Desi Cooks For Her Man by Johanna Miklós

Desi strokes cream on her arms, rolls lemon on her thighs and — after a long look in the mirror — takes off her bra. She stirs in rolled oats.  ‘Blend milk, two eggs and melted butter,’ she reads in her grandmother’s Joy of Cooking.

Desi makes things happen.  After a romantic error in judgment, a BA in history, and two years sharing myths with youths for a salary she couldn’t live on, Desi got an MBA. She puts in the bonus hours and is pleasant — not creepy — at the water cooler.

Desi dresses up and moves up.

Desi’s cash cautious — dwelt below her means — saved for a down payment in a building with a doorman.

Desi plans a summer wedding.

She pours the liquid as instructed for her man. To friends, she describes Steve as a comfortable few inches taller than herself, clean-shaven with quite a smile, and a rising star at an Investment firm.  They met at a bar but — this matters — were introduced by mutual acquaintances.

Desi cuts peaches, adds a cup of cranberries to bubbling cornstarch, sugar, and cranberry juice then waits for skins to pop. She recollects their passion in the back of a cab, Steve’s respectful withdrawal when she clamped her thighs tightly, and his firm hug and promise to call.

He didn’t.

So she did.

Desi shoves the cake into the oven and sets the timer to twenty-five as the lobby desk announces her man.

“Something smells really good!” Steve lifts lids, pokes chops, and accepts a glass of wine.  Then he picks up her cookbook.

“My mom gave my wife a copy when we got married. There isn’t a guy in the world who wouldn’t rather women read The Joy of Sex instead.”

© Johanna Miklós

Johanna is from Munich, Germany but now weathers storms in New York.  Links to past and current publications can be found on her website.  http://www.jmiklos.com

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