“Oh, whos this?” gasped Lucy, stepping into her friends kitchen.
Under the dim yellow glow of the overhead light, a balding man in his forties perched awkwardly by the smallest cupboard, chopping dill with surprising skill using Emilys wide kitchen knife.
“Lucy, this is Tony. Tony, this is Lucy,” Emily mumbled, flushing scarlet as she thrust a sugar tin into her friends hands and hurried her into the hallway.
“Pleasure!” Lucy called over her shoulder, sharp eyes scanning Emilys new companion.
But there was nothing remarkable about himno detail that justified his sudden appearance in Emilys flour-dusted apron with its garish doughnut print.
“Tony, Ill be right back,” Emily shouted before shutting the door.
Thenin the cramped hallwayLucy seized her arm with a death grip.
“Spill!”
“Whats to spill?” Emily hedged, then sighed. “Fine, come on.”
They crossed the narrow landing and slipped into Lucys neat two-bedroom flat. The air smelled of cinnamon and Chanel, and every detailfrom the pristine white pouffe by the doorspoke of Lucys fastidious care for her home.
“Not like mine,” Emily always thought gloomily, thinking of her own peeling hallway wallpaper.
“Tell me!” Lucy demanded, whisking cream in a bowl as she fixed Emily with a stare.
“What about your husband, Jeremy?” Emily dodged.
“At a council meeting. Wont be back for hours. Out with it!”
“Well, I saw him at the market. And, well, I picked him up.”
“How?” Lucy frowned.
“Saw him standing by the herbs. Decent coat but looked a bit lost. Asked the price of his dill. He said, Why dont I just give it to you? I asked why, and he said, I made a vowif a woman with sad eyes came by, Id give her everything. Said he grew it himself.”
“And you just?”
“I took it. Turned to leave, then asked why he thought my eyes were sad. Theyre not! He just looked at me. Then picked up my bags and followed.”
“And you let him?” Lucy, forgetting the whisk in her hand, scratched her tousled fringe with it.
“What else? He was clearly adrift. So I thoughtwhy not? We talked on the way.”
“You brought a man home from the street?! Did you even hide your valuables?”
“Lucy!” Emily bristled. “Hes a radiologist!”
“Did you check his credentials?”
“Youre one to talk! You told meabout the avocado!”
“What avocado?” Lucy blinked.
Emilys mind drifted back to that evening in Lucys kitchen
The avocado lay in perfect slices, a gradient from deep moss-green near the skin to pale olive by the stone.
Emily could never pick a ripe one. In the supermarket, shed hover over the dark, glossy fruits, pressing her thumb into their bumpy skin, hoping to divine the secret. Sometimes she thought shed cracked itonly to bring home a stubborn, starchy disappointment. Shed leave it on the counter, waiting days for it to soften into something edible.
But that night, Lucys avocado was perfect. Emily speared a slice with her fork, letting the creamy flesh melt on her tongue, its nutty richness flooding her senses.
“You said you cant judge by looks. Or touch. You just have to *know*,” Emily murmured, surfacing from memory.
“Whats that got to do with men?”
“You always pick the right ones. Like avocados. I dont.”
“And you *knew* with Tony?” Lucy struggled to recall his name, still baffled by his plainness.
“It went quiet. Even in the market crush. I thoughtmaybe ordinarys alright?”
“Right. Well, off you go. He might miss you.”
Lucy shooed her out, pressing the sugar tin back into her hands, then pressed her ear to the door. A soft click from next door. Silence.
“Ah well. What if?” She returned to her whisk, plunging it into the cake batter.
Back in her own flat, Emily found Tonystill in her doughnut apronstanding on a wobbly stool, pressing a strip of wallpaper to the wall.
“Sorry, I found this in the kitchen while looking for a jar for the dill. The glue was there too. Thought Id fix it? Unless?” He wobbled nervously.
Emily leapt like a cat, steadying his unfamiliar legs. Beneath his dark jeans, she felt his kneestesting them like an avocados hidden ripenessand thought, with quiet surprise: *mine*.
Tony stayed still, afraid to loosen his grip on the damp wallpaperor perhaps afraid to disturb something fragile but precious.
Finally, he let go, gently stroking Emilys fine hair.
“Do you like avocados?” she asked suddenly, squeezing her eyes shut.
“Love them!” he admitted truthfully, though hed never tried one.
And just then, they both felt itthe soft rustle as the still-damp wallpaper settled over them like a warm embrace.
Or perhaps it was happiness.
