Melanie
THE ELEVATED TRAIN pulls up to the Crosby Avenue station and I put away my headphones as I exit the train. I wrap my red scarf around my neck and button up my dark chocolate pea coat as I carefully walk down the steps and make my way to the street below. The chill shocks my body as the wind blows and I stuff my hands inside my pocket, having forgotten my gloves at home. Looking both ways, I step into the street and carefully walk across the frozen snow, making my way to Zeppieri’s Bakery.
Once inside, my body immediately starts to warm up and Mrs. Zeppieri greets me. “Oh, hi Melanie. Surprising to see you here.”
“Uh, hi. I was in the mood for some éclairs so I traveled all the way just to get some.”
With a somber frown she says, “I’m sorry. We’re all out of éclairs. We run out pretty quickly on holidays.”
“Oh, well I suppose I’ll get something else.”
I think about getting a cheesecake, but carrying a box into the snow with no gloves wouldn’t be very smart. I step toward the cookie case and take a peek inside. Skimming my options, my eyes land on the three-layer cookies.
“I’ll have a half pound of the three-layer cookies then.”
Mrs. Zeppieri beams bright and grabs a wax paper and a small white paper bag, carefully placing each cookie inside. Once she’s grabbed enough, she weighs the bag on the scale and tells me the total.
I hand her my debit card as she hands me the bags of cookies. She rings up the register and swipes the card in the machine. Seconds later, I sign the receipt and give her a warm smile, thanking her for the dessert.
As I prepare to venture back out into the cold, she asks, “Any plans for Thanksgiving dinner?”
“Yes, I’ll be heading to Long Island to spend the day there.”
She smiles. “How lovely. Will you see that precious goddaughter of yours?”
“Yes she’ll be there. Are you going to head to the hospital soon?”
“Yes, Vincent and I are heading there in a bit. It’s a shame we can’t bring any food for Roman. I understand the hospital’s policy about outside food, but goodness he hates the cafeteria food.”
I nervously chuckle. “Well, it’s not the greatest.”
“Funny, he said the same thing. Well, I know you must be needing to head out soon. We do too, to rush over and spend as much time with Roman as we can before visiting hours are up.”
“You’re not going to sleep at the hospital tonight? It’s Thanksgiving.”
She frowns, shaking her head. “No, he didn’t want us. He said he wanted us to head up to Connecticut instead, to see my son.”
“Oh, okay. Well Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Happy Thanksgiving to you dear. Have fun in Long Island.”
I give her a warm smile as I exit the bakery. On the train ride home, I manage to only eat two cookies, devouring them in seconds. Saving the rest, I fold the bag and place it inside my purse. Out of sight, out of mind.
Forty minutes later I arrive at the apartment and start packing for my trip to Long Island. Rob said he would pick me up by around one o’clock so that gives me two hours to get ready and have everything in order.
I start preparing my famous baked macaroni and cheese, gathering and arranging all the ingredients. In college, I was obsessed with food television and would watch dozens of cooking shows. Mastering recipes was a great past time for me and pasta was always my favorite thing to make. Over the years I learned to make fresh homemade pasta on my own and I must say, I’m pretty damn good at it.
Thirty minutes later, the macaroni and cheese bakes in the oven, so I head to the bedroom to quickly pack an overnight bag. Making sure I don’t forget anything, I cautiously skim the room and the bathroom for my toiletries. Okay, toothbrush, hairbrush, comb, deodorant, makeup bag, hairspray. Am I missing anything else?
The aroma from the mac and cheese spreads throughout the apartment as I fold my outfits and carefully place them into my bag. A few minutes later, the timer on the stove dings, indicating the baked masterpiece is ready. Opening the oven, my nose is flooded with the delicious aroma of cheesy noodles. I grab the dish, holding on tight with my oven mitt, and place it on the stove. Perfection.
I cover the pasta with a lid and glance at the clock. I have an hour until Rob arrives so I hop in the shower. Once dressed and ready to go, I look at the time on my phone. Rob should be here soon. I send him a quick text.
Me: Hey, almost here?
Rob: Stuck on the bridge. Be there in 30 min.
Me: Okay, be careful driving.