Finding Mayhem

by Layla Frost

Returning to the kitchen, I used a faded peach magnet to hang Ward’s note on the avocado-green fridge. At least I thought it was a peach. It could’ve been a flower. Or a butt. I took off my rubber gloves and washed my hands before getting my leftovers from the fridge. When I popped the take-out container into the tiny microwave, I leaned back and closed my eyes. I relaxed my shoulders, unclenched my jaw, and cleared my busy mind. I inhaled deeply. And my eyes snapped open. The spaghetti and roasted veggies with marinara that I’d had delivered the night before had been fine. Decent, but not great. Veggies would never take the place of meatballs, and they certainly wouldn’t travel well. But they were full of good nutrients and the spaghetti had satisfied my noodle craving, so it’d been a win. At the heavenly smell that filled my nose, I wondered if maybe the flavor had increased as it sat overnight. It certainly smelled like it had. Much to my crushing disappointment, it soon became obvious that it wasn’t reheated pasta I smelled. It was something else traveling through the windows I’d cracked to dissipate the harsh cleaning fumes. Dammit. I slammed the windows shut before grabbing the plastic dish from the microwave. I poked at the noodles with a fork as I glared down at them. While the meal had been good enough the night before, it’d somehow turned both too mushy and too dry at the same time. It didn’t matter that I was starving, I couldn’t force myself to take a bite. My ...