Later, he makes me a replacement cake – a special concoction with homemade icing, black currant jam, an ingredient sworn to secrecy. There’s some currants in there, he whispers, and I will myself to not devour the whole heavenly thing down.
Delicious, I tell him, because some times the grand scheme of things absolutely warrants pretense.
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Yesterday, we colored Easter eggs and drank coffee in the kitchen and a pool of caffeine drains to my heart. Are you sad? Martin asks when he brings paper towels.
I want to tell him that I am not, that a global pandemic is no big deal in the grand scheme of things, but I notice that’s precisely what I feel, sad, and that sometimes, often, the scheme of things aren’t grand enough for pretense. I say yes, and that I also feel happy to have someone here who understands. |
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| Morgen is Morgen, which is to say that I’ve taken to him sending me selfies to disguise a smattering of bite marks, pink crescent moons of love and chagrin. He’ll kick the habit by summer, I think wishfully, for vanity sake alone. (I never was one for enforcing rules.) |
