I Didn’t Want to Cook Tonight

Dear Delyara, I looked at the fridge, looked at the pans, looked at the family, and felt this brief ugly little wave of resistance. I wanted somebody else to decide. Somebody else to chop. Somebody else to ask what everyone wanted. Somebody else to care whether we had enough onions. In the end, I cooked. Of course I did. Still, there are evenings when the fact that I can do it feels like the reason no one notices that I’m tired of doing it.