Ethan;
The cookies seem to melt on my tongue when I take the first bite, and I can't help the satisfied hum that follows.
The kind only nostaligc meals can draw out of me.
The cookie is soft in the middle, a little crisp at the edges, sweet enough to remind me of when I lived soley of Granma's cooking.
I chew slowly, letting the taste settle... letting the warm familiarity wrap around me like a blanket I know my soul has been craving.
Her fingers move through my hair, slow and absentminded, the way she's done since I was a child.
Every now and then, she'd stop to give my scalp a gentle scratch and then continue stroking. It's a smoothing motion she uses when my curls get unruly.
And it's comforting in a way that makes my chest ache.
I lean into her without thinking, and her delicate voice breaks the silence.
"You barely come around anymore," she says softly. Not accusing. Just… sad.
I swallow, suddenly very aware of the cookie in my mouth, before looking at her.
