A Wednesday. I had the stove going before my husband got home, the kind of intention I don’t always have on a Wednesday, and the payoff was three separate things on a plate that all looked like they were supposed to be next to each other. Steak cut into cubes and caught in an herb-butter mess, mashed potatoes I’d salted twice, asparagus laid out like I cared. I did care. That was the whole thing.
Steak bites, mashed, asparagus
