The refrigerator door smacked stickily when it opened. Jakob frowned at the magnetic insulated lining and wondered if he should do something about that, maybe a quick scrub with a vinegar-soaked cloth. He checked the accordion lining to make sure mildew wasn’t building up or something foul like that. Last thing he needed was any kind of infection spreading where he stored his food. Maybe a stiff bristle brush would be in order… He shook his head and pulled out a jug of orange juice. “I don’t think it’s healthy to obsess about these things,” he called over his shoulder, fully aware of the very slight hypocrisy in this statement. “You know, that’s how people develop food-related illnesses.”
“I’m not allergic to anything, Jakob.” What kept Mary’s tone from rising into shrillness was her preoccupation with frying up some potato pancakes. Had she not been so distracted, her voice could have gone into an ear-piercing range, amped by her resentment of her robust boyfriend yet again hinting at her frailty.
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