“The smell of lemons.”

Monica keenly examined the ashwagandha roots in the produce section. She had read somewhere that fresh roots were more potent than the powder, and that the thicker the root, the better. She sighed looking at all the beautifully arranged produce at the organic supermarket section. She sometimes missed her simpler life when she’d be at the market haggling for prices, holding fresh, uncleaned produce. She’d never admit it out loud but negotiating for produce gave her a sense of power and authority. Nowadays her life was very systemic and rather plain.

She selected a few roots and added them to her trolley. She picked a few apples and clementines as her daughter would be coming home to visit. Clementines were her favorite and she wanted her home to be as hospitable as possible for her daughter. It had been months since she came to visit, and she truly missed the company of another adult who could talk to her about other topics other than medicinal properties of various fruits and herbs. She smiled as she remebered their last family holiday to the beach a few years back, and how she almost sprained her ankle tryng to do a cartwheel with her daughter as Steve cheered them on with his beer on hand. They were happy then and she missed that a lot.

As she passed the vegetables to the attendant to weigh, the scent of lemons filled the air. Meyer’s lemons, to be precise. She walked towards them and smiled as she held one in her hand.

The smell of these lemons brought fond memories her way. Whenever she had a flu, she always made her dawa with those lemons. The first time Steve broke her heart, she poured her soul into baking a lemon pound cake which was now her signature dessert for all family events. Night in with the girls? Tequila shots and a lemon slice on the side.

Then there was Steve who loved lemons in an usual way. He’d always add lemon juice to most of his foods, so his hands always had a smell of lemon on them. As a sculptor, he loved using his hands to show love. After a long day from work, he’d hold her face in his hands and plant a kiss on her forehead. She would distinctly smell the lemon on his hands and it became one of her favorite scents. It had been so long since she saw these lemons that the mere sight of them brought tears to her eyes.

“Monica, is that you?” said a familiar voice that startled her from her thoughts.

Turning around, she saw Fiona, an old acquaintance from church. She hadn’t changed one bit. She was dressed in an expensive suit, no doubt imported from Italy. She still had her hair in one of those synthetic bobs that had a maroon mohawk in the middle and of course her signature red lipstick.

Monica wiped her tear subtly and smiled at her. “Fiona, so nice to see you”, she said with a smile on her face. “Still dressing up for grocery shopping?”

“But of course dear,” she said out loud, “as the wife to daktari and leader of the women’s guild, I must keep up appearances, no? How have yu been Monica? It has been a while since we saw you at church.”

“I am well Fiona, I-“

“Come to think of it, we haven’t seen you since Steve…,” Fiona seemed flustered as if she had brought up something she should not have. ” I am sorry Monica, I can only imagine how things have been hard for you.”

“He’s not dead Fiona, he has Alhzeimers”, she said in a curt way. Monica could feel the anger rising within her. Of course it had less to do with Fiona, but more with the fact that people always behaved as if they had to walk on eggshells whenever they spoke about Steve.

She could hear Fiona muttering an apology but she was too focused on taking as many lemons as she could and walking away from the store.

“It was good seeing you Fiona, take care,” she cut her off as she walked to the attendant to finish off her shopping.

Monica hurriedly walked into her car and loaded her groceries in. She sat in the driver’s seat and took the pillow on the co-driver’s seat. She looked around once to confirm nobody was around, and then put the pillow to her face and let out a scream. She cried and wailed for all the days she had to be strong for her husband, her parents, her children, and the world. She had forgotten how painful it was to watch the love of your life slowly disappear, slowly die before your very eyes and there was nothing she could do to stop it. It was funny how something so minute, as a lemon, could trigger all these feelings of pain and loss.

After a while, she wiped her tears away, took a few deep breaths and looked back at the bag of lemons. Maybe, just maybe, he would smell them and maybe, even just for a minute, her would hold her face like he used to and she would know that he was still there.