The second time we made tahini you brought up the affair.
Something about the sesame seeds reminded you of Jason.
Yes, he worked at Falafel Hut.
Yes, he was in grad school.
Yes, I initiated it.
Yes, he wanted more.
Yes, I called it off.
No, we never made tahini.
You put too many sesame seeds in the food processor, and when I tried to add some olive oil you pushed me away like you had a newfound right to force. Like you could get away with things because of my 2 indiscretions.
The tahini came out wrong. You blamed me though I somehow saved the hummus.
You said we couldn’t make tahini anymore–at least not for awhile.
That’s fine, I said. We can get some from my friend Connor.
Great, did you fuck him too?
No, I said, but his tabouli’s worth a hand job.
You left, and the hummus stayed out all night.
That was the first time I said hand job, and the last time you said Jason.
