The shiny oven glared then winked. A sham. “I know you’re electric,” Jared mouthed.
The children seldom phoned. They professed to love him but when obliged to visit, they felt … “confined”, silence the prominent Christmas decoration.
“Middle-class cliché, her begrudged show of family contentment,” Deborah had whispered as her mother removed the soup plates, having stacked them neatly, four spoons on top.
Jared pondered despairingly why he had tarried with a woman whose favourite phrase was, “I’m never one to complain, but…”