In the Evening

Juarez/In the Evening/1

In the EveningBy Megan Juarez

He heard the lock of the door shiver. The muscles in his body tensed as the locked

clicked.

The door was a dark burgundy. It didn’t exactly match the house but it added character, it

made it more distinct. Ken liked this uniqueness about their home because their house stood out

from the other track homes in their neighborhood. His wife, however, did not think the same

way. She said it made the house look ‘out of order.’ Plus, the peephole was located higher than

Ally’s eye level. She’d stand on her tippy toes to see who the figure outside was. They had

discussed painting the door many years before, but life pulled them away from their tedious

misgivings.

“Oh, just ignore this ugly step child of the house,” Ally would say in regards of the door

to their new guests. Nonetheless, the door served its purpose. Despite its color, it welcomed their

two children with a kind humbleness in its hinges. It welcomed their children’s children with that

same spirit and never failed anyone else who wanted to take advantage of the doors use.

The door violently shook as Ally pushed it open. “Dammit! I don’t know why that door

can’t open anymore.”

Ken knows why. How could he forget? It was two years ago when she changed the locks

on him. To this day, they still were never installed properly. The locks themselves were put on

upside down. It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t find another job. “For Christ sakes, I was laid off,”

he would always say. Ally had no sympathy for him when they took out another mortgage on

their home and the electricity was getting shut off. Her job of sorting through home loans in

manila folders did not match up to Ken’s old salary at the warehouse. Their savings had been


used up by this time, but Ken promised he’d try harder. Besides, Jacob’s wedding probably

wasn’t the right time for the kids to deal with this, so she let him come back.

“Keeping the couch warm I see,” Ally said to him, “must be burning hot from yesterday.”

Ken disregarded her comments like these and veered away from the possible explosion

he would cause by responding.

“How was your day?” he asked.

Ally rolled her eyes as she began to walk down the hallway. A couple minutes later, she

came in with her favorite gray sweat pants on and one of Ken’s old T-shirts. Her hair was pulled

up, revealing the slightly gray strands that were emerging at the back of her head. Ally hated

those innocent strands, but Ken adored them. Not very many people can age with such beauty.

“So what did you make for dinner?” Ally asked as she propped her hands on her hips.

“Actually, I meant to call you. I thought maybe we could go out to eat. You know, at

Arruffo’s.”

Ally’s jaw dropped and her eyes widened. He wasn’t sure if he should elaborate. She

must remember, he thought. It was where he took her on their first date. He was so nervous she

might not like Italian food. Blind dates don’t really give a guy a chance to ask questions. Lucky

for him, it turned out she loved Italian food just as much as he.

“It’s a treat when you’ve grown up with a Mexican family that cooks beans with every

meal,” Ally explained to him as she shoveled the Fettuccine Alfredo in her mouth. Ken sat so

amused by her ability to be so comfortable with herself. What a woman, he thought.

Her jaw was still dropped, but now her head poked forward like a chicken and Ken

realized she was waiting for a follow-up. He began to form words in his throat, but she pushed

them back down.


“Why would we go out to dinner? You know I’ve been working fewer hours this past

month,” she said.

“I know, I just thought-”

“What? Since work cut off our overtime, I’ve been paying all the bills late.”

Ken retreated into himself with his hands shoved in between his thighs. He sighed a

troubled sigh and looked down to hide his embarrassment. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

She paused for a moment. Her pounding stare felt just as long as the four years he had

been out of work. He looked up without tilting his head, but she quickly broke the stare and

headed to the kitchen.

The kitchen was outdated. The yellow cupboards looked more unflattering as the paint

chipped, revealing the ugly, tan wood underneath it’s coating. Their white knobs contributed to

the eyesore Ally felt every time she entered the room. She stood in the middle of the diamond

shaped tiles as she wondered where to go first. The pantry always held something with the

element of surprise. She opened it to find nothing but bow-tie pasta noodles sitting inside a bag.

Ken accidentally ripped open the original packaging a few weeks before. She’s still been finding

the stragglers tucked in the crevices between the lifting floor tiles and the bottom cupboards. She

took out the noodles and set them on the counter. Her back strained as she bent down for a

boiling pot. A grunting sound escaped from her throat and Ken hurried to the kitchen.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Ally waved him off with her hand, “Yeah, yeah. My back just gets stiff from sitting in

that computer chair all day.”


The phone rang and Ally immediately forgot about her back and sprinted towards it. Her

tone was high pitched and excited. Ken knew it was one of the kids. He heard the word “shoes”

and came to the conclusion it was Lily.

“I know, honey. Everybody’s feet get swollen when they’re pregnant,” she shouted. “No,

don’t buy bigger shoes. You’re going to pop within a couple of weeks!”

Ken giggled over the conversation. It was Lily’s second child, but she acted just as

clueless as she had with her first one. Ally recognized her daughter’s silliness, but never showed

it to her. She was her mother and would support her daughter through every mad stage of

pregnancy. She owed it to her, after all. She was going to have two grandkids now. She’ll have

to make room on her cubicle desk for another frame.

Ken waited for her to pause, “Can I talk to her?”

She nodded in annoyance and waited another moment before she handed him the phone.

He grabbed it and stayed in the kitchen doorway as Ally picked up the pot again and filled it with

water.

“I miss you too, sweetie,” Ken said into the phone. “I know, I know. I’m looking.

Everything requires technology these days. How is a fifty-seven year old supposed to know how

to use a computer?”

Ally heard Lily’s laughing from afar and couldn’t help the smile that parted on her lips. It

dropped quickly as Ken approached her while hanging up.

“That girl is something else,” he said.

“Oh yeah,” Ally responded.

Ken looked awkwardly around the kitchen, “Can I help?”


Being caught off guard, she hesitated. He didn’t ask that when she was having trouble

starting the lawn mower, or the morning her car wouldn’t start and she was late for work. “You

can start preparing the salad,” she said.

He took out the romaine lettuce from the refrigerator and dug in the crisper for any

toppings. Some tomatoes and old baby carrots were all he could find. He figured Ally wouldn’t

notice their age if he rinsed them well. A few dressings sat in the door, but he decided on the

balsamic vinaigrette. Ally’s favorite. He picked up the cutting board leaning against the back of

the sink faucet and laid it flat. The assortment of knives sat conveniently on the counter, and Ken

began chopping away. He rinsed the carrots and then diced them the same way he diced the

tomatoes. Ally liked to take small bites, so he made sure to accommodate her eating habits. She

was testing the water on the stove, wondering if it was hot enough yet. Both of their backs were

turned toward each other on opposite sides of the kitchen as they focused on their dinner duties.

“So what kind of pasta are we having?” he asked.

“I’m in the mood for Fettuccine Alfredo,” she responded. He heard the rain of noodles

being poured into the boiling pot.

Of course, Ken thought. When was she not in the mood for Fettuccine Alfredo? He

laughed a little out loud and Ally smiled. Despite how depressed he usually was, a giggle was

still able to escape his sadness periodically. He could always recognize the small aspects of life

that were worth acknowledging. Ally loved that about him. These days, though, it became hard

for her to love somebody who made it so difficult.

As Ken finished tossing the salad, Ally’s voice turned his back around.

“Oh no! We don’t have any sauce!”


He sensed the disappointment in her voice and immediately felt sympathetic. “I’ll go get

some,” he said reassuringly.

Ally sighed in relief and hurried to her purse. She pulled out five dollars as Ken put on

his jacket and fumbled with its broken zipper. He took the money and they stood uncomfortably

close for a kiss goodbye, but backed away from each other to escape the uneasiness they would

feel. There was a time that Ken would leave Ally in the same scenario, in the same kitchen, but it

was usually in the morning. In those mornings, it was not a zip-up hoodie he wore, but a black

blazer. He’d lean over to kiss Ally’s cheek at the breakfast table and thank her for the eggs. They

both felt so lucky to have Ally at home with the kids while Ken went out and won the bread for

the table. Life then was too good to be true, which is why those days were long gone.

Ally watched him walk through the door and heard the car start. The headlights shone

through the curtains. She waited for them to disappear and then returned to the noodles on the

stove.

*

Ken abruptly opened the door, jolting Ally with his loud voice.

“I got it, I got it!” he shouted.

She thanked him and brought the jar over by the noodles. Ken noticed them waiting

patiently in the strainer, which was still sitting in the sink. He heard a hissing from the stove and

looked over questioningly.

“I decided to make some chicken. I can’t believe I forgot to make chicken!” Ally said.

Ken laughed this off. It was so cute when Ally would get flustered over such little things.

They then looked at each other, neither ready to speak. Being unsure of what to do, Ally


awkwardly walked around him to the stove where the chicken was obviously not done yet. She

flipped it once to salt and pepper it a little more. The hissing grew louder and deepened the

silence between them.

“Maybe I should set the table?” Ken insisted.

“You’re not eating in the living room tonight?” she asked without looking up from the

chicken.

“Nope,” he said while trying to hide the excitement on his face.

Ken turned and opened the cupboards for the essentials. He reached for the paper plates

but picked up the heavy glass plates at the last second. He grabbed the matching red bowls and

set them on top of the plates. From the silverware drawer he made sure to grab two sets of forks

and knives, instead of one. Ally heard the clutter of dishes and turned to see him carrying them to

the kitchen table. She shook her head in disapproval. She was the one that was going to be

washing those dishes later on. One week, she vowed to stop washing Ken’s dishes. All of his

cereal bowls and sandwich crusts intermingled and marinated with each other until she finally

gave in when the left over cereal milk was beginning to stink up the sink area. She had always

wondered why he couldn’t at least keep up the house if he was going to be home everyday.

Ken set down each piece of dishware on the table with precision. Everything was parallel

with one another, and once finished he took a step back to proudly look upon his work.

“Table’s all set!” he stated while walking back into the kitchen.

“Perfect, chicken’s almost done,” Ally said. That was nice of him, she thought to herself.

She remembered the time Ken had brought home flowers for her. “Just because it’s raining,” was

his excuse. Lily was maybe two or three, and Jacob just a baby. She indulged in the memory, for

it had been so long since she felt so flattered. She had cut the stems of the assorted bouquet and


helped Lily drop them in the water-filled vase. Together, they walked over to the dinning table

and placed them in the middle, for everyone to enjoy. That was then, though. Today, all Ken

would do for her was set the table with no centerpiece. Ally looked down at the chicken

sympathetically.

“Chicken’s done,” she announced.

She dropped it on the cutting board where Ken was ready with a knife. He started slicing

up the chicken breast while Ally picked up the pasta sauce. She looked at it.

“What’s the matter?” Ken asked.

“It’s nothing,” she said. “Well, the store brand is not that good. We’ve always- I’ve

always bought which ever name brand was on sale.” She noticed the hurt in Ken’s eyes and

quickly stated, “It will be good with some extra pepper.”

As Ken continued cutting he noticed Ally squirming in the corner of his eye. He looked

over to find her hand repeatedly slipping over the lid of the jar, each attempt to open it being

unsuccessful. He put down the knife and walked nearer to her.

“Here, let me help you,” he said.

“It’s fine. I’ve got it,” she insisted while still attempting to open the jar. She grabbed a

towel hoping it would somehow help tighten her grip.

Ken laughed, “Just let me do it.”

She pulled away frustratingly and Ken bent forward again.

“Leave me alone,” she said.

The two struggled over the ownership of the pasta sauce until Ken yanked it so hard it

slipped onto the floor. The glass broke open and the sauce oozed slowly around the solid broken

pieces.


“God dammit, Ken!”

“I’m, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” he said pleadingly.

“Why can’t you do anything for me?” she asked. Ken shrunk within himself and stared

back at her with a helpless face. His eyes drooped and his brows furrowed with worry, but Ally

was not giving in this time.

“I told you to leave me alone, so do it!” she said as she stomped out of the kitchen.

Seconds later, their bedroom door slammed. Ken stood for a moment, looking down at

the broken pieces. A piece for every day he spent not looking for a job. Another for the time he

forgot to turn off the sprinklers. A couple for never cleaning the rain gutters. The smaller ones

for every time he saw the unhappiness in Ally’s innocent brown eyes.

Ken looked behind him at the burgundy colored door, with its peephole too high and its

upside down lock. He walked to the armchair where he had left his hoodie, slipped his arms in,

then found himself staring through the peephole at a vast of darkness. The cold, gold knob

twisted with his hand, and he opened the door only as far as his arm stretched. The fresh air hit

his face as he walked through the doorway toward an unfamiliar night. He shut the door tight

before being tempted to look back.

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In the Evening