His ex was gone from there, totally. I knew it through my eye sweep.
There was a standing KitchenAid mixer that was in a neutral cream that would normally say a woman lived there, but I suspected this was on the counter because Mickey’s daughter liked to bake and Mickey clearly liked his daughter.
Other than that, there was a crock with a gravely lacking selection of cooking utensils stuck in it. Beside the rather nice stainless steel stove were salt and pepper shakers that didn’t match the crock (or the butter dish), and the salt shaker was chipped. There was also a truly unattractive, purchased solely because it did the job, wooden bread box. And although there was a good deal of counter space in the u-shaped kitchen, which also included a large pantry and more counter space separated from the rest against the opposite wall, all of it was taken up with appliances, none of them matching, none of them high quality.
I knew from experience that a family of the age of Mickey’s needed more, and if not the best, at least they needed ones they’d purchased to work and for a good long time, rather than shoddy brands that would break frequently, making you wonder why you didn’t invest wisely in quality in the first place.
You cooked for your family. Your kids had sleepovers and birthday parties that you needed to prepare for. You had friends over. You had family over. You had barbeques and special breakfasts that were about nothing. There were holidays to consider.
This was a man’s kitchen. Although the actual kitchen was highly attractive, it was not tidy and any woman knew the accoutrements had to be copious, carefully selected, and perhaps most importantly, fit the aesthetic.
At the end of my perusal, on the counter against the opposite wall, I spied a big chocolate cake on what appeared to be an antique glass cake plate.
“Aisling’s contribution to our barbeque,” he stated and I moved my gaze to him. “Said we couldn’t have someone over for food without offering dessert.” The easy grin came as he tipped his head sideways, toward the cake. “That’s one she does a lot ’cause her dad and brother fuckin’ love it. She’s hopin’ you will too.”
“I’m sure I will,” I replied quietly.
His eyes lit with pride. “Be crazy not to, it’s fuckin’ amazing.”
I loved his unhidden pride in his girl so much I couldn’t help but smile back.
“And to answer the question you’re too good-mannered to ask, I got the house. But Rhiannon got the kitchen,” he declared.
I blinked. “Rhiannon?”
“Ex-wife,” he stated. “It’s my house since I grew up in it. My folks moved to Florida, sold Rhiannon and me this place for a song. No way I could afford to live in this neighborhood, raise my kids in it, if they didn’t. She was decent enough not to make a play for it or fuck things up by pickin’ over shit, takin’ furniture, altering her kids’ home in a way that would freak them out more than they were already freaked their parents were splitting. She did that for me and the kids, I let her pick over everything else she could get and she took everything else she could get.”
This meant she left the candle. I just hoped she did it because she wasn’t overly fond of it.
“MFD has got one employee, our fire chief, and he’s only paid part-time. Town can’t afford more,” Mickey told me.
I nodded, uncertain at the flow of our conversation, so I decided not to reply.
“The rest of us, we volunteer,” he shared, grabbing one of his many bowls and turning toward the fridge, still talking. “Would do that for a job if I could. I can’t and I grew up in Magdalene, love it here, great place for a kid to be, good people, got all the seasons, safe, beautiful, don’t want to leave. I wanted to settle here, find a woman here, raise my kids here, so I had to find a way to do what I love doin’ and still put food in my kids’ mouths.”
He put the bowl in the fridge and turned back, walking my way, continuing to speak.
“I work for a local company, does roofing and construction. Job sucks, my boss is an asshole. Wanna strike out on my own but with two kids fast approaching college, can’t take that risk. Gotta eat his bullshit and get a paycheck. But they work seven days a week and the only way my boss isn’t an asshole is that he doesn’t want his house to burn down without local volunteer firefighters to stop it. So he lets me adjust my schedule so I can take some shifts at the department during weekdays, as well as doin’ nights and some weekends.”
“I’m sorry you don’t like your boss but it’s good you get to do what you like to do,” I told him, even though I didn’t actually think him being able to be a firefighter was good.
In this climate, I could imagine fires weren’t as prevalent as in other, drier climates. But fires happened everywhere and I wasn’t really big on Mickey taking his life in his hands to go out and fight them.
However, this had nothing to do with me and would be an unwelcome (and rude) opinion to share, so I didn’t share it.
He put his hands on the counter, his attention still on me. “Life is life. You’re smart, you take what you can get.”
All of a sudden, that feeling of being crushed came back, thinking Mickey, a nice guy, a good father, a handsome man, had this philosophy.
He wanted to stay in his hometown and that was his prerogative.
He wanted to be a firefighter so he made that work.
That was commendable.
But I hated the idea that he felt with the rest he had to take what he could get.
I wanted him to be fulfilled. Happy. If not having it all (because who did?), at least having as much as he could get. Loving his family, his home, his job…his life.
Not taking what he could get.
“Hey, Miz Hathaway.”
I turned at Aisling’s greeting and smiled when I caught her beautiful blue eyes.
“Hey, blossom. Thanks again for all your help yesterday.”
Mickey had not been wrong. She’d loved helping. She’d worked hard, this mostly being, as the stuff quickly disappeared, running around rearranging so the other items for sale would be attractively displayed and not looked picked over or like the dregs since the early birds got the good stuff. She also sold beverages, the goodies, and when each drink dispenser was purchased, she’d helped me empty them out and clean them up so they could go out the door.
“No probs,” she repeated her brother’s words of earlier, moving into the kitchen and looking up to her father. “Want me to do the spinach?”