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“You got the blue kind,” she whispers thinly. “My favorite.” I chuckle. “Your favorite Gatorade is the same colors as my eyes? Can’t be a coincidence.”
When I open the menu, I have the idea to order something I don’t eat very often. I want to order something that I’ll specifically associate with this dinner with Olivia at Linda’s Diner. Something that’ll spark memories of this night every time I bite into it from here on. I settle on a chicken salad sandwich. It’s something I know I like, but I just never order it very often. It’s something I don’t have any specific memories associated with. Now, for the rest of my life, I will.
