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Maybe you are making a pecan pie.
As you add the bourbon into the mixture you think back to that year you sat with him on a cold park bench sipping bourbon from a flask. You talked about old memories…about what happened way back when, and what might have happened next.
You can still remember the taste of Bullet on his lips from that kiss you stole.
Maybe you are stirring cranberries for the sauce.
As your spoon slips through the fruit, you remember that time you were walking with them down the icy path. You wiped out and scraped the shit out of your knee…your tights soon turning the same shade of red as those berries in the pot. They took you back to their place and tended to your wounded pride.
You can still remember how you blushed when they propositioned you.
Maybe you are tearing up bread for the stuffing.
As you pull the loaf apart, you remember the year he made leftover sandwiches with you late at night when neither you couldn’t sleep. It had been such a rotten holiday - nobody ever saw that moment coming, but here it was. You sat, nibbling on the sandwiches in the dim of the room at an ungodly hour. You weren’t there together, but in this moment you were very much together.
You can still remember how you promised never to tell.
Food has a way of bringing us together, and bringing us back. Share a memory with me and I’ll share a plate with you?
Thanks for stopping by…pass the sweet potatoes.
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