Yesterday was Thanksgiving. I have nothing this year to thank for except my family. But I am thankful for them everyday. Thanksgiving is no different. My ex-boyfriend (no, not the one I have been planning to break up with yet haven't so far. That is another blog not this one) invited me over for a Thanksgiving dinner. Two lonely exies (I just coined that) on a family day tried to recreate a nonexistent togetherness. I accepted in a text message. I promised to bring butternut squash, an onion, dried cranberries, and two croissants. A traditional side-dish is all I offered. He accepted via text message. I reached just before 5 p.m. His apartment is three avenues from the 1 train station. Not a very pleasant walk on a chilly evening. But a good walk to drum up a hunger for good food. I had forgotten what a clean and organized man he is--just like I am. He had the table set. The appetizer plate was ready with a  combination of figs, Manchengo cheese, walnuts, pieces of sour dough bread, and prosciutto slices. He had opened a bottle of italian wine that tasted and ran like silk on the tongue. Sauteed brussel sprouts and mushrooms glistened on the plate wrapped in cling foil. There was what looked like kale salad in another bowl. I was impressed. From my time with him, he cooked all but once--breakfast for me on the day I was leaving for New Jersey to start my first job. For the next 10 years, I think I prevented him from getting anywhere near the kitchen. I over eagerly took care of everything. Rarely making it incumbent on him to show me he cared about my gastronomical desires. I was a good Indian girl, quite like her mother--always ready, always prepared, and always eager to please "her" man. I was also that girl who resented lack of reciprocity even as she blocked its passage to her. All that prepared, beautifully presented food made me realize a problem called "me."

We chatted, we ate, we drank, we watched the Thanksgiving football games. It was an easy 4 hours on a Thursday evening. And then he said he got me something. What?!! Why? He had recently been to Istanbul. He had sent me pictures of Sophia Hajia and the blue mosque by night. He knew I would appreciate it all. I did. He knew. I was pleased that he knew. I got the most beautiful pashmina stole with a silver pendant of the "evil eye" or the "lucky eye" also a refrigerator magnet. This was the evil eye year. I needed an evil eye to absorb all the negative energy surrounding me. And my ex found me exactly that. He understood my pain and he soothed it. Irony. He ignored my pain all the time I was with him. He didn't care whether I lived or didn't. He didn't want to appear vulnerable in his exhibition of emotion for me, his only family here. Now that I wasn't family but someone he knew who didn't live in his home, I was once again precious, deserving of consideration. Irony. For the first time in the last two year since our break up, I didn't feel sad. I was happy to receive. I wasn't elated either. I was just happy to receive. Reciprocity happened, finally. And this time I took as if I was deserving of it.

Before leaving, he cut me a piece of his pumpkin pie and lay of dollop of ice cream, vanilla, atop it. He knows I like sweet and vanilla is kind of a favorite flavor. When you live for that long with someone, even when you are not paying attention you are paying attention. He was paying attention. It was plain to see now. I took my leave. He hugged me like he never had. Tight and close. And then he asked me if I had everything, if I forgot something. I had always asked him this as he left the house early mornings on his way to work. That evening, he asked me back. Reciprocity is a strange thing. It appears when least expected or at least when you stop expecting. You let it go. As soon as I let go, there it was. And there he was--my ex, standing at his door, seeing me off like he didn't want to, asking me to see him before we both left for her winter holidays to Austin and Toronto respectively.

My cousin had bought me this short tunic from Ghana. It was bright and happy. I wore it tonight for him for the first time. It brought me happy. I plan to wear it more often.