The evening's cook

The day had been a long one, the kind that leaves you feeling pleasantly hollow. We were all just slumped in the living room, the quiet hum of the city outside our window. Someone mentioned dinner, and instead of the usual back-and-forth, I just pulled up the wheel on my phone.

Letting the wheel decide

It’s a silly little thing we do, this digital wheel with all our names on it. There’s no grand debate, no weighing of schedules. You just give it a spin and accept the outcome. It feels less like a chore assignment and more like a tiny, shared ritual.Tonight, the names floated in a lazy circle on the screen. We watched it, not with anticipation, but with a sort of detached curiosity. The decision was already out of our hands, and there was a quiet relief in that.

A small, shared surprise

When it stopped, there was a soft chuckle from the corner of the couch. It wasn’t my name, but seeing it land on someone else brought a small, unexpected smile to my face. It was the surprise of it, I think. The mundane made momentarily novel.The chosen friend just gave a mock-serious nod and pushed themselves up. No complaints, no fanfare. The rest of us settled deeper into our seats, the evening’s first task resolved without a single word of negotiation. The kitchen lights flicked on, and the familiar sounds of pots and pans began.

The sound of someone else cooking

There’s a specific comfort in listening to a friend move around your kitchen. The clink of a knife on a cutting board, the sizzle of oil in a pan. It’s a background noise that says you don’t have to be in charge for a little while.

What comes after the spin

The wheel is forgotten now, its job done. The conversation has drifted to nothing in particular, the kind of talk that only happens when everyone is truly relaxed. We’re just waiting, not for the food, but for the moment when we’ll all gather around the same table again.