"WHO TAUGHT YOU HOW TO WASH DISHES?" Emir's voice boomed from the kitchen.
We had barely taken the "Just Married" sign off the back of his rusty blue Sentra, and I was sitting on the black futon in the living room of our West Hollywood apartment, job- hunting online while a "Golden Girls" rerun played in the background. A golf ball-size lump rose in my throat. In the kitchen, Emir stood over the sink, putting the dish rack's contents back in and drenching the dishes in green liquid soap.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
He handed me the offending plate. A faint trace of Parmesan clung to the edge. I scratched it away. Sponge poised, he reached for another dish. Full Read
We had barely taken the "Just Married" sign off the back of his rusty blue Sentra, and I was sitting on the black futon in the living room of our West Hollywood apartment, job- hunting online while a "Golden Girls" rerun played in the background. A golf ball-size lump rose in my throat. In the kitchen, Emir stood over the sink, putting the dish rack's contents back in and drenching the dishes in green liquid soap.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
He handed me the offending plate. A faint trace of Parmesan clung to the edge. I scratched it away. Sponge poised, he reached for another dish. Full Read
No comments:
Post a Comment