From the Improvement Era, February 1938 –

Anniversary Dinner – A Short Short Story

By Lola Diaz

Their honeymoon had been spent in New Orleans. Memories of that enchanted month hovered around Elsie tonight as she peeked into the oven; beat eggs to a golden froth in preparation of this, their first anniversary dinner.

It was like pictures in her mind: Steve opposite her at a window table, flowers between them. Madame Barbier, genial owner of the family hotel, was herself bringing their dessert, a pineapple souffle.

“So you will not quite forget us, little bride, here is the recipe for this souffle.”

“Your favorite dessert, Steve. We’ll have it often. But no. Better keep it for a great occasion — our first anniversary dinner!”

“Okey, honey. She’s full of whimsies, Madame, but I like ’em.”

“It will bring back so much, Steve!”

They had youth, yes, but not always was youth beautiful and gay. Elsie shook her curly head. Hadn’t the past year brought unexpected family burdens? Hadn’t Steve feared for his job? She looked back to dejected homecomings from the office; to brooding silences — irritation, even — instead of the lively chatter that was their right. Elsie had tried to tune her moods to Steve’s. It hadn’t been all gloom, of course, but there had been too much of it.

Tonight, she would forget all dreariness! Tonight, a new mood would be theirs. She’d say, bringing in their dessert: “Remember, Steve, a year ago — ” The magic would work. Gay days, gay plans recaptured, even for one evening,
would offset the stern reality of the past months; would make them forget the drabness and frets that might, in time, weaken a man’s love —

His key in the lock! Elsie dashed out, her smock revealing a blue chiffon dress. This was to be a dress-up affair.

Steve was hugging a green parcel. Oh, happy day that brought that light into his brown eyes! He looked younger; less driven than usual.

“I’ve two surprises for you, El.” She’d arranged they should offer their gifts at dessert. A tiepin waited for Steve in the living room.

“O-o! Your things are all set out, dear. Dinner’ll be ready when you are. Got our tickets?” They were to hear a famous visiting singer.

Contrite silence, then: “I could kick myself. We’ve been so rushed, all day. I’ll phone.” But the hall was sold out.

“Never mind, dear. We’ll go somewhere else,” Elsie said, noting the tired lines around his mouth.

During dinner, she talked gaily. Steve, festive with the daffodil she’d pinned on his gray suit, praised the lace and flower-decked table. “And what a cook!”

Now, he was laughingly reaching for the green package. Elsie darted into the kitchen; to the stove. Had she turned it too high? No! Froting deliciously in its pyrex dish, the souffle promised a rare treat.

An embroidered cloth around the dish, an impatient foot at the swinging door, Elsie’s breath came short. Childish? Of course, but enchanting!

At last, the dramatic moment. “Steve, this souffle — New Orleans — Our table by the window.” Not what she’d intended to say, but enough to quicken memory.

“Sure. That dessert looks wonderful, honey, but — ” Steve grinned sheepishly, “I’d rather wind up with crackers and cheese, if you don’t mind.”

Elsie set down the dish — heavily. Her cheeks burned. Her throat felt dry. She had not expected that Steve would remember off-hand their amusing pact. But neither had she looked for this complete blankness. For a memory wiped so clean that not a ripple, not a stir of emotion answered her direct reminder. Suddenly she saw Steve in a new light. He was not the young husband she had frolicked with in New Orleans, this self-centered young man who had let worry crowd out days of laughter and beauty. Life would go on as usual outwardly, but in Elsie’s heart there would be a withdrawal. She couldn’t help it.

Silently she set crackers and cheese before Steve.

“No dessert, Elsie?”

“It’s spoilt. See?”

She took the flattened souffle into the kitchen; dumped it into the sink.

Now, the gifts. Elsie brought Steve’s pin; exclaimed over the suede and silver handbag he’d brought her. She dutifully returned his kiss. But everything was flat. Flat!

“Don’t go, El.” Steve’s arm was around her. “Behold Steve Merritt, head accountant of our firm! Mr. Holt was grand. Said I’d made good during a hard year — ”

“You did. You deserve promotion.”

He laughed none too steadily. “I deserve it, you say? How long would I have lasted without you to bolster me up? To put heart into me when I felt like flopping? And I so often bearish — ”

“Why, Steve!”

“If I could tell you!” He held her closer. “It’s meant everything, coming home to you. Talking things over. Resting when I was played out, instead of being dragged to parties like some of the fellows. We’d planned it all so different! I wanted the best for you; that made it harder.”

“So long as we have each other — ”

“If anyone had told me when we married that I could love you more — but I do. It goes deeper, somehow. Oh, gosh! A fellow can’t explain these things.”

“I understand,” Elsie said.

Her eyes had been fixed on bubbles, childishly blind to their impermanence. All the time, Steve and she had been handling the threads of life, soft and harsh, dark and bright-tinted, together weaving them into durable beauty. She was no longer Steve’s pampered bride. She was his helpmate — his wife!

Later, they carried dishes into the kitchen, before setting out.

“Too bad,” Steve said, nodding toward the sink. “That dessert looked top-notch.”

Elsie slipped her hand into his. “It was good. But I can give you something better.”