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Anna walked through the door, carrying three oversized bags that were, to all appearances, stuffed full of new clothes.

“Well?” she asked.

“Well, what?” I replied, my mouth full.

She smiled at me, her white teeth gleaming in the candlelight. She dropped her bags to the floor, which landed heavily. Obviously, Anna had brought home the whole store. I had warned her about her spending.

“Well, how did you like the new neighbor? What’s his name? Harold something-or-other?”

I swallowed the bit of meat and took a sip of wine. It was cheap, only eight dollars a bottle, but still went exquisitely with the meal.

“You mean Harold Deitz?” I asked as I reached for my napkin. I had dribbled some of the sauce onto my favorite shirt.

“Yeah,” Anna said, sitting down, “so how was he?”

“Messy,” I replied.

I wiped at the red stain on my shirt, smelling the aroma of the meat, which was partially hidden by the scent of tomatoes and spices. I inhaled deeply. It smelled sweet, with an earthy undertone, like the freshly slaughtered hogs Mom used to turn into dinner every spring. She’d shoved the entire carcass into the oven, guts and all, saying that the innards added to the overall flavor. Mom had always been the greatest cook….

Anna was laughing. I looked up, surprised. I had gotten caught in my own memories again. I hated it when I did that. It always threw me off-guard.

“What?”

“That’s all you have to say?” she giggled, “Messy?”

I shrugged. I usually hated it when women laughed at me, but Anna was special. Anna was allowed.

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know. Something better than messy. Give me an idea.”

I thought for a moment, then cut another piece of the meat, dipped it in the tomato sauce, and handed the fork to her. As Anna took it, I noticed that her nail polish was chipped at the end – obviously, she’d be expecting money for a new manicure by tomorrow – and that her hand looked dirty. She’d forgotten to wash them, I realized, and grimaced, momentarily disgusted at the thought of all the bacteria, crawling on her, nesting.

“Hmm,” Anna said, and then stuck the entire bite into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

I watched her, taking another sip of the wine, as she licked at her lips to get at a stray drop of sauce. She wiped my fork off with a napkin and handed it back to me.

“Mr. Deitz,” she said, “is a sweet man, with a delicious sense of humor and a tendency to work out.”

“And how do you figure that?” I asked her.

“Because,” she answered, dropping the napkin, ladylike, into her lap, “when they work out, the meat is always much more tender.”

Anna reached for the main dish, sitting in the center of the table, and dragged it towards her, bunching up the tablecloth as she went. She lifted the lid and pulled out a piece of what might have been the liver, or perhaps one of the muscles. It has hard to tell in the candlelight, but it didn’t matter. There would be plenty left for the next couple days and the leftovers were easily prepared.

“So,” I said, changing the subject, “what did you bring from the store today?”

“A present.”

“A present? For who?”

“Who do you think?” She waved her hand at me, an imperious gesture. “Go on, go see your present.”

I got up, wiping my mouth, and walked over to the three bags. Each was overflowing with clothes: silky chemises and corduroy jumpers, simple halter tops and little black dresses for our nights out.

“Which bag is it in?” I asked.

“Just look,” she responded impatiently, so I did.

I picked up some of the clothing and set it carefully on the floor, lest it get wrinkled before Anna could wear it. The bag was awfully full.

“The moment I saw it at the store, I knew I had to get it for you. It was perfect.”

I could tell she was pleased with herself without even turning around. It was the tone of her voice. I could almost taste the smugness. I bent down, grabbing the last cable-knit sweater, and saw my present.

“Well,” asked Anna, “do you like it?” She was leaning forward in anticipation.

I picked up the severed arm, covered in light blond hairs, and examined it. The original owner had been well fed, probably about 130 pounds. The nails were painted a dark blue, no chips at the edges, and there was a wedding ring on the second to last finger. When I inhaled closer to the skin, the scent of vanilla immediately overpowered the smell of blood. Obviously, whoever the woman had been, she’d known the value of a good moisturizer.

“I love it,” I said and put the arm back into the bag. The rest of the meat was probably in the bottom of the other ones. I’d have to put them into one of the basement freezers later. The remains of Mr. Deitz would probably enjoy the company.

I kissed Anna’s hand, never mind the bloodstains, and pulled out the chair for her as she stood up, some of Mom’s old etiquette lessons still fresh in the back of my mind. Anna smiled, and then whispered, into my ear, like a little girl, “I knew that you’d like it.”

“You know me well,” I replied.

“I know,” she said and then kissed me on the lips. Her mouth tasted like liver. I’d have to see if there was any left in the morning. It must have been delicious.

“Anna,” I said, as I looked in her eyes and saw myself reflecting back, “you have the most wonderful, most excellent taste in presents.”