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She sat up and pulled her knees into her chest. “I think that’s a beautiful idea.”
I gave her a broken smile as I proceeded to open the recipe box. Inside were dozens of memories crafted by my mother. I paged through the recipe cards, some dusted with flour, others with drops of oil. Cacio e Pepe, ricotta gnudi, mushroom frittata, carbonara. Just seeing her words made my chest tighten. My first thought was how idiotic I was to wait so long to look inside that box. The thought that followed was how long would my sight allow me to see my mother’s handwritten cards. It was odd how somehow, I looked at life with a different set of eyes ever since my diagnosis. I’d never cared before how people wrote words against paper. How they dotted their i’s and crossed their t’s. But now, knowing that maybe someday I could lose all connection to those little things, I took them in more, especially when it came to Mom’s recipe cards.
As I pulled out one of the cards for a loaf of dutch oven baked bread, my chest tightened a bit. On the left side of the recipe card were the ingredients and directions to make said bread. Then on the right side was a note from my mother. I pressed my fingertips to the words, following the indentations where her pen leaned heavily on the paper. Her words were created with such tender love and care that I could almost feel her through the curves of her penmanship.
My world,
Making bread takes time. A lot of resting.
Humans are like bread, too. Sometimes we just need a little rest to rise.
Con amore,
Mama
Notes.
She left me notes on the recipe cards.
I flipped through the deck and pulled out another. Pasta alla norma.
My world,
Perfect for a sunny day with French bread and a side salad.
Even better with a glass of red wine. (Once you’re of age, of course.)
Con amore,
Mama
I felt as if my world was spinning faster as I flipped through more and more. Each card had a little note. Each card held a message to me from her. Even when she was at her weakest, she took the time to write out a personal message on every single recipe for me, signing each one with con amore. With love. Leave it to my mother to know when I’d need her love the most.
Who knew love could still exist in the afterlife? I felt as if Dad was trying to race off to meet her. A part of me couldn’t blame him.
“She left me little notes on each card,” I explained to Starlet. “I didn’t know that until right now.”
“Sometimes life brings you comfort when you need it the most.”
If that were true, I supposed that was why the world brought me Starlet.
“I’ll set up a grocery order to be delivered. Then I can start cooking. If you want to shower, I set out some towels and whatnot in the bathroom for you,” I told her. “I’ll give my uncle a call, too, to see what I need to handle today.”
“Sounds good.” She placed her hands against my kneecaps before leaning in and kissing me gently. She whispered against my lips. “You’re not okay.”
I shook my head. “I’m not okay.”
She kissed me once more. “And that’s okay.”
I kissed her back, and I was so thankful she existed. I’d never been more grateful for a person’s existence before.
She pushed herself up from the bed and held her hand out toward me. “Before you order that food, come take a shower with me. It will feel good against your skin.”
I hesitated for a moment, thinking of a million things I needed to do, but then I locked eyes with her, and an odd sense of calmness washed over me. The same kind of calm I’d received while reading the recipe cards. A sense of not being alone.
I took her hand into mine, and she pulled me toward the shower. We removed one another’s clothing after I turned on the water. The bathroom steamed up quickly as Starlet and I stepped inside. Water raced over our bodies as I shut my eyes. Something about the shower brought forth emotions I hadn’t known I’d been suppressing. Tears began to stream down my face, intermixing with the water crystals as Starlet began to wash my body. She started at my scalp, shampooing my hair. Then she washed my back and my chest, moving down to every piece of me. As I opened my eyes, I stared into her browns, feeling less and less alone as her body washed mine and I washed hers.
Her hair was soaked, showcasing her natural curls as they fell down her back. She’d never looked more beautiful to me than at that moment right there.
My hands fell to her hips, and I pulled her body against mine. I pressed my forehead to hers as I shut my eyes. The water was hot, yet for some reason, chills raced throughout my whole system.
