I found it in the back of the junk drawer. Her brisket recipe in her handwriting, butter stains from 1994.
My son was wearing a paper crown from the burger place. He refused to take it off.
We'd come home early. A fire drill at the office that turned into everyone just leaving.
I stood at the counter holding the card. Three years since she died, and I hadn't made it once.
My son looked up and said, 'What's that?' I said, 'Your grandma's brisket.'
It didn't taste like hers. But my son ate two helpings, crown still on, and said, 'Can we have this again?'
I'd been afraid it would crack me open. Instead it just gave us dinner, and she would've liked that.