The warm taste of apple teases my tongue and I turn around to the refrigerator to seize one from the crisper. I open the drawer and select a nice sized rounded apple, with no green showing. I pull out the cutting board from the cupboard beneath the counter and reach over the sink to the cutting board to grab a steak knife. I cut the apple in half first then gently remove the core in curves from each piece. The bite I take is still cold to my teeth and I am careful to let it warm in my mouth before swallowing. My mother comes into the kitchen. Her hair is teased and standing straight up in a beehive helmet on her head. The color is radically stained red and burns like her blue eyes. She tans every day and her skin is dark, against the pastel pink sweater she is wearing. Suddenly, I do not want to eat the whole apple, I will let the other pieces brown in a plastic baggie on the counter and devour them later when no one is watching.
“You haven’t finished drying the dishes, you know.” My mother arches her left eyebrow at me and I retrieve the towel and begin wiping.
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