Love by Nachos

My grandmother liked me least.  It was obvious to everyone.  Charity or Zack walked in the room and her eyes brightened.  I walked in and she looked for the other two.  

But every Thanksgiving, she made me nachos.  Turkey, corn, potatoes, rolls, cranberry sauce....and nachos.  It was her love in a bowl.  Not huge.  Not her favorite, biggest love, just enough to fill a bowl.  

I used to love nachos--that's why she made them.  But now, all I see is her face when I look at it and all I taste is the third-place taste of being less loved. 

December 5, 2018