Squashed and Chopped

Sylvia had a surprisingly large harvest of squash that fall. The tomatoes hadn’t done as well, or maybe the deer liked them better than squash, she wasn’t sure.

Looking over the vegetables of her labor sitting on the kitchen counter, Sylvia smiled. She’d lost one baby, but God had blessed her with these. She scooped up one well-formed butternut into her arms, cradling it with one hand, and caressing its “forehead” with the other.

“Maybe I’ll keep you,” she said to the vegetable, laughing a little at the thought. How many times during her five-month pregnancy had she imagined holding a baby girl — or boy — just like this? For a moment, Sylvia closed her eyes and sang a lullaby while she allowed herself the luxury of imagination.

“Victoria Grace,” she whispered. That would have been her name. She’d known it would be a girl, and had it confirmed after the surgery. She’d wanted to hold it then, but Adam thought it was a bad idea.

“How would you ever move on from that?” He’d said. She wanted to say that it might help her move on, but she couldn’t say much of anything that day. Everything she tried to say came out in sobs. Instead, Sylvia nodded, and let them take away her beautiful child, without ever touching her.

The more distant Adam became, the more Sylvia worked on her garden. When it yielded its first crops, she proudly showed them to her husband. He smiled, kissed her, and suggested she make some for herself for dinner.

“You know I don’t care for squash,” he said.” After a quick kiss to her forehead, Adam disappeared into his man cave, where he would spend the rest of the evening watching Chopped on Netflix.

Sylvia made spaghetti instead. She dropped half the noodles on the floor and didn’t bother to rinse them before putting them back in the pot.

I’m a little teapot, short and stout, she sang quietly. Here is my handle, here is my spout.

She opened the kitchen cabinet and found the small Ziploc bag that she’d purchased in a shady shop around the corner from the farmer’s market that morning. She poured its contents into an empty spice jar and peppered the sauce generously with the herb.

When I get all steamed up, I just…cook.

“Honey, dinner’s ready! I made spaghetti!”

Adam came in and took the plate Sylvia had prepared for him. “Mmm, looks delicious. Thank you, sweetheart.” He kissed her cheek and carried his pasta-piled plate back to his room.

Sylvia sliced some of the summer squash. She chopped some onions, minced some garlic, and scooped a heap of butter into a saucepan. Then she put the squash in and almost reached again for the baggie, but thought better of it. Instead, she procured the actual oregano from her wooden spice rack hanging on the wall. She seasoned and sautéed her concoction until the savory aroma filled up the house. Adam slammed his door shut.

She took the butternut squash back into her arms and continued singing.

Just tip me over…

She took it to what would have been the nursery, with the crib assembled, waiting for a little one to be tucked underneath the green and pink afghan Sylvia’s mother had crocheted. She opened a drawer and took out a tiny bonnet. It fit perfectly on fake Victoria’s crown.

“You’re so cute, in your little bonnet, yes you are, yes you are,” Sylvia cooed. She sat in her rocking chair, with the blanket over her lap, holding the squash close to her chest. When she closed her eyes, she could almost forget she wasn’t holding a real baby.

The sun peeking through the horizon gleamed through the windows and woke Sylvia up just after dawn. The squash was on the floor; its bonnet had fallen off. Embarrassed at herself for getting so carried away, she quickly stripped the bonnet and returned the vegetable to the kitchen, back to inanimate object status.

All the produce from yesterday was gone, including what she had cooked. The smell of it remained, though, stronger than ever.

Sylvia crept into the man cave. Adam wasn’t there. On her way to the bedroom, Adam emerged from the bathroom rubbing his eyes.

“There you are, baby,” he said. “Why didn’t you come to bed last night?”

Victoria looked at the floor. “I fell asleep in the nursery,” she mumbled. Thank God he hadn’t caught her.

“What were you doing in there?” he asked.

“Just thinking,” she said. His eyebrows crinkled, but he didn’t speak.

“Well, I want to let you know that spaghetti you made was amazing. It was so good, I ate all of it.”

“Where is my squash?” Sylvia asked her husband. “I was going to take some to sell today at the farmer’s market.”

Adam’s eyes reflected part shame, part pleasure. “After I ate the spaghetti, I was still hungry, and you had cooked all that squash. I thought it wouldn’t hurt to just try it.

Sylvia raised her eyebrows. “You ate the squash?”

“It tasted so good, I cooked and ate the rest of it, with the onions and garlic like you did. It didn’t taste as good when I did it, but close enough. I know I said I didn’t like squash, but that was delicious.”

“Oh? Maybe I need to make squash more often,” Sylvia said as she smiled to herself.

Adam shook his head. “I just threw up most of it. I don’t think I ever want to look at another squash for the rest of my life.”

Victoria grinned and laughed a little.

…and pour me out.

“I’m going to pack up the nursery today,” Sylvia said. “I think it would make a great canning area. Or sewing room. ”