The Table

I wait at the table laden with baking things. You gals show up predictably late. I don’t tell you, but I love the impossible excuses you both make and the way you scream at me for actually expecting you to be on time.

We pause midway in our yelling and after a moment’s silence, break out into peals of prolonged laughter. We continue that way till we remember what we’re here for; to exchange news (a kinder word for gossip), to discuss the general stupidity of boys and of course, to bake.

We’ve always baked chocolate cake together. We tell our stories and air our theories as we mix the batter, fold in the eggs, and grease the baking tray.

And through the noisy chatter and the laughter, a thought strikes. This is it...this table...this moment. This is friendship.

I take a second off to watch the two of you. And I feel blessed.