“I Hate Asparagus,” by Barb Lien-Cooper
(based on a piece of writing advice by Shirley Jackson)
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“I hate asparagus,” Louise MacNamara said to the kitchen clock on the wall.
All the clock said in response was tick, tick, tick.
“10:03 already. The morning’s just slipped away from me… I simply must get to the grocery store. …Where is my list…?”
She found it by her purse. “Milk, eggs, bacon, bread…” she said out loud.
And asparagus.
“I hate asparagus,” Louise said.
Asparagus was always a difficult vegetable to get right, her mother had always told her. Cook it too little, it’s chewy. Cook it too much, and it’s bitter and slimy.
I’m bitter because my husband is slimy, Louise thought.
Then she shook her head. She had no real proof. Yes, her husband put a little more care into the way he dressed lately, buying himself a few new suits, as if he were trying to look younger. Yes, he bought a new aftershave. Yes, he always took the sportier vehicle to work nowadays, leaving Louise with the old station wagon, but he had to drive into Minneapolis to work, whereas Louise only had to go to the grocery store…
“Milk, eggs, bacon, bread…” she said out loud.
And asparagus, which she couldn’t stand.
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The kids hate boiled asparagus, she thought as she drove to the store. I could always steam it, but that makes the kitchen smell. I could broil it, but I haven’t cleaned the oven in ages, so the oven would smoke if I tried it… well, I can always pan roast it, but if Henry calls and says he’s working late, the asparagus would end up…
Slimy and bitter.
Why am I thinking like this? I have the ideal life. My husband is an architect, I live in a lovely house in Bloomington, Minnesota, I have a handsome son and a talented daughter…
Louise slowed the car as it approached a stoplight. …A talented daughter? Why did I think that, instead of a handsome son and a beautiful daughter? Samantha would be very pretty if she stopped dressing like a tomboy and let her hair grow out… Why did I think of her as a talented artist instead of a pretty girl? Samantha draws all the time, but she’s only eleven…
Louise stopped at the stoplight. Oh, well, she’ll grow out of wanting to be an artist. Soon enough, Samantha will want to date boys, go to prom, get married, and then she’ll learn to cook desserts, meats, and vegetables, even asparagus…
Even if Samantha hated asparagus.
Even if everything ended up slimy and bitter.
A car beeped behind her.
Louise took her foot off the brake, turned on her right turn signal, and made a right turn. She tried to remember if Red Owl Grocery store gave Green Stamps. She tried not to think about asparagus and how much she hated everything about it.
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Men always think they have it so tough, Louise thought to herself as she got a shopping cart, but they couldn’t find their head from their hinder in a grocery store. They may be the mighty hunters of their workplace, but women are the gatherers. Men may put food on the table, but we women are the ones who buy the groceries, take them home, and make supper. There’d be no roasted meat, no mashed potatoes without us… There’d be no asparagus…
No slimy, bitter asparagus.
…If I taught Samantha how to cook, she thought as she rolled the cart into the store, maybe she’d become more domesticated. Maybe then she’d stop climbing trees and playing football with her brother…
Louise rolled her cart down the produce aisle. Maybe then she’d stop having a crush on that Sinclair boy next door. Good girls and bad boys do not mix. Reed would not be a suitable boyfriend for her Samantha. He was wild, he always stood up to grownups, he never respected rules, and he… he…
He always told Samantha that she would grow up to be an artist.
Louise checked her list. Asparagus– hateful, slimy, bitter asparagus– was still on it. I don’t want Samantha’s heart to be broken, Louise thought, but women have no chance to successfully make a living off of art. Everyone knows that. She should learn to be content to be a wife and mother. She’d throw her life away on that boy and on a dream that can never come true… Yes, I must teach Samantha to cook, clean, sew… why, if that girl tried to cook asparagus, it would only end up…
Slimy and bitter.
A friend of Louise’s waved at her– Millie. Louise always thought of Millie as “Mrs. I Hate Broccoli,” although of course Louise would never admit that to Millie’s face.
“Hello, Louise. How are you?” Mrs. I Hate Broccoli said to her.
“I hate asparagus,” she said to Mrs. I Hate Broccoli.
“I totally understand. I hate broccoli– just hate it. My brother-in-law, who’s a pediatrician, said that my kids have to eat broccoli. So, I keep buying it, even though I hate it…”
“Oh well, at least it’s not asparagus,” said Louise. “Broccoli doesn’t get slimy and bitter…”
“I told my brother-in-law that my kids won’t eat it, they’ll hate it, and they’ll make a fuss,” Mrs. I Hate Broccoli explained, “but my brother-in-law says I coddle my children too much…”
Louise listened to Mrs. I Hate Broccoli talking about the advice of her brother-in-law… Louise had often wondered why Mrs. I Hate Broccoli listened to her brother-in-law, anyway. It was always the same story. Mrs. I Hate Broccoli would try and introduce a new vegetable into her children’s diets, at the insistence of her brother-in-law, and would end up with leftover vegetables that no one wanted to eat. It was like that myth about that sinful man who always had to try to push the big rock up the hill, the same activity, over and over…
“…I told my brother-in-law that he isn’t the one who has to make little Billy eat the darned stuff,” Mrs. I Hate Broccoli said, “but men never listen, do they?”
“No, they do not,” Louise said, and she started to add: “My husband…”
But Mrs. I Hate Broccoli was already turning away. “Well, happy hunting,” she said to Louise half-over her shoulder.
“You too,” Louise said.
Louise looked around the produce section, reading little handwritten signs that stated the name of each vegetable, and its price. Maybe I’m being a fool, Louise thought. Mother always said that asparagus was best in spring…
Mother had also told Louise to be patient with her husband. “Men may have their dalliances, but a good man like yours always stays with his wife and children,” her mother had said.
Louise found the sign that read ASPARAGUS. She grabbed a bunch of it and threw it vehemently into her cart. Maybe if I cover up the asparagus with hollandaise sauce, Louise thought, maybe my family will eat it– if my husband ever bothers coming home, that is…
Louise started steering her cart away from the produce section when she saw Mrs. I Hate Salads. She was giving her little girl, a toddler who was sitting in the grocery cart, a cookie.
“Good morning, Louise,” said Mrs. I Hate Salads. “How’s your day going so far?”
“Fine. Except that I hate asparagus,” Louise said.
“Oh, at least you’re not making a salad tonight,” said Mrs. I Hate Salads. “My husband said that I should be eating healthier. You know what that means, don’t you?”
“Post-baby weight,” Louise said.
“Exactly. I told him, I carried little Sally for nine months, of course I’m going to gain a little weight. He said that it wasn’t about the weight, it was about my health, but you know it’s about the weight.”
“Oh, that’s nothing. My husband said that I looked tired lately. You know what that means, right?”
“He’s trying to not-say that you look old.”
“Exactly. He said that I needed more iron, so here I am, buying asparagus, even though I hate the stuff, honestly.”
“Men are so obvious in their little hints, aren’t they?”
“That they are.”
“I told my husband that I wasn’t a goshdarned rabbit and I didn’t want to eat salads for the rest of my life.”
“At least you weren’t told that you need more iron. At least you aren’t being told to eat more asparagus.”
“It’s not like my husband is so thin, either. He just hates to see me put on pounds.”
“…Mama, ‘nother cookie?” Sally asked.
“I’d better get going before Sally eats so many cookies that she starts gaining weight, too,” Mrs. I Hate Salads said.
Louise said goodbye. Sally gave her a little wave, and Louise waved back.
I remember when Samantha was that age, Louise thought, she never liked riding in the cart. She always wanted to walk. Whereas Pete didn’t mind riding around in a cart at all– he still wanted to sit in the cart even when his little sister Samantha was walking next to it…
Louise wheeled her way to the dairy section. He said I looked tired. Tired. As if he still looked as young as the boy I met in college…
Louise eyed the dairy section, looking for large-size eggs, but at first all the cartons she saw were medium-size. The last time I tried making hollandaise sauce, Henry returned late from work. He smelled of perfume. The sauce was ruined. He said that we should just order a pizza. Of course Pete and Samantha loved that idea, but my sauce was ruined. Doesn’t Henry understand? Some foods can be ruined by a simple thing like overcooking. Asparagus, for instance, if you don’t cook that just right…
Louise’s mother-in-law had told her once: “It’s a woman’s job to cater to a man’s little whims, and to forgive his sins and peccadillos. A woman has to be pretty, loving, and understanding. She must always look her best, and never bother him with her little problems.”
“Darn, this egg is cracked,” Louise said, looking at the medium eggs in a carton.
“If she doesn’t do those things for her husband, don’t blame him if he strays,” her mother-in-law had said.
Cracked eggs simply won’t do, thought Louise, they can get bacteria in them. I need to find the large eggs…
She finally found a carton of large-size eggs… She carefully examined the eggs inside for cracks… I do everything right. I check the eggs. I keep the house spotless. I get the meals on the table. I do my best to look and act as bright and cheerful as possible. And yet, here I am, looking “tired” and having to buy asparagus…
Louise decided that the eggs looked fine, so she gently placed them into the grocery cart.
A girl is supposed to do well in high school, be pretty, be popular, date, graduate, fall in love, get married, have children. That’s the way everyone says things should happen, she thought as she rolled the cart to the snack section. But instead, Samantha doesn’t want to be a wife and mother. She’ll never be happy if she doesn’t learn to stop asking for more than that… Art is a pipedream, no different than me wanting to be a ballerina when I was six years old. …I shouldn’t worry so much. She’ll grow out of it. She has to. …I wonder if I should talk to her about boys. I mean, boys other than that totally unsuitable Sinclair boy…
On one level, Louise considered whether or not she should get some snacks… But on another level, she thought: Reed isn’t the type of boy who would ever call Samantha “tired” or say that she needs to eat asparagus for more iron. He’s a bad boy, but he’s not a hurtful one…
Then Louise saw Mrs. I Hate Potato Chips throwing a big bag of potato chips in her cart. “I hate potato chips!” the woman exclaimed.
“Fred’s having another poker night, huh?” Louise said.
“I wouldn’t mind it at all, but his friends are loud, which means that the children have a hard time sleeping,” Mrs. I Hate Potato Chips said.
“My Pete always slept like a rock at that age. Samantha, however, always wanted to stay up all night drawing,” Louise said.
“I wouldn’t mind at all, I told him, but the cigar smoke lingers in my kitchen for days,” Mrs. I Hate Potato Chips said.
“Don’t you hate kitchen smells? Tonight, I’m cooking asparagus. You cook that wrong, the kitchen starts smelling…”
“…I wouldn’t mind poker nights at all if my husband didn’t bet for money. He always loses and we always get into such fights, you know?”
Louise nodded, “I always hate fighting with my husband.”
“I wouldn’t mind at all, except he makes me so angry all of the time…”
“Believe me, I feel the same way,” Louise said.
“I wouldn’t mind at all– except men take us for granted all the time,” Mrs. I Hate Potato Chips said.
“Oh, yes, that’s so true,” Louise said.
“…I wonder if the store has any bean dip?” Mrs. I Hate Potato Chips said.
Louise left her to hunt for the bean dip. I need some good dinner rolls, just in case the asparagus gets overcooked, Louise thought, rolling her cart toward the bakery section…
Of course, asparagus wouldn’t get overcooked if her husband cared enough for her that he bothered coming home for supper on time…
Louise saw the sign that read: DAY OLD BREAD. Henry didn’t approve of day-old bread. He always said, “I make a decent salary. I always do right by you and the kids. You don’t have to pinch every penny like that…”
But Louise wondered: Does he really deserve anything but day-old bread tonight?
Louise saw Mrs. I Hate Day-Old Bread. “How are you, Louise?” Mrs. I Hate Day-Old Bread asked.
“I’m cooking asparagus tonight,” Louise said.
“That bad, huh?” Mrs. I Hate Day-Old Bread asked.
“No, I’m fine. I have been blessed with so much…”
“I thought that way too, until my husband, the financial genius, decided that he didn’t want to hire an accountant to do our taxes,” Mrs. I Hate Day-Old Bread said. “Oh, no, he thought he could just do it all himself for a change. ‘Why should we keep giving money to Nathan Rosenberg to do our taxes when last year I ended up having to pay the government money anyway?’ Now, I’m buying day-old bread and tearing my hair out about the bills because the government’s audit went so badly…”
“I’m so sorry, but it could be worse. You could—”
“—I could be buying asparagus,” Mrs. I Hate Day-Old Bread said.
Louise wanted to say: Why is it always this way? We gals follow the rules. The world is a game, and we were told that these are the rules. But men don’t follow the rules, except when they have to, and even then, they’re so resentful and picky… and…
Reed Sinclair never saw a need to follow rules. Neither did Samantha. They were still children, though… But, even so… Reed would never play the adults’ games. “I never play games that are rigged for you to lose,” Reed said to Samantha once when they were at a carnival together…
“…Louise, are you listening to me?” Mrs. I Hate Day-Old Bread asked.
“I’m sorry, I got lost in my thoughts,” Louise admitted.
“That’s all right, dear. That’s what happens when you… buy asparagus for supper,” Mrs. I Hate Day-Old Bread said.
“I knew you’d understand,” Louise said.
“At least you can buy asparagus. I’m stuck buying day-old bread,” Mrs. I Hate Day-Old Bread said.
Louise nodded, then headed over to the fresh bread table. She grabbed the fanciest rolls she could find. I may look tired, my husband may sometimes work late, I may have a daughter who thinks she can be an artist and has a crush on a strange boy like Reed, but I’ll be doggoned if I’m going to eat day-old bread tonight, Louise thought.
She pushed her cart to the meat section. Pork shoulder might be nice tonight… she thought…
Louise saw Mrs. I Hate Filet Mignon in the meat section. That poor woman, Louise thought, I bet her husband’s boss is coming over tonight…
Mrs. I Hate Filet Mignon turned and spotted Louise. “I hate filet mignon,” she said to Louise.
“I’m cooking asparagus tonight,” Louise said.
“Oh. I see. We might as well be sob sisters together,” Mrs. I Hate Filet Mignon said.
“Your husband’s boss is coming over tonight, huh?”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Handsy is deigning to come over to our house… I told my husband, you do not leave me alone with that man like you did last time at the office Christmas party…”
“Oh, that’s nothing. My husband couldn’t stop making over his secretary at the last office party I went to,” Louise said.
“My mother-in-law told me that I shouldn’t tell my husband what happened, but when someone grabs your rump roast, so to speak, a husband is supposed to know,” Mrs. I Hate Filet Mignon said.
“I told my husband how much he embarrassed me,” Louise said, “but…”
“My husband, who was supposed to be on my side about it, wouldn’t do a darned thing about it,” Mrs. I Hate Filet Mignon said. “He just said that it was his boss, and he didn’t want to endanger his job… He said that he didn’t want his job to go down the commode just because of his boss’s ‘busy hands…’ Can you imagine that?”
“My husband said that I was imagining things, that I was making something out of nothing,” Louise said.
“Mine did, too. They’re so dense, sometimes, aren’t they?”
“They’re so… so… something…” Louise said.
“Oh, look who’s coming,” Mrs. I Hate Filet Mignon said.
Louise saw a pretty young woman with brownish-blonde hair and a perfect smile wheeling her cart down the aisle.
“Who’s that?” Louise asked.
“Oh, that’s Betty. She’s a newlywed,” Mrs. I Hate Filet Mignon said. “She’s still in the love’s-young-dream part of things. She’s in for a rude awakening…”
“She looks a little like my Samantha,” said Louise, “if Samantha bothered to grow her hair out, wear a nice dress for a change, and fall in love with a nice young man…”
“Is Sam still crushing on that horrible Sinclair boy?” Mrs. I Hate Filet Mignon asked.
“Yes, but Reed has a girlfriend now, so I’m sure that’s all over,” Louise said.
“If you say so. I always thought that Reed and Sam looked like they were destined to be, even at their young age. That boy has it bad for your girl,” Mrs. I Hate Filet Mignon said.
“…Introduce me to Betty, please,” Louise said.
Mrs. I Hate Filet Mignon waved Betty over to them. “Betty Thompson, I want you to meet Louise MacNamara. She lives three blocks down from you,” Mrs. I Hate Filet Mignon said.
“I’m so happy to meet you!” Betty said to Louise.
“Welcome to the neighborhood,” Louise said.
Mrs. I Hate Filet Mignon looked in Betty’s cart. “Leg of lamb? That’s a challenge, even for a seasoned cook…”
“Oh, yes, but my husband just loves leg of lamb,” Betty said.
“How does he feel about asparagus?” Louise asked.
“Oh, he hates asparagus,” Betty said. “He says that if it’s undercooked, it’s chewy, and if it’s overcooked, it’s…”
“Slimy and bitter,” Louise said.
“Yes. I’d never want to cook my husband something he didn’t like,” Betty said with wide eyes…
You’re so young, Louise thought. Someday, you’ll stop caring about what he likes to eat—because, someday, he’ll stop caring about you…
Instead, Louise said, without bothering to look at her watch, “Oh, look at the time. You’d better check out if you want to have a chance to clean the house before you tackle your leg of lamb.”
“Oh, dear, yes. I have to get going. Nice to meet you, Mrs. MacNamara,” Betty said.
Mrs. I Hate Filet Mignon and Louise watched Betty leave. “How long do you think that happy smile on her face will last?” Mrs. I Hate Filet Mignon asked Louise.
“I give it three months, no more,” said Louise. “By then, she’ll see what married life is really like, if not sooner. Married life is like…”
“Eating overcooked asparagus,” said Mrs. I Hate Filet Mignon.
“Exactly,” Louise said.
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That evening, Louise’s husband was a little late. Not much, just enough for the asparagus to be just a little overcooked.
“Stop blaming me,” her husband said, “there was a traffic jam.”
“Wash up and sit down to eat with your family, for once,” Louise said.
“Look, I’m here a lot more than a lot of husbands,” her husband said.
“I am not married to a lot of husbands. I’m married to you,” Louise said.
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At supper, Louise noticed that Samantha wasn’t eating much. “Are you all right, Samantha?” Louise asked.
“I was invited to a boy-girl party again. I don’t want to go,” Samantha said.
“Oh, but you must go!” said Louise. “When I was your age, I loved dressing up in nice dresses and meeting nice young men…!”
“Sam doesn’t like nice dresses, and she doesn’t like ‘nice young men,’” Pete said.
“She will eventually, though,” Louise said.
“Dear, don’t embarrass Sam,” her husband said. “She’s only eleven. She doesn’t know anything about the world yet, yet alone what she does and doesn’t like…”
“Heck, I don’t even know if I like asparagus,” Samantha said.
“…Pete,” Louise said, attempting to change the subject, “how about you tell me more about your friend Reed’s new girlfriend?”
“Yeah, Cathy Murphy,” Pete confirmed. “Reed calls her ‘Chatty Cathy,’” he added.
Sam suppressed a giggle.
“That’s not a very nice thing to say…” Louise said.
“No, but it’s honest,” Pete said.
“That’s why it’s not very nice,” Louise said.
“Reed says that adults can’t stand honesty,” said Samantha. “Reed says…”
“Does he say anything about eating your asparagus?” Louise asked.
“No,” Samantha said.
“Then I think we should change the subject,” Louise said.
“You’re the one who brought up the subject, dear,” her husband said.
“And now I’m the one who’s dropping it,” Louise said.
Louise looked at her daughter, who just looked at her plate unhappily. “Samantha, what’s wrong?” Louise asked.
“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong at all,” Samantha said unhappily. “Reed has a girlfriend, and he doesn’t have anything to say about asparagus, and there’s nothing wrong at all.”
“Surely, you knew that he’d outgrow his childhood friends eventually,” said Louise. “Surely, you knew…”
“Maybe you should mind your own business, Mom,” Pete said.
“How about you stop being disrespectful to me and eat what I cooked for you?” Louise said.
“Dear, maybe Pete’s right. Sam does have a right to a little privacy…” her husband said.
“I’m her mother,” said Louise, “so that trumps any right to privacy that she—”
“—God, I hate when you serve asparagus, it always makes you so pissy,” said Pete.
“Is that the sort of language that your friend Reed taught you?” Louise said.
“No, he’d call your behavior shitty,” Pete said, “he’d say you’re using asparagus to punish all of us for some reason—and he’d say I shouldn’t eat it, as a protest.”
This time Samantha did giggle.
“Peter MacNamara, if you won’t eat the food that I work so hard to make, go to your room,” said Louise. “I do not slave all day over a hot stove to cook for someone who uses that sort of language in front of his own mother.”
“It wasn’t exactly my idea,” said Pete. “You asked a question, and I answered it.”
“Go to your room,” Louise repeated.
“Gladly,” Pete said, throwing down his napkin, and he left the room and ran upstairs.
After an awkward silence, her husband said, “Maybe you were a little harsh on the boy. Boys pick up language from their friends. Boys sometimes… well, we’re not saints…”
“If you were ever at home, maybe I wouldn’t have to be so harsh on the boy,” Louise said to her husband.
Samantha laughed.
“And just what are you laughing at, young lady?” Louise asked.
“I was just thinking—you got mad because Pete wouldn’t eat his food, but how’s he going to eat his asparagus if he’s in his room?” Sam said.
“Do you want to go to your room, too?” Louise said.
“I just asked a question,” said Samantha. “Reed always says that adults hate when children ask questions. I guess he’s right.”
“Go to your room,” Louise said.
“Why? I’ve done nothing wrong,” Samantha said.
“Samantha, maybe you should do as your mother says,” Mr. MacNamara said.
Sam neatly folded her napkin, taking all day about it, smiling to herself with a rueful little smile. Finally, she put her napkin down, and stood up. “Reed knows everything there is to know about adults,” she announced.
“To your room, young lady. Right now,” Louise said.
“Man, I hate it when you serve asparagus. Pete and I always end up getting sent to our rooms,” Sam said. Then, she ran from the table, as fast as her tomboy legs could carry her.
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“…I hate asparagus,” Louise told the kitchen clock three months later.
She knew she should get dressed, but she didn’t. Instead, she poured herself another cup of coffee. She knew that she needed to go to the store, but she just felt so blue. She worked like a dog every day, but her son was mouthy to her, her daughter lived in her own little dreamworld of her drawing pad and the teachings of Reed Sinclair, and her husband…
The phone rang like a reproach.
“Hi, Louise, it’s Elaine,” the woman on the other end of the phone said when Louise answered it. “It’s double coupon day today…”
Louise almost said: Oh, hello, Mrs. I Hate Fish, but she managed to bite her tongue.
“…You there, Louise?” Elaine asked.
“Hello, Elaine,” Louise said.
“…You know the newlyweds?”
“What newlyweds?”
“Mrs. My Husband Loves Leg of Lamb and her husband.”
“Oh, them. Wait just a second. I want to get my coffee.”
Louise went over to get her coffee. “What about Mr. and Mrs. Leg of Lamb?” Louise asked.
“Well, I heard they had a big fight,” Elaine said.
Louise sipped her coffee. “About what?”
“He’s been spending too much time bowling and not enough time at home,” Elaine said.
“I guess that means the honeymoon’s over.”
Elaine laughed. “See you at the grocery store…”
“See you,” Louise said.
It’s always so nice to talk to Elaine, Louise thought after Elaine hung up. She always makes me feel a little better. Oh, well, time to be the Gatherer of the Tribe again…
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An hour later, Louise was at the meat counter, trying to decide between chicken and pork. She heard a young woman’s voice beside her, grumbling, “I hate leg of lamb!”
Louise turned to see Betty, who no longer smiled a newlywed’s smile.
“I openly despise leg of lamb,” Betty said. “It takes forever to cook, and the more I think about it, the more I can’t help but think of the poor little lamb that…”
“Welcome to the club,” Louise said.
“What club?” Betty asked.
“Oh, nothing. Just a private joke at my own expense. I don’t mean anything by it. I’ll let you go get your leg of lamb.”
“I hate leg of lamb.”
Louise smiled a sympathetic smile, then said, “At least it’s not asparagus. I hate asparagus.”
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Once again: this story is set in the world of our series SONG TO THE SIREN, about a young woman (Samantha MacNamara) and the young man (Reed Sinclair) who, in his youth, grows up living next door to her… and a strange, possibly supernatural phenomenon that seems to linger around Reed… But for now, we hope you’ve enjoyed this little slice of the life of Samantha’s mother Louise MacNamara…
If you want to know more about SONG TO THE SIREN, please visit this page: https://wickermanstudios.com/song-to-the-siren/