Market Street by Anita Hughes

and fridges stuffed with cheese.
    When she pulled into the driveway the house was dark. Aidan’s car was in the garage; the front seat was littered with textbooks, a laptop, and empty coffee cups. Cassie smiled. She’d clear it out for him as a surprise. She’d cook his favorite breakfast: whole-wheat pancakes with fresh orange juice. She’d pack lunch so he didn’t have to stand in line at the campus food court. She crept into the house, hung her London Fog in the closet, and climbed upstairs.
    Aidan slept on his stomach, his arms splayed across the bed like a swimmer doing the butterfly. Cassie undressed and climbed in beside him. She draped his arm over her chest, hoping he’d wake so she could tell him about the sculpted mermaids in the Harrods fish hall, about her idea for red Fenton’s airtight containers. He snored softly, his foot twitched, but he didn’t stir. Cassie closed her eyes and pulled the down comforter up to her chin.

 
    5.
    Alexis called the next morning. “How was dinner at Boulevard?”
    Cassie stood by the kitchen window, watching her garden become a river of mud. Aidan had left for an early meeting, grabbing a pancake and the turkey sandwich she packed in Maria’s lunch box.
    “Rack of lamb, potatoes, and poached pears for dessert.” Cassie sipped the remains of Aidan’s coffee.
    “I wasn’t talking about the food. Give me the dish, did your mother turn it on thick?”
    Cassie laughed. “You know her too well. Very thick, and James showed me his designs.”
    “And?” Cassie pictured Alexis perched on the ostrich-skin stool in her chrome kitchen, sipping a cup of chai tea.
    “They were fantastic”—Cassie breathed—“and he described the Harrods food hall. It sounds amazing, Alexis, like a fairy-tale castle filled with food.”
    “Are you going to do it?”
    “I don’t know.” Cassie sighed. “I need to talk to Aidan.”
    “You should, I spent all day in Fenton’s yesterday. I am in love with the new Ella Moss sweaters, and your mother stocks the most fabulous Prada flats. I bought three pairs: orange, cream, and black,” Alexis replied.
    “I’ll tell her, she’ll be pleased.” Cassie put the coffee cup in the sink.
    “Today I’m doing Neiman’s. It’s raining too hard to do anything but shop. I figured I’d spend one hour per floor. With an hour lunch break, that’s an eight-hour workday,” Alexis said.
    “Sounds like a hard job.” Cassie laughed.
    “Was he cute?” Alexis changed the subject.
    “Was who cute?” Cassie put away berries, syrup, and whipped cream.
    “The architect. I told you I want the dish.”
    “He looked like Clark Kent.” Cassie put the orange juice in the fridge.
    “Oooh, I love the nerdy, bookish type. Does he wear those round, rimless glasses?”
    “I can’t remember. Shouldn’t you be focusing on Carter and your couples yoga classes?” Cassie sat at the kitchen table. The rain was falling sideways against the glass. The flowers in the window box were plastered against the soil.
    “Carter is in Luxembourg, researching a new telecommunications company.” Alexis sighed. “Tonight we’re going to try Skype sex. I bought a black lace teddy.”
    “I don’t need the visual.” Cassie grimaced.
    “Come with me to Neiman’s today, you can’t play in the garden in the rain.”
    “I’m going to make pizza for Aidan,” Cassie said, suddenly deciding she’d go to the co-op and buy fresh ingredients for mozzarella pizza.
    “Do the food emporium, Cassie. Your talents are wasted on Aidan.”
    “You sound like my mother.” Cassie grabbed a pen and scribbled down a shopping list.
    *   *   *
    Cassie folded her raincoat over the shopping cart and consulted her list. Heirloom tomatoes, round and firm and just a little bit sweet, were the key to delicious pizza. She put oregano and fresh basil in the cart, and added anchovies and a ball of mozzarella cheese.
    The tomatoes were displayed on a table at the back of the co-op.