Plums
By: Ella Keenan
Thom’s heavy hand rapped on the oak door. Beside him, his wife, Lisa, stood with a bottle of red wine in clutch. The rain fell heartily as they crowded under the small awning waiting for Lisa’s sister to get her ass to the door. The hinges swung and the entry chandelier with its fake crystals bathed them all in light, making sharp shadows dance across Jane’s cheekbones as she welcomed her guests.
“Dear!” Lisa exclaimed.
Her fingers reached out for the jagged ends of Jane’s self-cut hair. The roots were fully grown and dark after months of growth but the ends remained a violent bombshell blonde.
“Hi! Come in, it’s getting cold out there.”
They kicked off their shoes and set them on the bottom step of the staircase, Lisa having to get Thom to untie hers because of her pregnant stomach. The entry opened into the dining room, and upon Jane’s request they came to view the feast. On the mahogany table lay a roast chicken as well as deep green beans and a bowl of steamed potatoes. The bird was browned and shiny on top, surrounded by a border of green cutlets. Jane watched as Lisa’s eyes wandered to the centerpiece: a bundle of wilted flowers in their stagnant water.
“Oh!”
Her frail hands snatched the dead flowers off the table, leaving behind a dried petal in the green beans.
“Sorry about that,” she laughed, “It’s been a busy day.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Lisa smiled, placing the bottle of red on the island.
“And Thomas,” she washed out the flower vase, “how has work been? You been taking care of my sister?”
Thom’s eyes wandered to Lisa and she pursed her lips as he lightly patted her pregnant belly.
“Yeah, we’ve been good. I’m taking some extra shifts now, and they’re letting me publish a bit of my own writing which is exciting.”
The cold water ran onto Jane’s hands coloring them a light shade of pinkish red. She stared into the eye of the drain for a moment before shaking her hands out and facing Thom.
“That’s wonderful. When you get it published, we’d love to have a copy to frame up in the study. I know Bill is very fond of your work.”
Thom frowned a bit but caught himself and touched on Lisa’s eyes before replying with a smile, “Uh, yes. He is.”
Jane set the vase on the drying rack and motioned for them to move back into the dining room for dinner. The table was an exposed body without its flowers, and she lit a bathroom candle in its place. The smell of sandalwood filled the dining room, mixing with the earthly
scents of poultry, starch, and vegetables. At the four-chair dining table that had been crammed with dishes, Jane pulled out the chair across from her, seemingly for no reason, and then slid into her seat. Thom offered up a seat for his very pregnant wife who sat down with a slight huff.
“So what’s the baby’s name?” Jane inquired while paring the chicken down the middle with a kitchen knife.
“Well, we don’t know if it’s a girl or boy yet,” Lisa murmured to herself.
Thom took a long glance around the dinner table.
“You know, if it’s a baby boy... I was thinking about Billy? You know, for Bill and all?”
Lisa inhaled her water and began to cough vigorously but nodded at his suggestion.
“That’s wonderful,” Jane giggled, “He’d be so flattered.”
The chicken lay in pieces like a crime scene around the waxy candle, its flame flickering cheaply. Jane gathered up the fallen hunks and plated each of her guests. First serving one piece for her own plate, then to Thom three pieces which he took with a grateful laugh, then Lisa who humbly requested two, and finally she placed a piece on the empty plate across from her.
Thom cast her a long look, “Is there someone else joining us?”
“Oh don’t be silly, it’s just Bill.”
Lisa looked like someone had punched her.
Thom let out a nervous laugh before stabbing a potato with the two-pronged fork.
“So Jane, what have you been up to recently?” he asked.
Jane took up a sparkling metal serving spoon Lisa had given to her a few months prior and stuck it into the soggy beans with a squelch. She dealt a congealed blob for herself, seemingly not noticing the dead flower petal that snuck in, and then placed a spoonful on Bill’s
plate.
Lisa stared at Thom, but he didn’t meet her eyes and waited for Jane’s answer.
“Well I haven’t done anything exciting. I made dinner while watching a rerun of Days of Our Lives. I cleaned the dining room and set the table.”
“Did you not go to work today?” Lisa asked, fingering an overcooked potato.
“Not every day has to be a work day. I know you love work more than life itself, don’t you?”
“I was only asking.”
Jane grabbed the chicken by its glassy green platter before pulling off a leg for herself, “Does anyone want more?” She held it out over the table, extended to each consumer, “Anyone? Bill?”
The plate hovered over the table in Bill’s direction, “Fine, be that way,” she laughed.
Outside the sun was setting into the earth and the clouds faded away from the heavens. Dogs barked in the distance and the air hummed with electricity. An uneasy silence fell over the dinner table as the light dimmed until the bathroom candle was the main source. Jane did not
offer to turn on the chandelier that she’d switched off upon their entry. Lisa adjusted her tightly buttoned shirt. It was purple and one of her favorites, but her belly had almost stretched too far to fit it. It was one of Thom’s favorites when they picked it out in the store. It was one of Bill’s
favorites too.
Suddenly Lisa clutched her stomach.
“Where is your bathroom again? I feel a bit of morning sickness.”
“Down the far hall,” Jane pointed.
Hustling down the hall, she closed the door and they heard retching noises. In the mucky glow of the bathroom, Lisa wiped her mouth on her sleeve. Crouched on the floor, she noticed that Jane had decorated fully in pinks and golds which Bill must have hated. Even the toilet had a fluffy pink seat on it, which she’d noticed mid-vomit. She almost snickered imagining Jane vacuuming it. Stepping in front of the mirror she stared at the mass her body had become.
The baby was growing more and more every day. According to her doctor, the fetus would start developing taste buds and eyelashes at the start of the sixth month. Occasionally, the little creature jabbed her in the middle of the night with its wild limbs in utero. And Thom kept asking and wondering aloud, “Is it going to look like me? Or is the baby going to be a girl and look like you? Or maybe a mix?” But she knew.
The countertop, sprinkled with flakes of gold and silver amongst the granite, was covered in pill bottles. Some empty and some full. The little orange tubes monopolized on one side of the sink where Jane’s toothbrush lay. On the other side, Bill’s aftershave sat recently unused. Her
curiosity got the best of her and Lisa lifted the bottle to her nose, inhaling the scent of peppermint spice and spring. Immediately, tears rushed to her eyes and she was sobbing over the sink, with grief and guilt that Thom could never know about. He couldn’t understand that when
she felt sick, it wasn’t just pregnancy hormones. Even more, she didn’t want him to understand.
Thom was a good man and he’d be a good father when the time came. She had been ex-Catholic for ten years but knelt on the pink shag and prayed for the baby to be a girl. Thom and Jane ate silently in the dining room. Thom watched wordlessly as she ate her beans without looking, accidentally eating the flower petal. A fly landed on Bill’s plate and Thom took a gulp of water to balance out the dryness of the chicken before shooing it away with his palm.
“Maybe I should go check on Lisa.”
“No, I’m sure she’s alright. Most women don’t get too upset about morning sickness this far along in pregnancy,” Jane replied.
Thom was about to mention that Jane had never been pregnant so what would she know, but at that moment, the bathroom door opened and Lisa emerged. She walked back to the table with her sleeves rolled up and took a seat.
“Are you feeling alright honey?” Thom asked.
“Yeah, just felt a little queasy for a minute. I should be okay now.”
Her eyes were red and her lips were pale, but no one pressed her further.
Lisa looked at her sister diagonally across the table, “The cut on your forehead is looking a lot better than the last time I saw you. It’s much less red.”
“Oh.” For a moment Jane looked like she might cry but then her eyes cleared and her mouth turned up, “Would you like more water?”
She poured everyone a glass without waiting for a response. The pitcher was filled with lemon water and small bits of pulp floated in the dinner glasses like sperm in the womb. The light had disappeared outside and yet all the curtains remained open. Backyard trees
loomed over the townhouse and the front yard was lit by the glow of the dining room bay window.
“I forgot to tell you but I made dessert also!” Jane grinned.
“What is it?”
“Oh it's a beautiful plum cake. You remember how Grandma used to make it in the fall when we were kids? Hers always had raisins in it, but I hate raisins so I make it with chopped plums. I could give you the recipe if you want.”
“Oh no, that’s okay. I have most of Grandma’s recipe cards, so I’ll let you keep the cake,” Lisa said.
Jane hummed to herself and turned to Bill, “Besides, plum cake is your favorite, so I’ll always make it.”
Thom chuckled nervously, “So it’s waiting for us in the kitchen then?”
“Actually it’s on the back porch so it would cool faster, but if you’re so anxious then I’ll go bring it out. Why don’t you and Lisa fetch that bottle of wine?”
“Yes, sounds divine.”
Lisa kicked Thom under the table, and as soon as Jane stood up, they both departed for the kitchen.
They waited until Jane had exited and shut the french doors leading to the porch. The kitchen was dark except for the soft glow of a moon shaped nightlight by the sink. Thom grabbed the bottle of wine off the island and Lisa grabbed his arm.
“Are you okay, like really?” he whispered.
“She’s fucking talking to him, Thom,” her fingernails dug lightly into his arm.
“Yeah, yeah I know. We need to do something. Call someone.”
“I love you, I’m sorry, and I love you.”
“What do you mean? I love you too.”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter now. I just love you and I want to go home.”
“Your sister’s gonna be back in a second. She’ll be upset if we just leave. It’s only dessert, it can’t be over an hour, okay?”
“Okay, okay, I guess you’re right.”
Thom bent and lightly kissed Lisa’s lips before they heard the doors reopen. They took their seats right as Jane placed an ample plum cake to the right of the mangled chicken. It had cooled considerably from its wait on the porch but was still warm on the inside. She took a fresh chef’s knife from the block in the kitchen and began to cut large gashes into the cake, slicing the plums in half and the cake into eighths.
The plums were fresh wounds bleeding onto the white china that Jane and Bill had received for their wedding nearly six years ago. The blood, dark, purple and warm, coagulated beside the brown cake and was reabsorbed. Jane delved out the oversized portions and piled Bill’s next to his green beans. Thom popped the cork on the bottle and let the wine flow sour and red into the glasses. Lisa wasn’t drinking for obvious reasons, but they had had an extra bottle in the house that she knew was her sister’s favorite. He poured Jane a generous glass, being the host, and reluctantly poured Bill a glass too. He allowed himself just enough to taste the sharp tang of the bottle as he would have to drive Lisa home, and her belly couldn’t fit behind the wheel. For a moment, Lisa considered having a glass herself, and had she been alone she might have done it. If there was ever a night for it, it was tonight.
The small talk had died down and they ate half the cake before they could eat no more. Jane wrapped its gory mess up in a layer of Saran Wrap for Thom and Lisa to take home, although neither had requested it. Farewells were given in dim lighting at the door and Lisa
carried her shoes by the laces to save the effort of putting them on. She whispered in Thom’s ear on the way down the front walk that she wanted to sleep in the backseat on the drive home and he kissed her head. She slid into the back as Thom walked around the side and watched through
the tinted window as her sister waved goodbye from the doorway, her half and half hair glowing in the white porch light. She touched her face, and her hand still smelled like his aftershave from the bathroom.
She prayed to God that the baby would look like Bill.
Shit.
She prayed again, the baby should look like Thom. She sniffed his aftershave on her thumb and stared at the bloody mass of plumcake in what would be the new baby’s seat and thought of the plum growing in her womb.
The car had come out of nowhere. It was a drunk driver, the police said. Jane was lucky to have survived and Bill was lucky not to have suffered. But she had loved him and Jane had loved him too.
And now all she had left was guilt and half a cake.