Bait and Switch

            He went to the store for zucchini, and came back with cucumbers.

            “What will I do with this?” I said and brandished one so he could see clearly that it was a cucumber, not zucchini.

            He shrugged.  “I’m just the errand boy,” he said. “You didn’t tell me your plan.”  And then he was out of the kitchen and down the hall before I could sling the cucumber at him.

            “I’m not making salad,” I yelled. “Or pickles. I’m cooking zucchini, the way you like it, with cheese and tomatoes, a little onion, sea salt. Zucchini!”

            “Great!” he hollered from the living room.

            “I can’t with a damn cucumber,” I shouted, but by the time I got there to ram the cucumber down his throat—more satisfying than hurling it across the room, he had left. Fled. Was in the driveway, backing out the car.

            He cracked the window when he saw me on the porch, arm raised, cucumber threatening. “Need anything at the store?” he said. “It’s on my way.”

            Pause. Long pause. Couldn’t think of what to say.

            “Maybe a zucchini or two?” he said.

            I nodded, defeated. “Better get three,” I said. “Sometimes they’re small.”

© 2024 Kathleen Coskran