“Patty, will you pass the toes?” Sarah asks, licking her lips. She pans over the kitchen table, populated with prepared dinner dishes of various meat selections. A bowl of seasoned toes. Bicep chunks skewered between roasted vegetables. Mustard-covered thigh pieces. Pink brain bits a la cottage cheese. Grill-seared ribs. The savory smells ignite her groaning appetite. Her mouth waters for the first bite.
“Sure, but please don’t eat a lot this time. Tom will be home soon, and he’ll be cross if we didn’t save him enough.” Patty passes the bowl to her sister. Whispers of steam waft back and forth between them.
“Maybe Tom should’ve prepared more if he was that worried about us eating so much of his favorite,” Susan says, popping a boneless morsel into her mouth. Her eyes close with a deep satisfaction. She swallows with a tight-lipped grin, releasing a soft groan of pleasure. “I’m so glad he took off the nails. I could eat these all day, every day.”
“Well, when you finally get a job and move out, you can have them as often as you like,” Patty says, gazing away at a distant vase.
“What the fuck? We’re having a pleasant meal, and you have to bring that up again. I told you a hundred times that it’s a tough economy, and I’m trying to find meaningful work compatible with my college class schedule. I’m not going to do something below my value.” She points a seasoned little toe across the table before putting it in her mouth. She adds another to her tongue.
Patty scowls. “Maybe you should save some toes for my husband. You know, the guy who was up early this morning so they’d be ready for us now.”
“I’ll make it up to you both once I get a worthwhile job.”
“Just get any fucking job until you find your dream one,” Patty says with a deep exhale. She reaches for a chunk of thigh meat covered in a tangy mustard sauce. “Until then, don’t be so damn greedy.”
The women glare at one another. Susan sits back. Her face relaxes. “Okay. Maybe you’re right. I should just get some side hustle to help out around here. I’m sorry for being so demanding. I just love Fresh Meat Friday so much.”
“I do too.” Patty bites into a flesh cube skewered between a roasted tomato and onion. The six o’clock hour chimes from a grandfather clock.
“Are you sure Tom’s okay with us starting without him?”
“Yeah, he texted earlier that he wasn’t sure how bad traffic might be.”
“Good, ’cuz I just want to eat it all.” Susan gazes over the lot. “Look, when I get that dream job, do you think Tom would be willing to slaughter one of the cattle downstairs and make us some of his spicy kidney soup?”
“You get any job, and hold it for more than a year, Tom will make anything you want.”
Susan swallows a mouthful of cottage cheese mixed with pink brain chunks. “Patty, do you ever think about them downstairs?” She dips her spoon in the mix. “I mean, they’re human, too.”
“Nah. I don’t think of them most of the time, to be honest. I mean, Tom takes care of everything, including their harvesting.” Patty licks her fingers.
Susan cocks her head. “Do you name them?”
“No, that’s a rule. No names. No human identifiers. They’re strictly cattle.”
“But, I mean, they were once people, weren’t they? Adults with jobs and stuff.”
“Look, they all made the decision to become what they are. I don’t know why. I don’t care. No one forced them. From what Tom’s wrangler says, each one of them signed their paid contracts a week before we received them. I don’t know their backstories, and, honestly, I don’t care what their problems might have been. All I know is that in return for paying out the nose, we get fresh meat, and they have a pain-free death. I don’t understand the nano-bot technology that does it, but the expiration date clearly labelled on their ankle bands means we get protein from the source and not from nuts and beans or whatever, like most people these days. I don’t do anything outside of”—she bites into a section of ribs—“sit back and fill my gullet.”
“Yeah, I guess that makes some sort of sense.”
“Since the cows and pigs of the world have become infected, what viable choices do we have for fresh meat? Most of the large mammal alternatives were wiped out years ago by hunters. Bison, deer, elk. I mean, how much fresh protein would a squirrel give you? Are you really going to eat…dog? Tom and I tried living on rabbits before you started staying with us, but he just couldn’t bring himself to continue killing them, you know, with their adorable little faces,” Patty says, exposing her front two teeth, “so we agreed to let them go out back.”
“I mean, you wouldn’t want to be like them, right? Secured in subbasement pens, waiting to become someone’s meal.”
“From what he’s told me, they’re pretty happy overall. He gives them free time to walk around in the downstairs storage rooms. They always get fresh and tasty food. He doesn’t spare any expense for their care.
“You know, we have neighbors that chain their cattle to moldy walls and make them eat out of troughs.” Patty shakes her head. “Not us, though. Ours eat on paper plates.” She smiles with pride. “Plus, he makes sure they have clean water every day, fresh hay every couple of days, and a Bible story every night. I sort of envy them when I can’t sleep.”
“Are you serious?” Susan sits back. “How in the fuck can you envy them? They’re in your home to be eaten.”
“Well, they don’t have to worry about bills or family drama or work or taxes. I just heard on the news that there’s going to be a fifth round of war drafting, no matter one’s age, and we both know that anyone going into combat won’t be coming back. Right now, our cattle are downstairs, guaranteed to die in their sleep on their expiration date.”
“But would you want to be in their position?” Susan frowns.
“No, but there are billionaires and millionaires who wouldn’t want to be in mine, so who’s to say?” Patty shrugs.
“Fair enough.” Susan reaches for the bowl.
“That’s enough toes for now.” Patty takes the concave dish away from her grasp.
“One more. Please,” Susan begs with wide eyes.
“No. I told you. Get a job, get more seasoned toes.”
“Have you ever served your stock, you know, meat from their own?”
Patty glares at her sister. “No, and don’t you ever fucking ask that again. That type of question could get our meat license revoked.”
The front door flies open. A rush of wind pushes by the older man’s silk suit coat. “Hello, ladies.”
Patty’s eyes gleam with happiness. Sarah flashes a sultry smile across the table. “Hello, Tom,” the women say in unison.
He jams a faded red fedora on a coat rack hook. Hints of musky cologne whip into the room.
“You two save me any toes, or did you ladies have at them all by now?”
Patty stands up. She pulls a large morsel from the bowl. “We saved a big toe just for you, baby.”
