by Haley Morgan McKinnon
my partner makes me my favorite meal and eats plain noodles by the handful as he goes
he tells me
if you ever bring a glass cutting board into my house I will break up with you
but he uses it anyway and as he chops garlic into fineness he is focused and he makes
the same face as when he is focused on the strings of his guitar or on making me cum
it’s just a little twitch in his mouth as he tries to navigate
delicate things with a body not made delicately
he does this subconsciously but it is so familiar and when he sees me watching him he smiles
he loses his focus
my partner makes me my favorite meal and every time it is better
he used to make shrimp scampi to impress girls and when I told him I hate shrimp I think he
knew there was nothing usual about this love
he has never said he loves me louder than this recipe
and it will never be more true than the night two winters ago we ate candlelit in secret
he was allowed to cook for me before he was allowed to say the words out loud
my partner is high and sits across from me as we share a double batch of 99¢ ramen
out of a mixing bowl
it is 3am and we have just gone to a sex club for the first time
and he looks at me in my naked chest and lobster pajama pants and says,
you’re so weird and no one knows it
and that is a lot coming from someone who, when high, will sit under the kitchen table
inhaling tortillas like they’re oxygen
who once ate a convenience store in the time in took to walk two blocks
no mammal
on this planet
eats as much
as Brennan does
when he’s high
my partner teaches me the right way to make scrambled eggs and never burns them in the bottom
of the pan and when there’s miles and miles and more miles between us I try to do everything
right and I close my eyes and they taste almost the same but I get tired of being reminded so
mercilessly by breakfast food that I am alone and I get tired of having to scrub off my mistakes
so I stop eating eggs altogether
my partner eats enough Domino’s pizza to single-handedly keep them in business but he eats it
the wrong way because he orders light sauce and extra cheese and that’s it which basically means
it’s not really pizza anymore, it’s cheese and bread and if you wanted cheese and bread why
did you order pizza, you can do one or the other but not both, please
don’t make me eat it like this anymore
can we compromise
that’s what love is, right
I wonder if, when we finally leave our first-love-house, the delivery girl will question where
we’ve gone
and while we’re at it let’s talk about how my partner puts leftover alfredo pasta in gallon-size
ziplock bags and man if I didn’t already think alfredo pasta was gross before look at it now
if brains were white and made of tortellini this is what they would be like and that
is not appetizing
this plastic bag of squelchy mush is what makes me want to stop eating and yet I know
the first time that I open the fridge and find pasta that doesn’t ooze in its place
and is instead stacked neatly or close to neatly in normal-people containers I know
I will be a little bit sad
and I will hate myself for it
because despite my disgust there is something so endearing about his total disregard
for standards
and I will not want him to change
and I will not want him to censor any of the Brennan-ness that made me fall in love with him
because all my life I have tried to mold my partners to fit an ideal
but I am not an artist and my sculptures turn out lopsided, falling apart at the joints
and I have discarded every failed project
my love, you can bag all your leftovers if it means we can share a fridge
my love, you can order pizza however you want if it means we can share it on the couch
my love, you can make me eggs every morning if it means I get to wake up next to you
my love, you can put too much honey in my tea when I’m sick if it means you’ll always be there my partner makes my favorite meal and I have stopped ordering it at restaurants
my partner makes my favorite meal and tells me he will never make it for another girl
my partner makes my favorite meal and we toast with wine that doesn’t compliment the dish but
reminds us of each other
my partner makes my favorite meal and every inch of me is full
Haley Morgan McKinnon is an emerging poet based in Portland, OR. She holds a BA in Creative Writing from Pacific University, and works as an editor for Cascadia Rising Review. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in Seaglass Hearts from Stormy Island Publishing, The Almagre Review, and TROU Magazine. Follow her @haleymmckinnon.
(And make sure to read Haley’s poem in a Jacksonville hotel from the September 30, 2019 Weekly. – Elephants Never)