Sherry’s phone rang as soon as she soaked the endives in water. She dried her hands on the apron, and dug out her cellphone from the purse. It was Nelson.
“I’ve got something coming up. I’ll be there a bit late, around seven thirty. Would that be okay with you?”
“Sure. That’s perfect.”
Sherry was cooking salmon fillets with braised endives for dinner. It would be Nelson’s first visit to her place, and Sherry was eager to cook her favourite dish for her favourite man now. She placed an endive on the cutting board and sliced it in half along the long side. In the middle of layers of elegant arched curves, the fragile light-yellow bud was shown vulnerably at the innermost part of the plant.
“But he’d prefer the other way around,” Sherry could not help remembering. “He liked to go slowly, piece by piece.”
Sherry used to prepare the same dish for Ben, during those days when he would see her twice a month. The scattered secret appointments were simply irresistible for both. Everyday spent waiting seemed like a century. When they finally got to sit in the same room with only a table keeping them apart, the two could hardly stay on their own chairs and finish their meal. Luckily the food was always light.
The grill started to give a light greasy smell, which signalled to Sherry it would be ready in a few minutes. It was time to prepare the salmon. She carefully poured a spoonful of olive oil onto her fingers, then gently massaged it on the pinkish-peachy side of the fillet. Direct touches always enhance the flavour. The finger tips must have taste buds as well. Sherry recalled how Ben’d indulge himself in the dark running his fingers over each single inch of her skin, giving her tiny electric shocks here and there.
Salt. Black pepper. Orange paprika. Garlic powder. Onion powder. Dried thyme. Sherry coated the fillet with layers of savours, without having to refer to the recipe. She had prepared it so many times, each time enduring the same torment of yearning, that the whole process had become an addictive ritual.
But it was not all sweet, no, of course not. The price she paid would be deemed too high by many. The first time Ben reached his fingers down between her legs, Sherry asked him to remove his marriage ring first, and he readily did. Before he left he did not forget to pick up the ring from the bedside table, after carefully washing his hands with soap. Sherry quietly took notes of these details, which would remain stuck in her brain, and come out in the middle of the night to gnaw the softest spot of her heart. She never even asked whether he loved her though, because she knew she loved him, and that was enough. Sherry was in it for herself, not for him.
“Ouch!” Sherry burned her hand on the grill. She instinctively licked the wound, and it felt much better right away. “It is dangerous to daydream while cooking. There are many things you can kill yourself with in the kitchen.” Sherry replayed that warning from her mother and quickly relocated herself to the present. Now it’s time for the endive. She set a skillet on the stove, threw in a piece of butter, and watched it melt into a thick creamy foamy liquid. She then added the endives, each half with its cut side facing down sitting on the creamy liquid. Suddenly she remembered how Ben loved to hug her from the back tickling her neck with his breath when he got tipsy. She could almost smell the alcohol from his breath.
Sherry shook her head, and added a little red wine to the skillet, sprinkled some salt and pepper, while watching the light yellow leaves turn brownish golden. Then she flipped them. Ben never minded the shallots, but Sherry was not sure about Nelson. She would do without it for this time.
Nelson was shorter and smaller than Ben, but that made him feel a lot more available to Sherry, or “realistic”, more precisely. She had loved how slim and tall Ben was, but she also loved how friendlily stocky Nelson was. But it was not the body that made the difference. Nelson was the one that made Sherry understand what true love was, a love that had returned.
“Oh the salmon!” Sherry jumped to open the griller, and pulled out the now perfectly “tanned” fillet. Fortunately it’s not too late! The salmon looked and smelled just right. Knowing Nelson, Sherry did not have the pressure to go fussy about anything, but she really wanted to show him the best she could do.
The day when Sherry left Ben she cried her heart out. It was a perfect summer Monday afternoon outside of a subway station in central town, where commuting people chased one another out of the stairway. She was there, bending on the fence outside of the exit of the subway in the summer wind, first sobbing, then howling like she had never done.
But after that what’s gone was gone. Sherry thought about Ben all the time. His smile, the way he unbuttoned his shirt, his fingers, the smell of his chest, and his breath on the back of her ear. She also thought about that summer afternoon. That perfect summer afternoon. She always had a smile on her face while thinking about it.
All the memories about Ben were perfect. Even the painful parts. Like that bittersweet taste of endive. And they would stay like that. Sherry moved on with life carrying these perfect memories. Now she was ready to create something new with this person that just entered her life: Nelson.
By the time Sherry finished cooking the sauce, and placed everything on two big plates, the door bell rang. Nelson walked in the door with a bouquet of red roses and an apologetic smile. (End)
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