Wave Goodbye

This story is by Alexandria Pasquale and was part of our 2024 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.

Nova never knew a microwave could induce such self reflection. Though, an inanimate object’s permanence often demands one to acknowledge their own mortality. Perhaps it is the night’s darkest hour or the hum of pending sustenance, but Nova can’t prevent the dread from settling next to the starvation in her stomach.  

She stares at the numbers counting down, at the weeks passing by. They tease her, these green shapes of tested patience and hunger. They slow every time she looks, they move too quickly when she tries to shift her focus.They force her to pause, to wait, to ponder her choices and analyze the pieces of her crumbling existence. 

Are chicken nuggets too heavy for a midnight snack?

Are her chipped nails and split ends really the reason her husband cheated with a manicurist?

The microwave’s harsh light illuminates her sister’s clutter-less kitchen, her spotless life. Kate collects shiny things. Her marble countertops, her husband’s flawless skin, the silver of her grime free microwave. They glimmer and reflect the smudges under Nova’s eyes, the exhaustion of watching so many rotations of the microwave’s plate night after night, week after week. 

The yellow light won’t find an affair or a broken marriage here, though Nova’s husband’s was hidden in the darkest corners of a motel suite. Do motel rooms even have microwaves? If they do, Nova can’t imagine that they rotate, that they count down, as time stands still in imaginary places. Nothing makes a sound, not even the heavy grunts or empty promises. 

The only sound now is the microwave’s plate slowly grinding its way towards the end of its life. It spins for seconds, for minutes, for a lifetime. Let it rotate for too long and the chicken will burn, the marriage will dry out. Open the door too quickly and only the surface has warmed, the insides still thawing against the heat of adversity. Such a careful business, these microwaves. Such precision. 

Nova wanted to buy a new microwave before Matt left to be with the manicurist, before he left a simple note next to their old, stained one. The crumbs of whatever he heated up before he left were scattered across the note, their grease stains blending with his inky goodbye. She had hunted for the perfect one for weeks, but could never make a decision. A white interior will show every impurity and crumb, but a black interior will hide too much. A silver microwave is basic and sturdy, but a robin-egg blue microwave adds some spice to an already dull kitchen. A splash of color in their shades of neutrals. 

In the couple weeks since Matt chose almond shaped nails over her own, dirt stained fingers that had cultivated the gardens around their home and mindlessly tapped on a keyboard so that they may live comfortably, Nova still finds herself scrolling through her microwave options. 

Her thumb hovers over her phone screen as she waits for her chicken nuggets to complete their rotation, as she tries to ignore time fleeting in front of her eyes. 

One more minute. 

She scrolls through the tabs of apartments, job listings, and new microwaves, a summary of her current state of affairs reduced to three tabs on a chipped screen. The soulless corporate affirmations, the down payment on a new life, the expense of smoother, newer rotations all attainable with barely a tap of her unpainted thumbnail. 

“Another snack?” a soft voice whispers from across the kitchen island. It’s only Kate with her shiny blonde hair, her flawless nails that definitely don’t scrub out the inside of her microwave. Nails that her husband will covet as they gently scrape across his skin night after night. 

“I was hungry,” Nova replies simply. Another snack, another endless minute of waiting. Her stomach growls in defense, in rage.

“I didn’t mean it that way…” Kate replies sheepishly, her blue eyes darting around the kitchen. “You can use the kitchen any time.” 

“Thanks,” Nova says flatly, turning her attention back to the microwave. She had been using it for weeks, ever since she abandoned her and Matt’s home because she couldn’t stand to sleep in their bed and cook in their kitchen where his note still sat. Perhaps the realtor had removed it. 

Thirty more seconds. 

“But maybe we put it on mute so the sound doesn’t wake the kids…” Kate trails off, glancing towards the stairs that lead to their bedrooms. Kate’s perfect, blonde-haired children who already know how to cook without using a microwave. 

Nova sighs as the green numbers reach twenty seconds. 

“How’s the job search going? Any hits on apartments in the city?” Kate asks as she taps her nails on the marble countertops. 

Nova sighs. “Those are some big questions for one thirty in the morning,” she replies without looking towards Kate’s pitying eyes. 

“Well, chicken nuggets are kind of a heavy snack for the middle of the night.”

Nova snorts. 

Fifteen more seconds. 

“I just want you to be ok. Like I said, I don’t mind you staying with us. Take as long as you need. But, Nova, this isn’t all bad,” Kate says carefully. 

That familiar pang of jealousy forces her to finally stare open-mouthed at Kate. “Not all bad? Matt left me. I can’t afford the house on my own, and if I don’t sell it, it’ll go into foreclosure. I had to quit my job because I was so distraught that I couldn’t meet deadlines. I’ve had to sell almost all my things just to keep the bills paid. I don’t even have my own microwave!”

Kate stares at her, eyes wide. Her fingers pause their tapping. She takes a breath and replies, “While all of that may be true, think about what this has given you. You hated your job, and Matt chose that house despite all the upkeep that he didn’t contribute to.”

“But-”

“It’s your second chance, Nova. You love the city and art and eclectic coffee shops, all things that the suburbs don’t give you. I know it’s hard now, but think of the possibilities.”

Kate reaches her delicate arms around Nova and squeezes gently. She gives Nova a soft smile before heading back upstairs, her blonde curls bouncing with each step. 

Ten more seconds. 

There’s a simplicity to borrowed microwaves. Their messiness is predictable, their durability a blessing. Maintenance is included. It does the job mindlessly, but it only sees the highlights or lowlights of one’s life. It doesn’t witness the mundane, the day to day takeout and experimental recipes. It only sees the glow of elation or the shadows of depression in its reflective face. 

Only her own microwave can bear witness to the small moments of Nova’s life. 

Three more seconds. 

Kate’s words spark a light brighter than the light of the microwave, louder than its mechanical hum. Nova’s fingers twitch and fiddle with her phone before finally gliding across its glossy surface. She opens the Wal-Mart tab on her phone and scrolls all the way to the bottom, her searching gaze drawn to the robin-egg blue microwave. Her thumb hovers over the “Buy Now and Save,” button, barely a hairsbreadth between then and now. She briefly contemplates, but the numbers are almost gone, the chicken cooked to perfection. Her marriage may be fried and burned, but not her chance to pick a stylish apartment over a run down house and fill it with every shade of blue. 

The microwave dings, signaling its completion, another rotation at its end. 

And Nova clicks the button.