Our friend comes to visit us every year. We look forward to it. It's been nearly a year since I last saw him; he deploys...frequently.
But he's home and he'll come to visit us in November. We're planning things via text and I ask him:
"What's your favorite kind of cake?"
And I'm suddenly transported by that same question to another moment, to another warrior: "What's your favorite...?"
I haven't asked that question in eight years.
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I lost one of my best friends eight years ago, right on the heels of losing another friend; and my father.
That friend spent countless hours at our table, cooking and eating with us. In addition to being a beloved friend, he was also a favored guest. I'd always try to whip up new hazelnut desserts for him because he loved them so much.
Since his death, I've had few opportunities to inquire after someone's preferences, other than my husband's and my children's.
It's nice to turn that corner.
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"German chocolate cake," J. tells me.
No one I know likes German chocolate cake. Well, present company excepted.
"I love it," he tells me. He loves coconut.
"Okay. I'll make it."
The guys's in a war zone every few months. He wants German chocolate cake, he gets German chocolate cake.
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