Ethan was anxious about this next move with Esther. He stood at the front door, his hand shaking as he reached for the knob. Esther came up beside him quietly.
“Ethan. Are you okay?”
He took a deep breath. “I’m alright, Esther. Just nervous.”
Esther giggled softly. “Why are you nervous?”
“It’s a big step for the both of us. I’m so scared I might fuck it up.”
Esther took his hand. “Ethan. We’ve been together for two years. It’s been a long time coming—having a place for ourselves. Away from our families. Just you and me. Together.”
Ethan nodded and used the key to unlock the door. When they stepped into the basement apartment, it was everything they wanted: a couch, a bed, a small coffee table, and a desk for Esther’s work-from-home job.
They looked around, checking to see if anything was missing.
“So,” Esther asked, “is this everything you wanted, Ethan?”
“It’s a lot to take in,” he replied. “But it’s nice. Peace and quiet. How about you?”
“I’m so proud of us—of how far we’ve come,” Esther said. She kissed him on the cheek. “Come on. There’s so much to do.”
She grabbed his hand, and they headed back to the car to unload their belongings.
Six months passed. Ethan and Esther had settled in. Esther worked from home, and Ethan was constantly busy at work.
One evening, Esther was making dinner—her family’s spaghetti and meatballs—when she got a call saying Ethan was coming home early. About half an hour later, the door opened.
“Hey, baby,” Esther said. “How was work?”
Ethan groaned instead of answering. Esther turned around and froze. His left arm was wrapped in gauze and tape.
“What the hell happened?” she screamed.
“One of my guys accidentally dropped a pot of creamy mushroom sauce,” Ethan said. “I caught it, but my arm got burned.”
She sighed and immediately turned off the stove. Taking his hand, she walked him to the couch. “Sit. Let me see it.”
Ethan carefully began unwrapping the tape and gauze, wincing and hissing in pain.
“Easy,” Esther said gently.
She examined the burn. “It’s still really hot. You need to run it under cold water. Do that—I’ll grab aloe vera and fresh gauze.”
“Yes, nurse,” Ethan said, managing a weak smile.
Esther chuckled and went to the medical closet.
Ethan rinsed his arm under cold water. It stung, but he was used to pain. The sound of the running water reminded him of the dish pit at work. Even now, he could hear the dishwasher in his head—the constant sizzle of pans, the roar of the ovens. His body tensed.
There was a soft knock. Esther peeked into the bathroom. “Ethan, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he said. “Just about to pat it dry.”
Once he did, Esther applied a thin layer of aloe vera and carefully wrapped his arm in gauze. Ethan sighed.
She noticed immediately. “Let me guess. You’re thinking about work.”
“No—well, maybe. Yes.”
She shook her head. “You trained your team. They trust you. All they need now is for you to trust them to do the job—even when you’re not there.”
Ethan smiled. “Okay.”
“Good.”
She grabbed a plastic bag and some rubber bands. Ethan raised an eyebrow. “Uh… what are you doing?”
Esther cut a hole in the bag, slid his arm through it, and secured it. “You need a shower. You smell like sweat and burnt shit. This keeps your arm dry.”
She walked out. “Dinner’s almost ready. I’ll wait for you.”
Ethan nodded.
Fifteen minutes later, Ethan joined her in the kitchen.
“Oh man,” he said. “Something smells amazing.”
The table was set, pasta steaming. “Come on,” Esther said. “Let’s eat.”
They sat down and dug in.
“So?” she asked.
“It’s really good,” Ethan said, talking with his mouth full. “You’re taking cues from the master now.”
She laughed. “Remember when we brought my drunk roommate back to the dorms and all we wanted was pasta?”
Ethan chuckled. “I also remember when I used a canned sauce that was two months expired.”
“That’s right! What did you call it?”
“Fermented tomatoes.”
They both burst out laughing.
Esther stood up. “I’ll do the dishes.”
Ethan grabbed her hand. “No, I got it. You cooked. Go shower—you smell like oil and aloe vera.”
She smirked. “Yeah, yeah.”
Once Ethan finished eating, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to let work fade away. After a few minutes, he stood up and started washing the dishes.
The running water pulled him right back to the dish pit. He scrubbed mindlessly until suddenly he felt warm hands on his neck.
He gasped.
“Relax,” Esther whispered. “It’s me.”
She was in her bathrobe, hugging him from behind. “I’m here.”
Ethan took her hand and kissed it. “Almost done,” he said softly.
She let go and headed back to the bathroom.
It didn’t take long for Ethan to finish. As he wiped down the table, he heard music connecting to the speaker. He smiled.
Esther came into the kitchen holding it while Ethan scrubbed tomato stains off the stove. She scrolled until she found their song.
“Better Place,” by Rachel Platten.
She pressed play just as Ethan finished cleaning.
Esther wrapped her arms around him from behind. “Kitchen’s clean,” he said. “What now?”
Their song began. “Oh,” he chuckled. “I see.”
Ethan turned around and pulled Esther close, his hands on her waist. She looped her arms around his neck. They swayed slowly in the kitchen, the world fading away.
Ethan had never felt so safe. Esther felt him finally unwind.
He kissed her neck, and she sighed.
“Ethan,” she whispered.
He cupped her cheek. “Promise me you’ll never stop loving us.”
He nodded and softly sang along as the song ended.
They rested their foreheads together as Esther finished the final line:
“It’s a better place since you came along.”
The Culinary Storyteller 