When it came to cooking, Alan was no expert. Maybe it was the many years that he'd stayed away from the kitchen, secure in the notion that it was the domain of the woman in the family, but whatever small amount of cooking skill he had developed was fully atrophied.
Shannon had decided that this would have to change.
Not yet, of course. She could be patient. One thing at a time. That's what the instructions had said, at least. She watched Alan scurry around the kitchen in the frilly apron she had left out for him. The noodles were burning, and he had forgotten to wash the lettuce in the salad, but he was trying. Proof enough that her little scheme was working.
In her hand she held one of Alan's beers, the chemical concoction mixed in, waiting for him to drink it. Shannon had decided that she would give it to him now rather than letting him ruin dinner. It was still early enough for her to step in and rescue the meal. Just because she wanted revenge on her lech of a husband didn't mean she wanted to starve to death.
"Honey," she said, "Let me take over. You've been very helpful, but now you deserve to have a drink."
Alan stared at her, obviously torn. He seemed elated that she had called him helpful, but didn't seem to want to stop helping.
"Seriously," she continued, "the most helpful thing for you to do right now would be to drink this beer and let me finish."
A wide grin formed on his face as he grabbed the beer and headed out of the room, forgetting to take off the apron. The grin was echoed on Shannon's face, too. She knew that soon he'd be passed out on the couch. She also knew that the mp3 player in her pocket was ready to go with "Step 2", something she was giddy to see implemented.
But first, she had a dinner to save.
