hung up on him.