When Will You Stop?
Mina crossed out the last thing on the list with a sigh. Had she been expecting some sort of catharsis or relief? Some enlightenment about death and loss?
She flipped through the worn, thick notebook, stopping again on the last used pages, near the book’s halfway point. Those final written pages listed out, in Mina’s hand, the names of all the recipes Leela had scribbled down in the pages before.
It had started as a whim. One of the countless impulsive things Leela would dive into headfirst and rarely ever see through to the end. That most of these projects went unfinished had somehow never mattered, because Leela had a superpower - she never had to finish a thing to love it.
These recipes were the last of the fleeting hobbies. Leela had started it just a couple of weeks before the accident ended everything. Every recipe was for a dish they’d craved by reading about it in a book, or watching it on TV. Every day, Leela wrote down way more than she cooked.
Mina had laughed one day, incredulous. “It’s endless! When will you stop collecting more and more?”
“Whenever I want to,” Leela had answered, waving the many empty pages of the notebook at her.
Mina had made that list, after every single recipe Leela had put down before she was gone, as a conclusion. It had taken four months to make them all. She had crossed out every single one today, and it just felt… hollow.
Life used to be easier when all she did after coming home was sit on the couch and have takeout with Leela, winding down with an old favourite book or TV show. Leela would have laughed at the thought of her cooking at all, let alone everyday. Mina herself wasn’t sure why, after every exhausting, frustrating workday, she’d pull this notebook out and get working on the next dish. Why she’d write down everything she needed for the next recipe in the morning and make a grocery run on the way back home.
It was going to be easier again from tomorrow.
Mina put the book and her apron back in their places. They stayed there, untouched, for two days. Two days of takeouts just enough for one, insipid cafeteria food and no leftovers to pack for lunch.
It was easier, in theory.
On the third night, she settled on the couch with a pre-packaged chicken salad and rewatched an old comfort show. The couch felt way too big for just her, and the room too silent with just the show on.
Someone on screen ordered a Pad Thai. Mina paused.
When will you stop?
Whenever I want to.
Smiling to herself, she gobbled down the last of her salad and looked up the recipe. Pulling out Leela’s notebook, she started writing on a fresh page. She was going to have to pick up some stuff on the way back from work tomorrow.
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