Comfort Food

My turn to cook tonight. I chose chicken noodle soup and grilled cheese sandwiches.

“Comfort food, Fen?”

I flipped the sandwiches. I made them in a pan, not on a griddle. “Yeah. You don’t have a problem with that, do you?” 

“Of course not. I like soup and grilled cheese.” He slid an arm around my waist as I stirred. “You okay?”



“No. Winter’s happening and it’s depressing.” I wasn’t about to mention the upcoming move, for which I’d done almost no packing yet.

“Dreaming of Florida again?”

“…Yeah. Of sitting outside at Gator’s on the Pass, watching the dolphins jump and the pelicans sit on the pilings, of the drawbridge going up and down and the boats going by. Of sitting in the sun and eating grouper…damn, it tastes so good, you have no idea.” I turned down the heat under the soup. “Bowls, babe. It’s ready.”

“You’ll get there again some day,” he said as I spatulaed sandwiches onto the waiting plate.

“Yes. I will. Let’s eat.”

Sunday night was always hard, because Monday was right behind it and that meant another work week was starting. My life would go back on hold again until Friday.

I looked across the table at JJ blowing on a spoonful of soup and smiled. How could I be thinking of leaving him, even temporarily? He filled my life with joy.

“Thanks, JJ.” He looked up, waiting. “You know why.”

He smiled back, nodding. “Good soup, Fen.”

“The best you can get in a can.”


About Fenraven

Fenraven happily lives in south Florida, where it is really hot most of the year. Find him on Twitter, Google +, and Facebook by searching on 'fenraven'.
This entry was posted in RL and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.