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Sugar Cookie Promises
Do you remember those days like I do?
The Christmas cookies you sent me have gone stale. It’s a shame, but I toss what’s left of them into the trash bin. You’d never been one for baking, yet I still have to commend you for always trying. Still, I couldn’t help but feel as if I were throwing away pieces of you that I’d regret losing.
If Tabitha had been home when the cookies arrived, she would have gotten rid of them the first chance she got. I know how she is. Anything that’s above 100 calories doesn’t belong in her vicinity, as she’s made me aware every time we order out when we can’t be bothered to cook.
Her nose still wrinkles when I mention your name. “That girl who lived down the street? You still talk to her? I thought she went off to LA or something a few years ago.”
I don’t tell her about your failed acting stint or the fact that you couch-surfed your way through Hollywood apartments. She doesn’t need to know that we’ve kept in touch all this time — sometimes by stray Facebook messages, other times with the real weight of ink-and-paper letters. To Tabitha, you were just an old novelty.
But to me? You will always be my first love.
I didn’t broadcast it — not when Tabitha and I graduated from next-door neighbors to high-school sweethearts to some…
