Sage

63

Ellie.

The small kitchen was warm with the scent of steamed cabbages and onions. All four eyes of the stove were occupied with some ingredient, whether it be scattering vegetables or boiling potatoes. In my sink, we filled dishes to the brink. And from the oven, the sweet, fluffy smell of victoria sponge cake danced around the room. I'd never seen my kitchen in such a mess, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't enjoying every second of it.

My speaker blasted my Spotify playlist, an accumulation of random songs that had piqued my interest since fifteen. Debra, despite not knowing any of the songs, bopped her head and did little dances as she moved around the kitchen. Aaliyah kicked around inside of me as well, seeming to enjoy the energy her grandmother gave to the room.

"Oh! The potatoes are about ready," Debra suddenly tells me, her eyes widening over Justin Timberlake. I continue to rinse the dishes, looking over my shoulder as she squeezes behind me to the pot of the boiling potatoes.

"You need the strainer?"

"I do," She nods.

She turns the eye off and carries them to the left side of the sink, which is empty. I place a filter, and she pours the vegetables, the hot steam rising and fogging her frail glasses.

"So what- we just mash them now?" I ask through a smile, trying to make sense of this dish we were making.

It was a  fry-up of vegetables. A dish made with shredded cabbage and onions, sautéed and mixed with mashed potatoes, then baked in the oven until golden brown. From what Debra had told me, it was one of Harry's favorite things to eat when he was a kid. It didn't matter if it was the middle of December or the high heat of July; he loved Scottish rumbledethumps.

I wanted to make him dinner, seeing as he's been at work all day (likely stressing about finances) and will have to come home to my tiny apartment with barely enough room to turn around. I figured if he had a meal he enjoyed, it might make all of this change more bearable. Harry means more to me than I can put into words and as much as it scares me, I want to show him that. I want to show him that he isn't going through this alone and that we're a team now. His problems are mine.

When Debra called to check in on me (and announce that she was back in the states for the next few days for business), I told her the truth. That I needed help finding something to cook for Harry that would remind him of a simpler time. I know that people say a way to a man's heart is through his stomach, which is especially true for Harry. Whether it is Scampi or Whiskey, food always makes him feel better.

Debra was over in less than thirty minutes with two aprons, an arm full of cookbooks, and the brightest smile I'd ever seen. From then, we put on music and we got to work. Small conversation was made as we prepared the meal and in between songs. She asked me about how I'd been feeling with the pregnancy, and I asked how her work was going.

"We do." She says with a smile, "Do you have the casserole dish?"

I grab the blue dish from the drying rack and place it on the countertop while Debra begins to mash the potatoes. A familiar sweat is breaking out on both of our foreheads from the lack of air conditioning. I hope the apartment cools down before Harry gets here, seeing as I know how much he hates the heat.

"I can't wait for the fall," I tell her, desperately needing the cool front to blow over the humid city. My plump belly was not mixing well with the heat.

"Oh yes! Pumpkins, hot chocolate, Halloween. It's all around the corner," Debra mashes the potatoes. Her brown hair is tied up into a bun, showcasing her narrow cheekbones and the soft wrinkles on her skin. It's crazy how much of Harry I see in her. From the kind green eyes to the slightly larger two front teeth.