Life Gave Her Lemons

The Lemon Squares

*Photos from Pixabay

Margaret contemplated Patricia's kitchen as she took another sip of her tea. Patricia had coordinated everything so well, it always gave her a sense of shame about her own jumble of a kitchen.

Nothing about Margaret's furnishings matched, but at Patricia's the tablecloth featured lemons, the tea-towels had lemons, two pictures of lemons hung on either side of the window above the sink, and a bowl of lemons sat in the middle of the round kitchen table. Even Patricia's cutlery had lemon-yellow handles, and Patricia wore an apron with lemons on it, tied tight around her minuscule waist.

Where Margaret's stocky frame was comfortable in her blue slacks, khaki T-shirt and sneakers, her hair escaping its bun in thin wisps about her head, Patricia was slim and well-presented. Her floral house dress matched her blush painted nails, and her hair curled in immaculate fashion around her ears.

Together they were an odd pair, but somehow, they fit.

About ten years ago, Patricia had bought a tall lemon tree that she planted at the bottom of her yard. And so her fascination with lemons had begun. She tended to the tree every day, and soon all of her décor had begun to feature the sunshine fruit, becoming like a shrine. Margaret saw her from her own living room window, out in the garden in her oversized straw hat and sunglasses, talking to the tree like a beloved pet as she watered, pruned and fertilised it.

At present, Patricia stood at the bench with her back to Margaret, cutting up some lemon squares for afternoon tea. Fresh icing dripping down the sides onto the lemon patterned plate. Strange that her friend now offered something made from the "Eurekas." That was how Patricia always referred to them: "my Eurekas." Up till that point she had guarded them with obsessive jealousy. 

Margaret giggled whenever she saw her friend at the tree. Patricia was quirky, but she had such a sweet nature and generous heart. She volunteered for so many charities, often working with homeless girls. Patricia even brought some of the young girls home for a hot shower and meal while she tried to find a home or shelter. They had been friends for so long; Margaret could forgive her one strange little fixation. Besides this, they were both approaching their seventieth year on this godforsaken earth: a few oddities were to be expected.

Patricia paused, her breath shuddering as she lifted the plate higher in the air before setting it down on the table with some ceremony. "Here we are, Marg," she said, settling herself down on the other chair and smiling at Margaret. "Take one!"

Margaret gingerly picked a square and set it on the little plate in front of her. She waited for Patricia to take one for herself, but her friend gazed at her, the eagerness written all over her narrow face.

"Try it!"

The first time her tree had born fruit, Patricia had plucked a ripe lemon and brought the precious harvest straight over to show Margaret, cradling it in her hands like gold. Since then, Patricia bragged non-stop about her lemons, but never once had she offered any to Margaret. They spent almost every afternoon together, drinking tea and chatting, with Patricia filling Margaret in on all the magnificent baked goods and lemonade she had made, but she never even mentioned Margaret sampling any.

Not ever.

The occasional temptation to allow Patricia to see her sneak into the garden and nick a lemon, just to tease,  had overwhelmed Margaret. But every time something stopped her before she could succumb. It was so important to Patricia; would it be taken in the spirit in which Margaret meant it?

As Margaret took a bite, Patricia leaned forward as if in anticipation, scrutinising every movement of Margaret's mouth.

"Wow, that's delicious!" Margaret licked a cheeky crumb off the side of her lip.