The Feeder

by Gayle Siebert

  Maybe I shouldn’t have made a roast today, and maybe we should eat outside. But I’ve already set the table in my dining room with the china I’ve been collecting since I was a teenager, which I certainly wouldn’t want out on the patio. And what about the centerpiece of dahlias from my garden I spent half an hour fixing? It would be ridiculous to put that on the patio table and besides, there wouldn’t be room for everything.

  But—Derek and Lita? It’s impossible. Lita is exactly the type of woman Derek has never been interested in. They argue about everything. For what? Who cares if there were or were not five million Jews in Europe at the time of the Holocaust? Whether Ezekiel was visited by extraterrestrials and not angels, or was mentally ill or didn’t even exist? Whether climate change is real and human-caused or part of a natural cycle? Whether Covid 19 came from bats or escaped from a lab in China?

  Lita disagrees with Derek on every subject. He hates to be contradicted as she very well knows, but she contradicts him anyway. I give myself another mental reminder that he wasn’t interested in her back in the day and he surely couldn’t be now. I tell myself to quit thinking about it and get a move on.

  I cover my face with foundation. My skin’s sweaty so it cakes and looks awful. I take the damp washcloth to it and wipe it off. I’ll just have to go barefaced. I quickly stroke green on my eyelids, make a quick application of mascara and then dab my lips with Gypsy Rose Red, Derek’s favourite shade. I run a brush through my hair, pull it back off my face and put a clip in it, then suck in my stomach and stand back to check my look in the mirror. I can’t do anything about that muffin, but thanks to the heat in the kitchen, my face is flushed so the lack of foundation isn’t critical and I certainly don’t need blush.

  I hurry back to the kitchen and discover Lita sitting at the peninsula with Derek nowhere to be seen.

  “What’s up?” I ask. “Where’s Derek?” I realize the tone of my voice is a little sharp. What I really want to ask her is why she encouraged Derek, her friend’s husband—my husband!—to touch her like that. If he did.

  “I guess he had something to do outside,” she says, and she squirms on the stool as if feeling guilty.

  Good! She should feel guilty.

  “I came in to see if there really wasn’t anything I could do to help,” she continues, “but as usual, everything’s under control. Unless you want me to…”

  “Nope! Nothing for you to do.”

  The Yorkshires are finally just right, blackening slightly. I pull them out and dump them into the waiting napkin-lined basket. I take the roast out from under its tinfoil tent, carve it, and arrange the slices on a platter, add a sprig of parsley and hand the platter to Lita.

  “If you take this in, I’ll call Derek,” I tell her, and go to the patio door to call him. He’s in a chair , leaning with elbows on his knees, swirling the ice around in his drink.

  “Everything’s ready,” I tell him, and go back inside.

  As he gets to the kitchen, Derek says, “didn’t I tell you that it’s too hot to be inside?”

  Lita is standing in the doorway to the dining room and says, “look at Carly, covered up from head to toe like it’s winter. If she’s okay, you and I can’t complain.” She produces an elastic from her skirt pocket and draws her hair up into a messy knot on top of her head. “Anyway, it’s a treat, like going to a fine restaurant! Look how nice, even flowers. Are they from your garden, Carly?”

  “Umm, yes. Dahlias and snap dragons. I have my own baby’s breath, too.” I cast a quick glance at Derek but his expression is dark. He’s been in a mood all day and it doesn’t improve with Lita coming down on my side. I guess she’d be on his side if there really was something between them, so I take it as a good thing. It’s Lita as usual. Nothing to worry about.

  When she sticks up for me like she did just now I appreciate it, but it’s not as if I’m incapable of defending myself. I just do it differently. Confronting him head on makes him angry, so it’s best to ignore it, say nothing, or apologize and change the subject.

  Lita couldn’t put together a meal like this to save her soul. She doesn’t even have a proper table because she says she prefers to perch on a stool at the island. No big deal because Kraft Dinner taxes her ability. The one and only time Derek and I went to her place for dinner, we took our plates to the stove and dished up spaghetti right out of the pot. The empty Hunt’s Thick and Zesty Mushroom Basil Sauce jar was still in the sink. Once when I invited her here, she asked if she could bring something. I asked her to contribute a salad. She brought it all right, not in a bowl ready to be tossed as you might expect, but in a bag that hadn’t been opened yet. I smile at the memory and wonder if she’s thinking about it now.

  When she tells Derek to get the wine, I realize she’s not thinking back, but is in the moment, and has done something else that will irk him. Minutes ago she wanted to do something to help. Now she’s giving Derek a task. He doesn’t argue, though.

  I herd them into the dining room. Derek takes his customary place at the head of the table. I direct Lita to the far side and set the basket of perfect Yorkshires in front of Derek before taking the chair across from Lita.

  “Lots of House Finches around this summer, hey, Carly?” Lita says. “They were buzzing around when we were out there. So pretty, with their rosy little heads!”

  “They’re anxious for the feeder to go back up,” Derek explains.

  “I thought you put it up this morning,” I say.

  “That was just to test the new hangar. My new feeder is quite a bit bigger than the old one. Needs a second coat of paint and I’m still trying to figure out a way to keep the squirrels out of it. I think I have an idea that will work. I might draw up plans and submit them to Modern Woodworking. They’re always looking for projects to fill their magazine.”

  “You can draft plans good enough to submit to a magazine?” Lita asks.

  “Pfft! It’s not difficult,” Derek says, “I have a new cad program I’ve been fooling around with. It’s a really complicated program, not at all intuitive or user-friendly, but I’ve figured it out. Good for neural plasticity, learning different things.”

  “I’m learning to quilt,” I say. “That must be good for…”

  “It’s hardly the same thing, Carly,” Derek cuts me off. “Anyhow, I’ll finish the feeder after work tomorrow. Hope I don’t have to work too late. Don has been relying on me for so much lately, keeping me working such long hours I’ve barely had time to take the new boat out.” He takes a thick slice of beef and as he passes the platter to Lita, tells her, “Don is the big boss. Don Jackson. I’ve actually had to explain points of law to the other partners, even the guys who are more senior, so Don has his eye on me. I’ll probably make partner and get a private office when the firm takes over the top floor. I wouldn’t be surprised if I got one of the corner offices.”

  “When is this happening?” Lita asks.

  “Pretty soon.”

  “I thought Dennison Wealth Management had the whole top floor.”

  “Umm, yeah, that’s right. They, er, have the whole top floor,” Derek replies.

  “Are they moving? I hadn’t heard about that.”

  “Why would you hear about it? And I didn’t say we were moving right away.”

  Before Lita can needle him any more, I ask, “so the new feeder is bigger?” I clench my teeth. More seeds equals more birds and more mess. I can’t stop myself from saying, “I don’t know why the birds have to fling bird seed everywhere. They waste more than they eat! I’m constantly cleaning up under that darn thing. And the weeds!”

  “The Spotted Towhees clean up most of what’s on the ground under it, if you’d just give them a chance,” Derek says. “That’s where they like to forage. Having the birds around is worth it. Pulling a few weeds isn’t a big deal.”

  “I like the birds, too, but I know it makes a mess,” Lita says. “Why don’t you put it somewhere that weeds wouldn’t matter, Derek, like at the back of t
he yard? Or around front where it’s not landscaped?”

  I catch a strange look between her and Derek.

  “Yeah, that would be a good place if you never want to see the birds,” he scowls. “Defeats the purpose.”

  “Well, I thought the purpose was to help the birds. Plus, they don’t stay on the feeder. You’ve got birdhouses all over the yard. Unless the birds don’t use them.”

  “No,” I say, “Derek’s right, pulling a few weeds isn’t a big deal. I’m out there watering things anyway, and the birds are nice.”

  I take a bite of roast cauliflower. It’s too soft and I regret putting it in the oven at the same time as the carrots and beets. No one else seems to notice so I don’t mention it. I tell Lita about Jennifer’s latest parent-teacher interview, how the teacher said she has so many friends she is one of the most popular girls in her grade. A boy a grade ahead of her even took her to a movie! His mother drove them. Isn’t that cute? From Lita’s expression, I gather she doesn’t think so.

  Before she can respond, Derek starts in about the boat and how he’s working on fixing the steps down to the beach, the wharf, and maybe he’ll build a boat house, too.

  “Say, I should take you gals out on the boat for a couple of hours sometime. You know I even got it fitted out with a commode, Lita, inside the cabin, so you don’t have to use a bucket. Stainless steel. Such a thing of beauty it’s sacrilege to shit in it. But desperate times… Although if my wife’s ass gets any bigger, she won’t fit through the cabin door. Of course you won’t have any trouble, Lita.”

  Lita stiffens and frowns and I’m sure she’s about to say something snotty to Derek so I quickly change the subject. “So, I thought I saw you going down to the boat, but you didn’t?”

  Lita frowns and gives Derek a look, then says, “no, we decided not to go that far or we wouldn’t be back when dinner was ready.”

  “What were you guys talking about out on the patio? I heard you laughing.”

  “She was just telling me about something that happened at work,” Derek says.

  “Well what happened at work that was so funny?”

  Lita exhales loudly, frowns at Derek again, then explains, “just a run-in I had with that asshole Everett. I told you about him, remember? The one that’s always such a pain in the ass.”

  “Isn’t that the guy who’s single?”

  “Yeah, divorced. No surprise there.”

  I might remind her that I could say the same about her! I wouldn’t, of course. I press on. “Maybe he’d ask you out if you didn’t always snipe at him.”

  “Honey, he’s the last person on earth I’d go out with.” She studies her plate, then adds, “if not last, then second last.” She gives Derek another cold look.

  “But you must be lonely!” I continue. “You said he’s good looking. And he has a good job. Why not give him a chance?”

  “I’m not lonely, Carly, but even if I was, I wouldn’t go out with him. There isn’t a single thing about him that I like. Other than he’s pleasant to look at, I guess. Like a lot of pretty people, once you get to know him, you don’t notice his good looks anymore.” Another sideways glance at Derek.

  “But what’s wrong with him?”

  “Well, he’s a smarmy ass kisser for starters. And he has no idea how to deal with people, especially the secretaries. I can tell you, if he was in charge, everyone in the secretarial pool would walk out.”

  “What do you mean, walk out? They’d get fired if they did that, wouldn’t they? Don’t those gals want to keep their jobs?”

  “Of course they want to keep their jobs. I meant figuratively. Still, they don’t have to put up with his bullshit! He treats them like slaves. He’s that guy in the office who always has a last minute emergency. He’s not senior enough to have his own secretary, but is so full of himself he thinks his job, any job, should go to the head of the queue. I’ve let him put one of his jobs ahead of mine a few times, but it’s chronic. I finally had enough, took him aside and quietly told him to fuck the hell off. What does he do? Goes crying to the claims manager. I get called in shortly after. There he sits, shit-eating grin on his face, expecting me to be reprimanded. Instead, he had his ass handed to him and I got my own office and my own assistant.”

  “Oh!”

  “Yeah. It’s tiny and a long way from a corner office, you know, but much better than being out in the cubicle farm.” She looks at Derek again before continuing, “and now we’re really at odds. You wouldn’t believe the looks he gives me.”

  Going by the dark expression on Derek’s face, he hasn’t missed the jab.

  I say, “but that’s just work. Maybe he’s different away from the office.”

  “Sure. And maybe pigs can fly.”

  “Lita, let’s face it, you’re not getting any younger. You shouldn’t be so picky! You’re going to end up spending the rest of your life alone.”

  She spears a caramelized carrot and pops it in her mouth, chewing and swallowing. Then she leans toward me and says, “there are worse things than being alone.”

  What could be worse than being alone? I study her pretty face and notice new lines at the corners of her eyes and bracketing her lips. Pretty, popular Lita. Now she’s this pathetic, lonely person and she doesn’t even realize she’s her own worst enemy. If it wasn’t for our shared past, we’d have nothing in common. I have no funny work stories to share and I know no one would be interested in anything I do. She acts as if it’s a mortal sin we only have one car and Derek takes it to work. It’s not like I need it; I have plenty to do around here without running into town all the time, and on week-ends Derek lets me use the car to shop and take Jennifer where she needs to go.

  For the first time I realize how judgmental she is. It’s sad, but we’re drifting apart. Maybe it’s time I accepted it. I hear myself sigh, and say, “Lita Muldoon, you’ll never change.”

  She smiles as if it’s a compliment. Scooping up the gravy boat, I add the dregs to the teaspoonful she had put on her small mound of mashed potatoes and go out to refill it. When I come back, Derek reaches for the gravy. I hand him the gravy boat and say, “there’s a nice pistachio and pineapple mousse for dessert. It’s light, so you don’t need to save room.” I scoop up roasted vegetables and put a good spoonful on everyone’s plate before sitting down.

  Derek opened the wine Lita brought and poured each of us a glass before dinner. Now he takes the bottle out of the ice bucket and tops up our glasses. Raising his, he looks at Lita and says, “here’s to beautiful women.”

  Lita gets an odd look on her face, then says, “here’s to the feeder.”

  Well! Couldn’t she be gracious and acknowledge the compliment? She’s looking at me. For a moment I think she’s going to say something else but then Derek drains his glass and leaves the table, coming back with a second bottle. He pours himself another glass, but Lita and I haven’t finished ours, so he puts the bottle in the ice bucket.

  Lita sits there sipping wine and watching us eat. I see her spear a small beet, cut it in half and stir it around in the gravy before eating it, but that’s it. I might as well not have given her more vegetables.

  When Derek is finished, I suggest dessert. Lita, no surprise, declines. Derek says it’s too soon, takes the wine bucket and his glass into the living room and tells us to follow him. I open the doors to the deck and suggest we sit outside. I haven’t seen the schedule for cruise ships but it’s the season for the Seattle to Alaska run so there might be some passing. Lita sits at the far end of the deck instead of at the table, where I sit. Derek hops up on the rail beside Lita. I have a millisecond’s mind picture of him toppling off.

  After a few minutes of idle conversation, it’s obvious we have nothing talk about. Lita says she has to go but will help cleaning up the kitchen first. Derek tells her she doesn’t need to bother because I prefer to do it in the morning. Really? That’s the first I’ve heard of that! He knows I always make sure everything’s tidy before I go to bed. I’
ll do it as soon as she leaves.

  A quick goodbye and she’s gone.

  Derek watches out the living room window and I go into the kitchen to start cleaning up. There isn’t much mess because I always keep on top of it as I cook. It’s mostly just putting all the leftovers away. I’m bent over, digging through the bin of Tupperware, when I hear him come into the kitchen. Ice clatters as he slams the bucket down on the peninsula. I straighten and turn to face him.

  “She left in a fuckin’ big hurry,” he snarls. “You had to remind her she’s getting old?”

  My heart thumps.

  He’s not here for dessert.

  Six

  Lita

  AS I EXPECTED, I’m barely in the door before Carly shunts me off outside with Derek like she can’t bear to be alone with me even for ten minutes even though we haven’t seen each other for months. I wouldn’t say anything critical of him even if she let me stay in the kitchen and he was elsewhere. I mean, not when I just got there. But after a few glasses of wine, if he would ever bugger off and leave the two of us to talk, maybe. Probably.

  I promise myself that today I won’t say anything to rock the boat. I won’t criticize him even in the off chance he leaves us alone. I won’t argue with the asshole. I won’t suggest he could do something to make Carly’s life less miserable such as “babysit” so she could have a night out with the girls once in a while, share the parenting or even, at a minimum, do some yard work. He doesn’t even run the damn lawnmower! If that’s not the husband’s job, I don’t know what is. Imagine how long her days are, getting up at three to go spend a full eight hour shift at that café and then spend the rest of the day working to keep that house and yard looking like a page out of Better Homes and Gardens.

  This last is a problem of her own making, though. She’s obsessive about household tasks. When she told me she irons Derek’s shirts and then hangs them exactly three inches apart, I laughed. Believe it or not, it wasn’t a joke. When I realized that, I told her she really should lighten up. She said that’s how Derek wants it because the closet looks terrible if hangars are randomly spaced and if shirts hang too close together they get wrinkled. He’s on his way up, clothes make the man, he has to look good, yada yada. Besides, she likes doing things for him. Still. He’s so grouchy it’s beyond me why she keeps him around. It’s not because he has a big dick or even that he knows how to use it. But I won’t say anything. Nothing! Nada! Zip! My lips are sealed.