Chocolat
Umma used to buy me a chocolate cake when I was sick enough to miss kindergarten. She would rub her face against my cheek and say, “You can infect me with your cold. Mommy will be sick instead.” Then, she would rush outside to buy a dark chocolate cake from Paris Baguette. And I would eat it, happily, in my pajamas.
Now that I'm sick again, spending the whole day at home, I crave a chocolate cake. Its rich flavor and sweetness. In my mind, I imagine a rectangular navy blue box being delivered to my apartment. Anonymous, with a get-well-soon letter inside. When I open it, I see a cake — that same chocolate cake from childhood. Voilà!
