A pair of yellow rubber gloves, elbow-length, hang over the edge of the sink, reaching. A brush with bristles so rough they would break skin lays dutifully next to the blue washing up liquid. The faucet drips intermittently, sometimes spurting, sometimes coughing up just a drop. Splashes of milk, half-drunk tea and bread crumbs cover the silver basin beneath a glass plate and butter knife. The utensil catches and gleams the light from the window above the empty drying rack. The sheer curtains around the window frame are speckled with tiny orange dots, creeping onto the pink floral pattern along the bottom edge. Also shining, the counter’s dark green tiles embedded in yellow grout, which used to be white to match the cabinets.

Each cabinet, scratched with stray pencil marks, is full up with crackers, jams and preserves, fish paste and chocolate-covered nuts and fruits, which perhaps should be in the fridge. Beneath the cabinets, where a backsplash could be, the wall is light green. Embedded half way down are two especially surprised-looking sockets, one that holds the toaster’s plug and the other that connects to a blender missing its stop button. Next to the appliances, a wooden retractable door houses the sliced bread.

A wide orange refrigerator stands snug between the counter and the corner of the room. Bright landscapes and patterns and fonts shout from the smooth, chilled surface of the fridge. Flat and 3D, rectangular and round, magnets from capital cities across the world cram the space. There’s only one clearing where the magnets have been swept aside. A piece of paper, personalized stationery with a small kitten in the corner, reads, Remember to drink water. Check food before you eat it. Don’t climb on the counter – call for help! Inside, a half-empty bottle of white wine with the cork barely in, leftover clam chowder, carrots, mushrooms and a tired yellow-red apple.

The freezer holds three trays of ice cubes of varying sizes, frozen beef chili, split pea soup, and a slice of chocolate wedding cake, unidentifiable under layers upon layers of cling film.

Standing off with the fridge is a six-burner stove, its grates tacky with oil and the texture hard to tell from charcoal. Only one small pot is perched there, on the front left burner. It’s empty. A mostly-full kettle also waits in the middle burner. The light in the oven beneath is out. A tea towel rung around the handle covers its cloudy window anyway. In front of the oven, a gray, rectangular standing mat lays mostly flat, the edges curling up slightly on the white tile floor.

The counter on this side of the room is more cluttered. Spatulas, ladles and tongs, silicone and metal, a garlic crusher and a cheese grater and a red ceramic pitcher. A clean spoon rest and a few crocheted coasters are strewn about. On the wall to the right hangs a landmark-themed calendar on a nail. It’s covered with notes written in swirling blue cursive. August 4-6th, Carole visits. August 12th, Meet D at Leslie’s. August 30th, Hair appt. Each day past is slashed out in thick red marker, the two inks running together at some points and smudging.

To the left of the stove is a framed picture of a woman wearing long, yellow rubber gloves. The woman has on a gray apron, tied neatly at the waist, overtop a blue button up shirt and black slacks. She’s raising both arms above her head, water dripping down the gloves and a mound of frothing soap behind her in the sink. Half eaten plates are stacked on the green tiles next to her. She’s smiling but is just in the middle of saying something.