- Vol. 08
- Chapter 09
I worked it out.
Or – 1 year, 6 months, 4 days.
And when I think about it too deeply, my belly aches and my eyes fill up.
And I don’t know what to say. The words won’t come.
So I decide to fill my mouth up.
Garlic, lemon zest, fresh basil.
Olives in oil, not brine, that you brought over so long ago. The jar is almost finished.
I measure them out carefully, sparks of glossy darkness.
A pinch of sugar to bring out the best in the slow-cooking tomatoes, just like you taught me.
They will never taste as good as the ones from home. But we work with what we’ve got.
I sit down to eat, and I send you a picture, and I look outside at the grey sky, and my eyes fill up again.
I twirl the spaghetti around the tines of my fork, and think about all the times we sat around a table together without a second thought.
I will never take a second of time together for granted ever again.
I will savour every bite.