“Another delicious dinner,” he declares as he drops a couple of plates into the dishwasher.
I look down at the plate in my hand. It’s Nico’s plate, and it’s hardly been touched. I didn’t feel like fielding any complaints tonight, so I went with the tried and true macaroni and cheese. It’s got his three favorite things: noodles, butter, and lots of cheese. And usually, he eats like a horse. Between him and Enzo, I’m lucky one of them doesn’t take a bite out of me.
“Is Nico okay?” I ask. “He didn’t eat his mac and cheese.”
“Maybe he had big lunch?”
“Maybe…”
“Maybe he is sick of macaroni and cheese?”
“Never.”
He grins at me. “Maybe he’s been eating Little Kiwi’s flies.”
That horrible praying mantis has molted again. I have discovered every time it molts, it gets a little bit bigger. And it’salready way too big, in my opinion. But Nico loves that insect. He asked to bring it to the dinner table last night after he came back from doing chores for the Lowells. That was a hard no.
I look down at the plate, resisting the urge to eat the leftover macaroni myself. I don’t need the calories though, especially since I’m now havinghealthissues. Although I still don’t believe that I need to see a doctor. I looked it up, and automatic blood pressure cuffs are notoriously inaccurate.
“By the way,” I say. “When I was at work today, this nurse checked my blood pressure while I was all keyed up over something, and it was apparently really high. She was making such a big deal out of it.”
Enzo is usually sympathetic when I tell him stories about my day at work. But this time, he frowns at me. “Why is your blood pressure high?”
“I don’t know.” I scrape the mac and cheese into the garbage disposal and stick the plate in the dishwasher. “Hey, let’s get the dishes going.”
“But the dishwasher is not full.”
“Yes, but Martha is coming tomorrow, so I want to get these dishes washed and put away before she comes.”
He scratches his chin. “I do not understand. Why do we have to clean the dishes to get ready for the cleaning person? And before dinner, you were vacuuming.”
“I just want to make sure everything is clean for her.”
“But she iscoming to clean!” He shakes his head. “Maybe this is why your blood pressure is high, yes?”
“Whatever,” I mumble. “It wasn’t that high.”
“You said ‘really high.’”
“No, I saidprettyhigh.” I try to push past him to get to the dishwasher. “Can we please get these dishes clean for tomorrow?”
Enzo reaches into the cabinet that contains the dishwasher detergent. He fills up the cup, then slams it closed and presses the button to start the cleaning cycle. When he’s done, he turns to look at me, his muscular arms folded across his chest. “Okay, now we do not have dishwasher excuse. We can talk about your blood pressure.”
“Oh God.” I roll my eyes. “Look, I wouldn’t have said anything if I thought you were going to make such a big thing about it.”
“Whywouldn’tI make a big thing about it?” he retorts. “You are my wife, and I want you to be healthy and live forever.”
“That’s… sweet, I guess,” I admit. “But you’re making too big of a deal out of this. I was just stressed out, and that’s why my blood pressure was high.”
“Fine. Then you go to a doctor and get it checked out.”
“But—”
“Younevergo to the doctor, Millie,” he points out.
“Neither do you. And you’re even older than I am.”
He looks like he’s going to protest, but then his shoulders sag. “Fine. We both go see doctors. Okay?”
