Taylor’s hand squished something mushy. She pulled the sandwich from the bag, smearing gravy everywhere. “Ugh. I told them no gravy.” She dropped it on her dish with a wet smack.
“That looks like extra gravy,” Addison said. She opened her bag. “This one’s okay. Here, switch.” They traded.
“Yuck. This one has gravy, too.”
“Scrape it off.” Addison took the sandwich, removed the gravy with a knife, and pushed it back to Taylor.
Taylor wrinkled her nose in disgust. “It’s like, soaked in the turkey. It’s a weird brown, see?” Annoyed, she crumpled the bag. “So much for a special dinner.”
“It is special. I’m eating my favorite takeout with my favorite sister.”
“Your only sister.”
“Okay, Princess.” Addison grabbed a couple of bottles from the fridge. She squeezed a blob each of honey and Dijon mustard on Taylor’s dish. “Dipping sauces.”
“Thanks, fixer-sister,” Taylor said. She recalled other times Addison helped her. In second grade Jimmy had stolen her brand-new pencil case. As soon as she heard of it, Addison marched to his house and demanded that he return it. On the morning of Mom’s funeral last year, she had spilled coffee and stained the front of her dress. Addison arranged a scarf to hide the stain.
“Not bad,” Addison said, sampling the Dijon mustard she’d put on her own dish. “This one’s better,” she said after testing the honey mustard.
Taylor tried the mustards. “Hunh. Pretty good.”
“Try them with the gravy mixed in.”
“Nope.”
Addison smiled and bit her sandwich. “Do you know why Mom made turkey for both Thanksgiving and Christmas?” she asked with her mouth full.
Taylor thought about it. “No.” She dipped and bit.
Addison swallowed. “Do you remember when she burnt the roast?”
Taylor laughed. “Yes! She set off the smoke alarm. I remember standing on a chair to wave the smoke away. The kitchen reeked until the next day.”
“She swore she’d never cook a roast again. That’s how we found this place.” Addison lifted her sandwich. “She needed something, quick.” She sipped her drink. “You were at war with the gravy then, too.”
“Really? I don’t remember that,” Taylor said.
“Of course you don’t.”
“Sorry if I’m not the memory keeper in this family.”
“How about when you made that cake to impress that guy, Kenny?”
“Oh, God,” Taylor chuckled. “That, I remember.”
“Mom called it your hockey puck cake.”
“I forgot the baking soda. Still tasted good.”
“Whatever happened to Kenny, anyway?” Addison asked.
Taylor shrugged.
All of a sudden Addison swiped some gravy and dabbed it on Taylor’s nose.
“You did not just do that,” Taylor said.
Addison smirked and grabbed her cell phone. “Look at you with your war paint. And you ate almost all your sandwich, even with the gravy stains.”
“Wha — “
“–I’m taking a selfie as proof for when you forget.” Addison knelt beside Taylor.
“Wait,” Taylor said. She removed some gravy from her nose and dotted it on Addison’s.
Addison planted a kiss on her forehead. “Love ya.” She extended her arm to snap the picture. “Say ‘gravy’.”
Taylor returned to present day as the memory of that meal with her sister faded from her mind. She traced her forefinger across their brown-smudged faces in the photograph Addison had printed from the selfie. “Miss you,” she whispered.
Taylor unwrapped her turkey sandwich, dipped it in the gravy she had ordered on the side, raised a toast to Addison, and took a bite.
INSTANT NOODLES 