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  • Writer's pictureSara Popp

A Fancy Salad

I hear bustling and trundling in the hall. Ben comes in to ask me a very casual question. He's not making eye contact.


"What's your favorite flavor of cake?" I tell him vanilla cake with chocolate icing, but chocolate cake with vanilla icing is good too. Or lemon cake with cream cheese icing? I tell him I guess I don't have a favorite. (I don't tell him I much prefer pie.)


"Can the vanilla icing have food color?" He knows I try to avoid it. "Sure," I say. He leaves, closing the bedroom door very carefully and quietly.


He sticks his head back in. Still no eye contact. "We just want to know, like, for the future..."


He wants to say, "NOTHING TO SEE HERE, WE'RE NOT MAKING YOU A CAKE," so instead, he reminds me to stay in my room for the next 3 hours, just because.


Not because Jess and Ben are making me a cake. Course not.


*Update. While helping me take things out of a closet (ciao, clothes I like but never seem to wear), he's chatting away. A voice from the kitchen reminds him not to tell me.


"Tell me what tell me what tell me what?"


"OK! FINE! JEEZ! I'll TELL you!" he says dramatically. Too dramatically...


"We're making you a fancy salad."


Shifty eyes, barely able to hold it together, he exits.


"Are you lying, Ben? Your face looks funny..."

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