Prime Mates

It was nearly Christmas when my pink mini-waffle maker arrived. I wrapped it, tied a ribbon, and curled the ends. In unhurried cursive, I penned: To Andrea From Andrea. When my daughter arrived home from her Boston abode for Christmas, she casually but immediately sidled over to the Christmas tree and what lay beneath. She was starting to nod her satisfaction when it caught her eye.

“What’s this?” she queried, reaching for my present and reading aloud, “To Andrea From Andrea?”

“What? A present for me?” I beamed. “May I open it? Please!”

My partner Kyle narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t about to be caught off guard again. He had spent too many afternoons being told to judge who was taller as my daughter and I stood back to back, straining to lift our heels without the other noticing. If Jeff and his algorithms struggled to figure me out, what hope did Kyle have to figure out both me and my lively daughter.

Catching his eye, my daughter shrugged. “Don’t look at me.” she disavowed. “I have no part in this.

To my bubbling excitement, “I can’t wait to open it. What do you think it will be?”, she answered with exaggerated adultness, “ I don’t know, Mom. What do you think it could be?”

Admiring the present, I untied the bow. At last, after a savoring pause, I tore open the package delightedly and exclaimed, “A PINK MINI-WAFFLE MAKER! How did you know?”

My delightment abruptly stopped, “But you didn’t know,” I accused each of them in turn. “I’ve always wanted a pink mini-waffle maker, but neither of you knew.”

“You didn’t know, did you?” I asked Kyle. “And you”, I pointed to my daughter, “you didn’t know what I’ve always wanted, did you? Neither of you truly know me.”

My daughter rolled her eyes. “Why do you even want a waffle maker?”

“A pink mini-waffle maker”, I corrected her.

Kyle’s wariness cycled to confusion. “How was I supposed to know?” he stammered.

“Jeff Bezos knew”, I told him. “Jeff Bezos understands me.”

Yesterday I made cornbread waffles: one package of Jiffy cornbread mix, egg, and milk. But then in the space that only Jeff Bezos understands, I add cheddar cheese. Corn. Canned diced jalapeno peppers. Yellow ochre inside. Crisp burnt sienna out. A pat of butter. A splash of maple syrup.

Today Jeff offered me a two-color reversible sequin cordiform mermaid pillow. Today was not your day, Jeff. I’m closing the browser tab. You will be there, lovesick and eager, waiting for me to return.