What Came First by Carol Snow Page A

used to say, “I love to watch you eat.” He thought it was funny that I took so much pleasure from food. Of course, I was thin, then. Well, thinner, anyway. I swear Darren could eat the same thing for dinner every night and not care. Before we had kids, I used to wish he could appreciate my cooking and our restaurant dinners. Now that the twins’ oversensitive palates have led us to a life of spaghetti and chicken nuggets, Darren’s unrefined palate is a relief.
    We eat the dumplings and crispy green beans without talking. When our plates are empty, the waitress brings Mongolian beef and Kung Pao shrimp. I am so happy when I eat. There will be nothing left to bring home, but I just don’t care. Right now I’m not thinking about my strained marriage or my difficult children. I’m too busy savoring the sensations of salt, sweet, sour, spicy, and the newest, hippest, coolest taste on the block, umami.
    “Wendy? I thought that was you!”
    Annalisa Lemberger interrupts me in mid-umami. In three-inch heels, she towers over us, her old and ugly husband at her side. Unlike Darren and me, their outfits not only match in level of formality, they are actually color-coordinated. Annalisa wears white slacks with her heels. Come to think of it, that’s what she’s worn every time I’ve ever seen her, though the length of her white pants varies with the season. Her shirt tonight is a sleeveless peach silk. Roger wears a short-sleeved linen shirt: cream with peach tropical flowers. His slacks are tan.
    “Annalisa! Hi!” I think I have some peppers stuck in my teeth.
    I introduce them to Darren. I call Annalisa “one of my scrapbooking friends,” and then wonder if I should have simply called her my friend. It might be nice to see her outside of the group.
    “Those crazy scrapbookers!” Roger says. “I say to Annalisa, I think it’s just an excuse for you girls to drink wine and gossip!”
    “And have I ever denied it?” She laughs. Her teeth are really, really white—even brighter than her pants, which I see now are actually cream.
    I don’t really want to be friends with Annalisa Lemberger.
    “So is Tuesday y’all’s date night too?” she asks.
    “Not really. Just tonight.” What’s up with the y’all? She’s not even from the South. Or is she? I’ve known Annalisa for over a year. I should really know that.
    Annalisa puts her arm around Roger. “When we had kids, we made a promise to each other that we’d go out, just the two of us, once a week.”
    Roger kisses her on the cheek. Even in the dark restaurant, I can see his seedlike pores.
    “Oh, yeah, it’s great to have some alone time,” I say. “It can just be hard leaving the kids and all.”
    “You need to get over that,” Annalisa says. “You need to have time for yourselves as a couple. Like I say to Roger, if there’s no us, there’s no family .”
    Roger pats her on the butt. She stiffens, just a little, before gazing up at him. I check Darren to gauge his reaction. He is staring at Annalisa, taking in her shiny white teeth and blond hair and perky boobs.
    Annalisa is no friend of mine, not even a scrapbooking friend.
    “Give me a call sometime, Wendy,” she says. “I’d love to get together for coffee.”
    “Definitely!”
    Once Annalisa and Roger leave, we return to our food with grim determination. I’d say it doesn’t even taste good anymore, but it does. Even Annalisa can’t ruin Kung Pao shrimp for me.
    “What’d you think of Annalisa?” I ask.
    Darren shrugs. “She seems nice.”
    “Don’t you think she’s attractive?”
    He raises his eyebrows. “She seems high maintenance.”
    “She is,” I say, even though I’ve never seen any evidence of that.

    The house is quiet when we get home. Too quiet. Did Ashlyn strangle the twins? (And if so, do we still have to pay her?)
    Ashlyn is sprawled on the couch in the sitting area off of the kitchen, staring at her cell phone, pushing the keypad with her thumbs. When she