Still Warm When His Key Turns

He started picking up extra shifts at the restaurant back in March, home some nights past two, and I started leaving his plate on the stove under the blue towel with the burn mark, timed so it's still warm when I hear his key. I tell myself it's about the food. Cold pasta is a small tragedy, I've said that out loud to him, like a joke.

It isn't about the food. It's the ninety seconds after he eats where he stands behind me at the counter while I pretend to wash something, and puts his chin on my shoulder because his hands smell like garlic and he won't touch me with them yet. That's the whole reason. I've built a year around ninety seconds.

Three weeks ago the guys started going for beers after close. He texts home soon now instead of coming home, and some nights the plate sits under the towel till morning, dried out, and I scrape it into the trash before he wakes up so he won't feel bad.

Tonight I made the plate anyway. I don't know why I keep doing it when I already know how the night ends. I stood at the stove at 1am with the towel in my hand and thought, clearly, this was never about dinner, and then I put the towel down and told myself I was just being careful with the good pan.