plucking

by KJ Hannah Greenberg

Lucia made great efforts to maintain her build so that no one would suspect that she was wasting away. Whenever she expectorated dreams, she lost kilos.

Her husband, Hortensius, was oblivious to her suffering because he was focused creating a salsa so magnificent that the world would beg to buy it and then beg to lease franchises from him that offered his recipe. Similarly, Hortensius had long fancied displaying his Mestizo as he yearned for tributes and money. Trouble was, that dog was a mutt, not a purebred; she had been rescued her from a clutch of similarly starving street puppies.

Per Hortensius’ salsa ambitions, the minute square of dirt that he tilled, where the family’s patio had once laid, sprouted tomatoes and chilies only when he threatened those vegetables that he’d restore the cement. The nightshades were not to blame; Hortensius often forget to water or fertilize his garden. Additionally, he paid more attention to the lone tomatillo plant that grew on their kitchen windowsill than to the would-be bounty spreading untidily outdoors.

Lucia’s sons, Xavier and Diago, never mentioned her weight loss. After all, they visited with increased infrequency. On balance, those boys, their wives, and their children lived abroad. Xavier was a software architect employed by NEC in Tokyo. Diago was a forest ranger working for Parks Canada (he and his wife had a commuter marriage since she insisted that their children not grow up in Nunavut.)

Lucia’s daughters, Maya and Azura, lived in the same country as their parents, but had become redirected. Their focus had shifted from familial concerns to corporate ones. They, too, rarely visited.

Thus, whenever Hortensius experimented with saladette, bola, and cherry tomatoes while singing the merits of Romas, Lucia surreptitiously lifted the free weights hidden under her and Hortensius’ bed. Only the dust bunnies knew her secret. Given her life’s parameters, her muscle retention required extraordinary efforts.

That “simplicity” evaporated after Hortensius received a certain SMS from Maya who wanted her parents to babysit her tykes so that she could attend a conference. Hortensius had answered in the affirmative, believing that a week or two of hosting grandchildren wouldn’t e burdensome. Upon replying, he returned to pondering how his cur could win a dog show.

Yet, it was Lucia who answered the door when Maya rang, ushered in three grimy children, kissed her mother on the cheek and then left. Hortensius had entirely forgotten to tell his wife that they’d be hosting grandchildren for a fortnight.

By the time that Hortensius had wandered over to their bathroom, where Lucia was scrubbing down their three, young grandsons, he realized his slipup. He softly backed away to their kitchen, where he poured himself a cola. He failed to ask Lucia if she wanted one.

After dinner and bedtime rituals were completed and the wee boys were asleep in the guestroom, Lucia confronted him. Her man had returned to their cookery to squeeze limes as part of his never ending quest for expertly assembled salsa. He next intended to zest the rinds.

Lucia said nothing about the order in which her spouse was utilizing the fruit. She found her mouth, however, when it came to their visitors.

Hortensius was everything but accountable. First, he minimalized, claiming that two weeks was much shorter than the summer months most abuelas entertain offsprings’ offspring. Next, he rationalized, expousing how much Lucia had wanted time with their descendants. Finally, he transferred guilt, saying he knew that he had been forgetful but that his mistake was nothing relative to Lucia’s neglecting to enter their dog in a forthcoming conformation.

Lucia fled to their bedroom. Hortensius didn’t follow. He had the sense to know that hurt spouses ought to be given space.

Behind their bedroom door, Lucia involved herself in multiple sets of many reps of various exercises. She didn’t care that her grandchildren’s existence evidenced her longevity. Rather, she focused on how her workouts helped her retain weight and assuage fury.

The next morning, when three small heads were bent toward their oatmeal (for literal generations, her home had not offered sugary breakfasts), she glared at her husband. It was enough that they had bought a second freezer to contain Hortensius’ “nearly there” salsa batches. It was enough that her spouse, monthly, spent more on dog groomers than Lucia spent annually on beauticians. It was enough that Hortensius had retired to focus, not on their marriage, but on combinations of chopped onions and tomatoes. It was too much, however, that he had invited the little ones for a two week stay without consulting her.

A kindly neighbor who had young ones took Lucia and Hortensius’ grandchildren with her to the local pool. Hortensius played with various dices of jalapeños. Lucia jogged around the neighborhood three times. Because her quadriceps and hamstrings stung, she smiled during her entire shower. She thought about how her gastrocnemius and soleus muscles, too, were enlarging.

Fully refreshed, Lucia turned on her computer and searched for possibilities offered in their neighborhood. Perhaps, new concerns would restore her vigor.

Days later, dressed in a uniform, she kissed the top of her spouse’s head. Seeing as Hortensius was preoccupied with clipping their dog’s toenails, he said nothing. As Lucia opened the door, she reminded him to make sure their grandsons used sunscreen.

The senior center where she had begun to volunteer was a delight. Sure, it smelled of urine, weak soup, and nonenal odor, but it was a place where she was seen. Señora Molina always asked about Lucia’s health and Abuelo Blanco insisted that Lucia listen to his jokes whenever she walked past him.

Over time, Lucia stopped losing weight. She found the strength to encourage Hortensius to incorporate red onions into his salsa. She, likewise, began taking weekly turns grooming their dog.

Neither Maya nor her other siblings asked, again, for free babysitting. That was okay. Lucia and Hortensius had become content respectively, with senescent and flea collars.

Photo of KJ Hannah Greenberg

BIO: KJ Hannah Greenberg's collections of brief fiction are: An Orbit of Chairs (Seashell Books, 2024), Eternal not Ephemeral (Seashell Books, 2023), Demurral (Bards & Sages Publishing, 2020), Walnut Street (Bards & Sages Publishing, 2019), Concatenation, omnibus (Bards & Sages Publishing, 2018), Can I be Rare, Too? (Bards & Sages Publishing, 2017), Friends and Rabid Hedgehogs (Bards & Sages Publishing, 2016), Cryptids (Bards & Sages Publishing, 2015), The Immediacy of Emotional Kerfuffles, 2nd ed. (Bards and Sages Publishing, 2015), and Don’t Pet the Sweaty Things, 2nd ed. (Bards and Sages Publishing, 2014).