Nothing Is Wrong

"What is this?" He stared down at his plate.

"What do you mean? It's dinner." She was bustling about the kitchen, putting a frying pan to soak in the sink and wiping down the counter. "Don't wait for me. Go ahead and start."

In front of him, on a purple plate , were fried purple potato wedges, a red kale and red cabbage with red onion stir fry, slices of grilled eggplant, and on a white side dish, what appeared to be purple ketchup.

"For dessert I made a blueberry mousse." She sat down. "Would you like some Pinot Noir?"

"Well, do you have any white wine?"

"Nothing chilled. I have Pinot Noir, grape or pomegranate juice. "

"Pinot Noir sounds lovely, then."

She poured him a glass. They sat facing each other in a room that was half Ikea (her student days), half Crate and Barrel (his more "adult" taste.) The room had a large window overlooking the city. He sat with his back to it.

"So, Patricia, is there any particular reason we are eating only purple foods this evening? Some ancient rite I am forgetting, perhaps?"

"No. No reason. I just was shopping and I thought it would be fun to prepare a purple meal. Ask how I did the ketchup!"

"Did you add blue food coloring?"

"Yes! Isn't it beautiful?" To this there was silence. He forked a purple potato, dipped it in the ketchup and chewed. Patrica was greatly enjoying the stir-fry.

"Patricia... is this a dig at me?"

"What are you talking about?" She took a sip of her wine and stared at a pigeon gliding past their window.

"Did you read the review of my book which lambasted my "purple prose?" He put his fork down.

"Did someone say that? How horrible. And untrue. That is very, very untrue. You write very simply and elegantly. I had no idea anyone wrote that about you. I just was struck by the possibility of making everything purple. It is striking, isn't it?"

"It is unusual to say the least."

"Oh, for heaven's sakes. Lighten up."

"Blue food coloring?" He raised his eyebrows and faked a smile. "To blue food coloring! Cheers." They clinked glasses.

"I'm going to change the subject now. Please just enjoy the food and don't worry about the reviews. How was your day?"

"Oh God. Okay. My day was fine, Patricia, how was your day?"

"Oh, it was the usual. Wake up, exercise, go to work, do work.... have to deal with people... Really, the best part of my day was making this meal for you."

"So.... are you wearing purple underwear under that outfit?"

"I dyed my pubic hair purple."

"You did not!"

"Of course I didn't, but next time I might."

"Do you think there will be a next time?"

"I don't know. What do you think?"

"It's a pretty good meal."

"Wait until you have the mousse."

"I have something to tell you," he said after a pause and waited until she looked back up at him. "I have been asked to..." He took a sip of wine.

"Yes?"

"I am going to take a teaching position in New York."

"But you know I can't leave here. I have to stay here for another year"

"I do know that. I'm sorry." He poured her some more wine. "We'll figure it out."

"Well. Congratulations." She pushed her plate towards the center of the table.

"You look sad."

"And why do you think that is? Why would I be sad now? Damn it. I can't be nice. This is bad. I want you to leave."

"Now?"

"Go. I need time to think. Go. Go." Pointing at the door.

"Where should I go?"

"I don't care. You can come back later. But go now. Please." All color had left her face.

"Are you sure?" He was shocked.

"Yes. Yes. I need time." He stood up and left the apartment.

He came home hours later and found her fast asleep in bed. Predictably, when he opened the fridge, he saw Patricia had carefully sorted the evening's purple food into separate glass containers. He pulled it out onto the counter, even the untouched purple mousse. Within 10 minutes he had polished it all off. His stomach aching he went to the bedroom and took of his pants. He stared at her for a while, and then laid down on the carpet on her side of the bed and listened to her breathing.