Sprouts

Ingredients

• Sprouts
• Sadness

Instructions

Christmas Day. The sprouts, sitting pale and lifeless on the counter, look how you feel.

It seems right, somehow, that it should be you who makes the dish that no one will want to eat.

You wonder, briefly, if he likes brussel sprouts. Does she make them for him, roasted with chestnuts? Or does he prefer them boiled, like his mother used to? You don’t know why you care so much, but you do.

You fry the sprouts until they are blackened on the outsides. It feels good to spoil something small and perfect. You think about calling him, to tell him how you feel. Tender. Bitter. Burnt.

You serve the sprouts, then forget to eat them.