Soliloquies Anthology 24.2

Fayette Fox breathe in there!”

“Rosemary, that’s enough,” my mom said. “This isn’t a good time.”

Things aren’t usually gone forever. But now, with the white, leather recliner, I didn’t know what to think.

My brother and I met for lunch at Slurp City, our favorite soup place. It’s halfway between our offices and they have a changing menu with three soups every day. There’s always one vegetarian soup which is what my brother gets.

He’s not actually vegetarian. He’s just on this kick at the moment to eat less meat for environmental reasons. There are 21 meals in a week and he allows himself meat for six. Except beef. He says it’s “the worst offender” and only eats it once a month.

I chose the Italian wedding soup and he got the ginger carrot bisque. Every soup comes with crusty bread from a local bakery which Isaac says is a worker’s collective.

We picked a seat by the window. The fog hadn’t lifted and we could see a flurry of bundled people on the street, hurrying to get their lunches. Perfect soup weather. Inside, it was cozy and warm.

My soup was flavorful and nourishing. I was hungry since I’d barely eaten any breakfast. I imagined being in a Tuscan village at a wedding in the 1920s. The groom, a pig farmer from the next village over, had a shy smile and looked surprisingly sharp in his three-piece suit. The bride played the violin and wore her hair in long braids, coiled around her head. Her grandma made a vat of soup (with help from her elderly neighbors) for all the guests.

Isaac and I chatted about our weekends. I’d had brunch with friends and reorganized my sweaters. He and my sister-in-law, Carla had volunteered in the community garden and went to a harvest-themed party. Carla dressed up as an ear of GMO corn. Isaac was a tractor.

66 A