Unmoving Yet Unbroken

This Fensta app is truly a waste of time, yet somehow, it's addictive. I should probably tell Benny not to let Druid use it so much. It's the kind of app that rots the brain, but I can't seem to stop scrolling. I'm an adult, so it’s fine if I waste time. It’s not like I have anything pressing to do, anyway.

I mindlessly scrolled, watching reel after reel. There were so many moments captured with such beauty. People were sharing the milestones of their lives: trips to the Bahamas, engagements, graduations, weddings, and golden years spent with partners. Every frame seemed like a snapshot of a life lived with purpose.

Suddenly, my feed shifted to cooking reels, and I decided it might be a sign. I was starving. The next few minutes were filled with quick shots of lasagna recipes, all of them promising to be quick yet delicious. As I glanced at the recipe and checked my ingredients, I couldn't help but smile—cooking was one of the many things I learned post-divorce. I remembered how my daughter used to call her mom a witch, saying she brewed potions in the kitchen. I never stepped foot in there before the split; I was always too exhausted from the grind of work.

But now, after my kids moved in with their mom and her new husband, I had the space and time to finally get comfortable with cooking. Lasagna seemed like a good starting point, something I could share if anyone came by.

The doorbell rang just as I slid the lasagna into the oven. I was expecting Brook Marshall—someone I’d met back at Violet Riot, one of the rock bars I frequented. He’d been one of the sponsors for the band that played that night. We’d hit it off when he noticed my business suit among a sea of leather jackets and tattoos. I didn’t expect to see him again after that night, but here we were, meeting regularly ever since.

Brook was holding a bottle of champagne, a bright smile spreading across his face as he entered.

"How’ve you been?" he asked, setting the champagne down on the counter.

"I've been good," I replied, the warmth of his presence reminding me of how small acts of friendship made all the difference in life. “Lasagna’s almost done.”

I didn’t drink much these days—maybe a glass or two at most. But something about the comfort of good food and good company made me reconsider.

We sat down to eat, and I could feel the ease between us. He was 53, a music producer—an oddity in my life of high-strung corporate types. It was rare to meet someone passionate about something other than climbing the social ladder. We talked as I served the lasagna, the soft layers of cheese and tomato sauce tempting us.

Brook took a bite and paused. “This is really good,” he said, his voice full of surprise. “The meat’s tender, and the cheese just melts. You’ve got a real knack for this.”

I smiled, feeling the warmth spread through me. “I’m still learning,” I replied, humbled by his praise. “Thanks for the feedback.”

As the conversation shifted to music, I thought about my life. Everyone around me seemed to be moving on to the next chapter. My daughter and son were living with their mom and her new partner, probably navigating their own changes without me in the picture. And here I was—still in the same chapter. The empty rooms of my house echoed with the silence of solitude.

But for the first time in a long while, I wasn’t sad about it. The lasagna wasn’t the only thing cooking that night—there was a peace simmering inside me, one I hadn’t felt in years. Sharing this moment with Brook, enjoying the food I had made, feeling content in the company of a friend—maybe this was enough for now.