She used to serve him banana fritters until her mother told her they were too greasy. She'd slice them and coat them in corn flour while waiting for the deep-dish frying pan to heat. Slip them gently into the oil so that it wouldn't sputter, her fingers half an inch away from the liquid. The air would fill with the smell of sizzling bananas while she watched TV through the kitchen doorway.

"What, you wanna clog his arteries?" Ma had demanded when she found out. She had come over for tea, but Jennifer suspected it was a ploy to see what their new house looked like.

"He likes them," Jennifer had replied, nudging her mug handle with a knuckle, not making eye contact. She doodled on a notepad, signing her name over and over, the purple ink reminding her of high school, earrings, and perfume. She was trying to find the perfect signature.

"You never heard of cholesterol? You want him dead?"

"Ma. . ."

"You just married him and now you want him dead? Not even a month and already you want him fat and dead?"

"No, Ma, I don't," Jennifer said patiently.

"Good. Because God forbid I raised my daughter to be a murderer. Don't blame me for this one. I'm not accepting the blame for this one. Here she finally finds a nice boy and marries him and kills him by overfeeding him fried bananas."

"Bananas are good for digestion, Ma."

"They smell. And you fry them, Lord help me --" one pale, creased hand lifted to her heart and her eyes rolled to the ceiling, "-- don't say I ever taught you such things, don't say I ever fed you food soaked in enough grease to bathe a cow. I was a good mother to you, I was."

"Yes, Ma."

So when her mother left, Jennifer ate the last banana and proceeded to fry mangoes.

They didn't turn out very well. The juice they excreted clashed with the corn flour and oil. Jennifer and Danny later agreed over dinner that fresh, refrigerated mangoes tasted far better than fried, frittered ones.

Danny made the mistake of telling Jennifer's mother so, however, and when he was at work one afternoon, Ma invited herself over for tea. She arrived just as Jennifer was testing out the new fountain pen Danny had given her the night before.

"How could you do that?" Ma cried in anguish. "Serve him fried mangoes. Didn't you listen to me? You never listen. God forbid you listen to your poor mother --"

Jennifer was of the opinion that God probably didn't like her mother invoking His name in vain, but she said nothing. Instead, she wrote 'Jennifer Mulligan-Shallot, Brooksfield Inc.' over and over again on her notepad. She trimmed it down to 'Jennifer Mulligan.' She was sure Danny wouldn't mind her dropping her married name.

"She says she doesn't wanna kill him, then she keeps frying him bananas --"

"It wasn't bananas this time."

"It was fruit." Ma glared and smacked her hand on the shiny table-top, leaving a faint palmprint on the surface. She scowled and used her sleeve to wipe at it. "You don't fry fruit. You eat them. You dry them and eat them, you chill them and eat them, you cut them and eat them, you don't fry them and eat them."

"Some people do," Jennifer said carefully.

"Some people wanna die of heart attacks."

"He's young and healthy."

"No thanks to you. You finally get a nice one and what do you do, you feed him this, you don't care --"

"We have balanced meals."

"Doesn't mean a thing if you keep serving him grease like this everytime he comes home from the office. He works hard and you treat him like a dog. Do you treat dogs like this? I never let you have a pet. It's a good thing I never let you have a pet, not if you were going to treat it like this."

"It's not a lot of grease."

"Have I ever fed you greasy food?" Ma demanded. "Have I ever deep-fried anything that's gonna give you a coronary the minute you bite into it? Don't say I have, because I know I haven't. Don't say I have."

"I won't, Ma."

Danny came home an hour after Ma left. He bent over Jennifer who was still sitting at the table, and dropped a kiss on her hair. He set his briefcase down the same time she put down her pen.

"How was your day?" he asked, draping his arms around her shoulders, resting his chin on her head.

"It was all right." She sighed and nuzzled into the crook of his neck. "I don't think I'm good at staying at home."

"Poor baby." He kissed her again. "Just till next week. Have you told your mom yet?"

"No. She thinks you're going to be the sole breadwinner of the house. She doesn't want you dying because of my fried fruit."

Danny's disappointment was so palpable that he looked like a kid who'd been refused ice-cream for dessert. Jennifer found it adorable.

"You're not going to fry bananas for me anymore?" he asked plaintively.

Jennifer kissed his chin. "Only for tonight. Then it's your turn to spoil me before I start at Brooksfield next week."

"Haven't I been spoiling you since the day we met?" He grinned and waggled his eyebrows in mischief. "I'm always cooking for you. Admit it, you like my dinners."

"They're delish. But don't tell Ma, okay? She still thinks I cook for you."

"Believe me, I intend to stay far away from your mother."

Jennifer laughed as she rose to her feet and put her arms around his neck. "You can tell her you failed to chain me to the kitchen as your little housewife."

"You just had to ruin my longtime fantasy, didn't you?" he chuckled.

She jabbed his ribs teasingly and only released him long enough to undo his tie. They headed for the kitchen arm-in-arm, laughter ringing softly into the shadows of the night.