Homemade Spaghetti and Carrot Cake

He cooked for me, you know. This October, when he fetched me from the airport.

“Let’s have breakfast. Do they charge for corkage here?”

They didn’t. I ordered hot tea for me and an iced chocolate drink for him. He brought out two plastic containers filled with spaghetti, and then a third filled with bread sticks. He then brought out two sets of colorful utensils – two plastic spoons; two plastic forks.


“I ate my lunch at my work station so that I could buy the ingredients for this. I cooked this after work at the girls’ house. I told them you just threw random stuff into your frying pan so I wanted to cook for you this time. And you know how costly airport food is.”

“I know. Aww. Thank you.”

“And I bought this, too. Tada! It’s really yum.”

“Carrot cake! I’ve been craving for something sweet all week!”

“There you go. Cravings satisfied.”

“Thank you.”

I had found myself moping because he only gave me flowers that one time. But as I chewed on the spaghetti, as I took a bite from the cake, I realized how incredibly loved I was.

“Is it good?”

“It is.”