Jewels

Saanchi Singh

The cold soil between June’s fingers brought a child-like joy to her. Through the stress of running her own publishing company, she forgot what it felt like to tug on a red, juicy tomato adorned with morning dew. She missed cupping the almost-ripe Heirlooms to get a better look at the glisten of the green sliver of skin through the droplets of water. It was as though they were painted by the colours of fall – her mother’s favourite season. June chuckled. With the day getting warmer, June thought to herself, “just one more…” She scanned her garden for anything that was ready to accompany her freshly picked tomatoes. The cucumbers and the eggplants sheepishly tucked themselves behind their shielding leaves and so did the chilies. Her eyes landed on the mint that was standing tall and proud, eager to be chosen. And so, June obliged. She plucked a bundle of plump leaves, placed them in her basket alongside the tomatoes, and hurried inside to escape the heat. As soon as she entered the house, the blue walls of her kitchen provided her eyes some relief from the blinding sun. The clock on the stove showed that it was now 1:37, which meant it was lunch time. June’s stomach grumbled in agreement. It was indeed time for lunch. She put her basket down on the countertop. Her basket leaving a trail of dirt on her white tiled floor. She couldn’t care less. She thoroughly washed her hands. Her mother’s voice in her head reminding her to wash under her nails. One by one, she gently scrubbed her tomatoes, careful not to damage them. Her hands wrapped around them so perfectly that one would think that her hands were only made to hold tomatoes. She turned to the mint, giving it the same amount of attention, scrubbing the leaves with her thumbs in an effort not to bruise them. Her five tomatoes patiently sitting on a wooden cutting board in the meantime. The knife delicately made its way through the tomatoes, revealing the flower-like pattern in which the seeds arranged themselves. June tossed the, now, diced Heirlooms in a wooden bowl that matched the basket so perfectly that they looked like they came from a matched set. She furrowed her eyebrows with dissatisfaction. Something was wrong. It was the tomatoes. They looked lonely laying there surrounded by nothing but high wooden walls. June had to fix this. She rummaged through the fridge which was overflowing with all kinds of food. She had to buy a bigger one. “There you are,” she finally mumbled as she pulled out a mysterious package. June opened the package. “This should do it,” she said looking down at it. The same knife made its way through it, slicing through it like it was softened butter. Slice, slice, slice she continued until the pieces were ready to slide down the cutting board to join their bowl-mates. The mozzarella hugged the tomatoes, which were slightly smaller in comparison. The tomatoes blushed. The union was celebrated with a chiffonade of mint leaves, a crack of black pepper, a pinch of salt, and a drizzle of olive oil. The harmony from the bowl diffused through the house so much so that even Mango, June’s cat, came to investigate the orchestrators of this symphony. June smiled. Lunch was ready at last.