One Night With Lilith by Martin Golan

Author:Martin Golan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fiction, novel, literary fiction
Publisher: Adelaide Books Publishers

“I don’t care what you say,” Rob said, pushing open the newly stripped front door. “It was definitely a success. Everyone was there. Everybody.”

“Maybe,” she said. “Then again, maybe not.”

Instantly she smelled candles, and on an island in the kitchen a hodgepodge of gooey bowls surrounded a crushed container leaking ice cream. They could eat her out of house and home, and she loved every messy minute of it (though it did seem at times that all she did was clean up after the males she lived with). The boys had gone home, the quiet in the house informed her, confirmed by the light in Marco’s room she’d seen from the driveway.

Rob, oblivious to smells as usual, held a hand chivalrously on her hip to guide her over the threshold. Whenever she was dressed up he was more attentive, coming around to open the car door, taking her arm along Bloomfield Avenue as her heels clattered down the street and the car chirped and winked its lights in greeting (Rob was devoted to his car’s remote control, often relocking it so he could make it chirp and wink again). That, and every other little thing he’d done since they left the gallery, got on her nerves and she gave in to the anger. It had been trying to break out since he chirped open the car door a second time.

She said nothing about the smell. They couldn’t seem to stop their son from lighting his beloved candles – it gave him such pleasure – and it seemed natural for her to be the one to keep the family secrets.

She kicked off her shoes; her feet were killing her. As each shoe landed, it wobbled for a second before tipping, as if the shoes themselves were also exhausted. She knew Rob would expect to cap off a night like this with sex, so she said, “I need to go check on Marco. And clean up that incredible mess in the kitchen.”

Rob, who hadn’t noticed the mess, said, “Why not just leave it for Zyta?”

“We won’t see her for two days, and I hate waking up to it. It’s dripping all over!”

“I have to make that call anyway,” he said. He needed to call a factory in China – or was it Singapore? It was already morning there, or afternoon, she always got mixed up. If he got tied up on the phone, maybe she’d get lucky.

She put on yellow plastic gloves and sponged the counter, rinsed the dishes, and stacked them in the dishwasher (Zyta could finish the job) and flattened the dripping ice cream container in the trash. She liked that the chocolate fudge had been full before this latest onslaught, and she walked upstairs in her aching feet to Marco’s room. They had built it as an extension on the second floor, a separate section far from their bedroom. Amy had insisted it be nowhere near his parents’ room. She found Marco on his computer, which he had recently turned so the monitor was out of view.

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