Halloween had always been my favorite holiday.
When Nash came home carrying costume bags, I thought he’d finally planned something for us.
“Are we going to a party?” I asked.
“Sort of.”
I thought he’d finally planned something for us.
From one bag, he pulled a black cape with red satin lining, a ruffled shirt, and plastic fangs.
“Very subtle,” I said.
He admired himself in the mirror. “Wait until you see yours.”
He pulled a black cape with red satin lining.
The second bag held the maid costume.
I lifted the tiny lace cap. “You’re serious?”
“Relax, Gloria. It’s funny.”
“For whom?”
The second bag held the maid costume.
He ignored the question while fastening his cape.
Then, as casually as if he were mentioning the weather, he said, “I invited fifteen friends over tomorrow. Seven o’clock.”
I lowered the costume.
“You invited fifteen people without asking me?”
“I invited fifteen friends over tomorrow.”
“It’s Halloween. You love Halloween.”
“I love pumpkins, Nash. That doesn’t mean I want to feed a small marching band.”
He chuckled. “You’ll cook, clean, and try not to embarrass me for once.”
“It’s Halloween.”
I waited for the grin that would tell me he’d gone too far and knew it.
It never came.
He was adjusting his vampire collar.
“Don’t make a scene,” he added. “It’s one night.”
One night.
“Don’t make a scene.”
He said it as though the other nights didn’t count.
The dinners I planned, the dishes I washed, the laundry I folded, and the guests I served had apparently happened by magic.
***
Nash hadn’t always been like that.
He said it as though the other nights didn’t count.
The first time he cooked for me, he burned the garlic bread, dropped a spoon into the lasagna sauce, and set off the smoke alarm.
We laughed until we couldn’t stand up straight.
Then he washed every pan while I dried.
He cooked for me.
Nine years into our marriage, he could step around a full trash bag three times and still ask why I hadn’t taken it outside.
The change hadn’t happened in one dramatic moment.
At first, he worked late and I handled dinner.
The change hadn’t happened in one dramatic moment.
Then I started handling the grocery list because I “knew the brands.”
When his friends visited, I cooked because I was “better at it.”
Every excuse sounded reasonable by itself.
I started handling the grocery list.
Together, they had turned our marriage into a house where one person rested and the other made rest possible.
Once, after a barbecue, I’d asked him to help stack the chairs.
“You care more about where things go,” he’d said, handing me his empty glass.
One person rested and the other made rest possible.
That sentence had stayed with me.
Nash treated my competence like a punishment. If I did something well, it became mine forever.
I still loved him.
That sentence had stayed with me.
I simply no longer recognized the man standing beside the mirror.
***
I folded the maid costume neatly.
“Fine.”
Nash blinked. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
I folded the maid costume neatly.
“I knew you’d come around, Gloria darling.”
He disappeared into his office, already texting his friends.
I waited until the door closed, then called Denise, a local caterer I’d met while organizing a neighborhood dinner.
“I knew you’d come around.”
She answered on the third ring.
“Please tell me this is a Halloween emergency.”
“Seventeen people. Tomorrow at seven. Can you do your self-service buffet?”
She named the price. Our household entertainment budget covered it.
She answered on the third ring.
“Who will be your onsite host?” she asked.
I looked at Nash’s cape hanging from the mirror.
“My husband. Make sure his name is on everything.”
“Anything else?”
“Wear the witch hat.”
“Who will be your onsite host?”
Denise laughed. “Now I’m curious.”
***
The next morning, Nash wandered into the kitchen while I was drinking coffee.
“What’s for dinner tonight?”
“It’s arranged.”
“Now I’m curious.”
“Great. Ben can’t eat mushrooms, and make sure there’s enough ice. The bathroom needs cleaning too.”
I looked over my mug. “Then you’d better get started.”
He laughed as if I’d made a joke, took his coffee, and went upstairs.
“The bathroom needs cleaning too.”
Ten minutes later, he called down that the front steps needed sweeping.
After that came a reminder to chill the cider, hide the mail, and make room in the coat closet.
I wrote each request on a small orange notepad shaped like a pumpkin.
He called down that the front steps needed sweeping.
When Nash passed through again, he tapped the page approvingly. “See? This is why you’re the organized one.”
He never noticed that I’d written his name across the top.
I tore off the sheet and tucked it into my apron pocket for later.
“This is why you’re the organized one.”
I replaced the bathroom towels and wiped the sink because I wanted our guests to feel welcome.
I decorated the table with black napkins and tiny pumpkins.
Then I stopped.
I wasn’t spending the day cooking for a party I hadn’t agreed to host.
I replaced the bathroom towels.
***
At 6:30, Nash came downstairs in full vampire costume.
He’d slicked back his hair and painted dark circles beneath his eyes.
“Well?” he asked.
“You look like you haven’t paid the electricity bill in two hundred years.”
Nash came downstairs in full vampire costume.
He frowned. “I’m supposed to be terrifying.”
“Oh, you are!”
I changed upstairs. Beneath the maid costume, I wore a simple black dress patterned with tiny orange bats.
I tied the apron loosely so I could remove it quickly.
“I’m supposed to be terrifying.”
By 7:00, the house was crowded with skeletons, witches, a cowboy, a pirate, and one woman wearing a pumpkin hat wider than her shoulders.
Nash accepted compliments on the decorations.
“Looks great,” Ben said.
The house was crowded.
“Thanks. We worked hard.”
We.
Nash had moved one pumpkin six inches to the left.
Now, with everyone waiting at the table, I walked to the front door and opened it.
“We worked hard.”
Denise stood there in a pointed witch hat. Two assistants waited behind her with insulated containers.
She checked her clipboard.
“Mr. Nash?”
He appeared behind me. “That’s me.”
Denise stood there in a pointed witch hat.
“Wonderful. You’re listed as tonight’s onsite host. Where would you like us to arrange your buffet?”
Nash looked at me.
I stepped aside. “Your party, Count Chorecula.”
Ben made a choking sound behind us.
“Count what?” Nash asked.
“Your party, Count Chorecula.”
Denise patiently lifted her clipboard. “The buffet, sir?”
“Gloria can show you.”
“The dining room is through there,” I said. “Nash will show you where everything belongs.”
His cape caught on a chair as he turned.
“Gloria can show you.”
Within minutes, the table held roasted chicken, pasta, salads, rolls, and a chocolate cake covered with candy ghosts.
Denise showed Nash the warming trays, food labels, extra napkins, and serving utensils.
Then she handed him the delivery sheet.
“Your guests can serve themselves. The host handles anything else. Happy Halloween!”
She handed him the delivery sheet.
When Denise left, Nash pointed toward the food.
“All right, Gloria. Start serving.”
I reached behind my waist and untied the apron.
The lace cap came off next.
“All right, Gloria. Start serving.”
I folded both pieces and hung them over the back of his chair, revealing the bat-covered dress underneath.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Having dinner.”
“Who’s going to serve?”
“It’s a buffet.”
“What are you doing?”
I faced our guests. “Please help yourselves.”
Nobody moved until Ben grabbed a plate.
“Pirates respect a good buffet.”
The others followed, and conversation slowly returned.
“Please help yourselves.”
Nash discovered quickly that being the host involved more than occupying the largest chair.
The warming tray nearest him went dark, and Denise’s instructions were clipped beneath the delivery sheet.
He read them twice before finding the switch.
Being the host involved more than occupying the largest chair.
Then the cider pitcher emptied.
“Gloria, can you refill this?” he asked.
I retrieved the pumpkin-shaped list from the apron hanging over his chair and handed it to him.
“You made a very helpful checklist.”
“Gloria, can you refill this?”
He read his own name at the top. Ben leaned over his shoulder.
“Sweep steps, chill cider, clear coats. Busy night, Count.”
Nash folded the paper and pushed it into his cape pocket. His ears had turned red, but he carried the pitcher to the kitchen.
He read his own name at the top.
The party simply continued while Nash did the work he’d assumed would disappear into my hands.
***
He caught my elbow before I reached the food.
I looked down at his hand.
He let go.
“Kitchen. Now.”
Nash did the work he’d assumed would disappear into my hands.
I followed him far enough that our guests couldn’t hear us clearly.
“You’re embarrassing me,” he said.
“You dressed your wife as a maid and announced it to fifteen people. You managed that part yourself.”
“It was a joke.”
“You’re embarrassing me.”
“Then explain why I’m not laughing.”
Someone called from the dining room. “Nash, where are the extra napkins?”
He looked at me automatically.
“Second drawer beside the stove,” I said. “You live here too.”
“Then explain why I’m not laughing.”
He hurried away, cape billowing behind him.
For the first time in years, I sat down while guests were still eating.
I had chicken, pasta, and a slice of cake.
I spoke to a guest about the paper bats for ten uninterrupted minutes.
I sat down while guests were still eating.
Across the room, Nash opened three drawers before Ben showed him the serving spoons.
Later, I heard them talking in the kitchen.
“She’s making me look ridiculous,” Nash muttered.
Ben glanced toward the dining room. “I thought the maid costume was something you planned together.”
“She’s making me look ridiculous.”
“It was a joke, man.”
Ben looked at the abandoned apron. “Why was she the only one expected to work?”
Nash had no answer.
I stepped away before they saw me. For once, someone else had asked the question.
“It was a joke, man.”
***
When trick-or-treaters rang the bell, Nash looked toward me. I remained in my chair.
He answered it himself.
A boy dressed as a ghost held up his bucket. “Are you a real vampire?”
Nash adjusted his collar. “Only on weekends.”
He answered it himself.
The boy giggled. Nash gave him two pieces of candy.
When he came inside, he picked up an empty plate and carried it to the kitchen without being asked.
I noticed, but I said nothing.
Nash gave him two pieces of candy.
The last guests left shortly after midnight. Ben carried empty trays to the kitchen before putting on his pirate hat.
“Great party, Gloria.”
Then he looked at Nash. “Good luck, Count Chorecula.”
The door closed behind him.
The last guests left shortly after midnight.
***
Cups covered the coffee table. Crumbs surrounded the dining chairs. Plates leaned beside the sink.
Nash stood amid the wreckage, his cape dragging through candy corn.
I removed my shoes. “Good night.”
“You’re going to bed?”
“Yes.”
Nash stood amid the wreckage.
“What about… this?”
I looked around. “You invited them.”
He looked at the apron hanging over his chair, then quietly picked up the plates.
Upstairs, I changed into pajamas. Soon I heard the dishwasher, then a crash.
“You invited them.”
“I’m fine!” Nash shouted before I could ask.
A moment later, he called, “Where are the trash bags?”
“Under the sink.”
I lay in bed listening to the broom scrape across the floor.
“Where are the trash bags?”
Part of me wanted to go downstairs.
Helping him was an old reflex.
I pulled the blanket over my shoulders instead.
***
The next morning, the kitchen was mostly clean.
Helping him was an old reflex.
Nash stood beside the dishwasher with his cape folded over one arm and my maid costume over the other.
“I didn’t realize how much work that was,” he said.
“I know.”
Nash stood beside the dishwasher.
He placed the costumes on the counter.
“I’m sorry. For what I said, for the costume, and for expecting you to do everything.”
“One apology won’t fix nine years.”
“I know that too.”
“I’m sorry.”
We spent breakfast making a chore schedule and agreeing that neither of us would invite guests without asking the other.
I didn’t ask for grand promises.
I asked for Tuesdays and Thursdays at the sink, trash before it overflowed, and one meal each weekend that I didn’t plan.
I didn’t ask for grand promises.
Nash wrote everything down on the back of the pumpkin note.
This time, he didn’t put my name at the top.
He did not transform overnight.
He forgot the trash once the next day.
This time, he didn’t put my name at the top.
The difference was that he noticed before I reminded him.
***
Three days later, I came home to the smell of tomato sauce.
Nash stood at the stove wearing the maid apron over his shirt. The lace cap sat crookedly on his head.
He noticed before I reminded him.
Two places were set at the table.
“What’s all this?” I asked.
“Dinner. And before you say anything, the costume was my idea this time.”
I tasted the sauce.
“Needs salt, Count Chorecula.”
Two places were set at the table.
He reached for the shaker. “Anything else?”
“Yes.”
I sat down and unfolded my napkin.
“Bring me a plate.”
He smiled and carried dinner to the table.
“Bring me a plate.”
