[ WP ] The egg is very important .

All the sudden, everything was a big deal. 
 
 
 She cried over the leaves that had fallen off of the houseplant in the front room. Literally cried. She stood in the middle of the room, bent over with her hands on her knees, her head shaking back and forth, and tears streaming down her face. “ It ’ s alright, ” I said laying my hand at the small of her back. We hugged and she recovered pretty quickly. I figured it was just a tough morning and didn ’ t think much of it. Plants die. Especially when I have watering responsibilities. I threw the plant out with the compost. 
 
 
 Two days later. She got really quiet when I didn ’ t answer a call from my sister. Like it was something new. We were driving back from Taco Bell and I could see her eyes were filling with tears again as she picked at the fraying seat cushion. “ Maybe you could call Katie back later today. ” It was a soft, strained whisper. 
 
 
 “ Yeah, ” not wanting to get into it, “ Well, I will eventually. ” She didn ’ t even eat her food when we got home. Just went upstairs. She was asleep by the time I went up for bed three hours later. 
 
 
 Saturday, I came downstairs and found her weeping over her chipped coffee mug, running her finger back and forth over the porcelain burr at the lip of the cup. Tissues were strewn around her with the box cradled in her lap. I had no idea when she had woken up. 
 
 
 I figured maybe if I made some effort to do something nice, she ’ d start seeing that things were alright. I walked slowly to the kitchen. We had one egg in the fridge and three last slices of a loaf of bread in a bag on the counter. The perfect makings of a ragtag goodwill breakfast. 
 
 
 I figured a scrambled egg would be easiest to stretch into a meal for two. I fished around for a bowl and a whisk. 
 
 
 “ Please! ” She screamed, startling me as I was poised to crack the egg. She was standing with one hand clutching the door frame to the kitchen and the other hand in front of her stomach, clenching and denting her box of tissues. “ Please stop. Don ’ t crack it. Don ’ t break it. ” 
 
 
 “ Uhh. You don ’ t want eggs? ” I said. I hoped this would be the issue. We could just have toast and move on. 
 
 
 “ It ’ s not about the egg, ” energy draining from her voice, her face, “ Well, it is. It ’ s about everything. We just keep breaking things and we have to stop. ” 
 
 
 “ Oh. ” I said, realizing this was about to be about us. 
 
 
 “ It ’ s just too much, you know? ” she said, pulling out a chair and slouching dejectedly at the kitchen table, “ It just feels like we are letting everything fall apart. Everything that was beautiful in our lives. In each other. We just let it fall apart because it takes work to keep it together. Can we just try, like consciously try, to preserve something? If we don ’ t, I mean if we don ’ t really, actively try to stop letting things fall apart, I ’ m afraid that we ’ re just going -- ” a breath, “ -- to lose it all. ” A pause. “ I ’ m afraid we ’ ll just crumble to pieces. ” 
 
 
 There was silence. Her fingers traced a long-forgotten scratch along the surface of the table and her doleful eyes slowly rose to meet my own. 
 
 
 “ Everything is cracked. Everything is broken, ” She whimpered, “ The egg is very important. It ’ s all important. Please don ’ t break it, ” her voice gaining force and conviction, “ Please, let ’ s stop letting things break apart. ” 
 
 
 My hand trembled, the egg still poised over the lip of the bowl.
