He remembers when she first used Saran Wrap. She got it tight around the baking dish. Across the top, the corners, the handles, everything. That impressed him more than the brownies.
She stayed the first night they met and made breakfast in the morning. She toasted and buttered the plain doughnuts from the Entenmann’s box. Smart, he thought. She came back that night and made the brownies. Delicious brownies.
A week later she brought groceries. He noticed her toothbrush on Monday morning. On Tuesday, he found her slippers under the bed.
Weekends were theirs. They went to bars and played pool. Sometimes trivia. And more recently, stayed in to watch movies.
She surprises him tonight, a weeknight. “Idol in fifteen,” she says. “I’m baking brownies.”
He pays little attention to the show. Thinks mostly about Saran Wrap.
The brownies cool and after Idol, she cuts them into neat little three-inch squares. Puts four on a plate and wraps the baking dish. He offers her a beer. “I can’t,” she says. “I’m pregnant.”
The Saran Wrap is stretched tight across the top of the baking dish. He pokes it. Feels it. Tight on the corners. The handles. Everything.