Lunch at her desk. With her tongue still coated with the last teaspoon of yogurt, Lindsey’s mouth watered as she pulled the large peach out of a brown bag. She was going to take her time. This was dessert. To be eaten slowly--the only way to enjoy a piece of fresh fruit. Lindsey had picked it out yesterday when she went to the Monterey Market. Yes, she had gone there with David. Nothing wrong with that. They were both just doing some grocery shopping, so they car-pooled. At the fruit counter, Lindsey had held the perfect gold and orange fuzzy peach high in the air, declaring, “Boy, have I missed California fruit and vegetables…they don’t make these on the East Coast.”
“Go ahead, eat it now,” David had said.
“No, I want this for my lunch tomorrow. It will be even better, even sweeter because I have until then to think about it....you know, the anticipation thing.”
Now, the office clock above her read 12:15 p.m. Plenty of time. Lindsey shoved away case files on her desk. Slowly she unfolded white paper napkins to cover the cleared work area in front of her. There she carefully placed the ripe fruit. Reaching over to her old purse/briefcase on the floor, Lindsey pulled out the Swiss Army knife she still carried around. David had given it to her back then. He also had been the one to show Lindsey how to cut and eat fruit. He said to chew slowly so your taste buds can expand as the juice rolls into your mouth. Holding the peach in one hand and the knife in the other, Lindsey closed her eyes and imagined the sugary taste and how the soft fleshy fruit will feel on her tongue. As she made the first cut into the delicate skin, she recalled David saying to cut bite-sized pieces so that no juice will be lost. But Lindsey had covered the desk just in case she had lost her touch.