Mushrooms

Tonight as I was making dinner I couldn't remember whether or not the Old Boy liked mushrooms.
My mom doesn't. Laura doesn't. My roomate doesn't. The New Boy does.
But what about the Old Boy? I was with him for 2 and a half years. How could I not remember that?
I thought and thought and thought and before I knew it I was cutting mushrooms and crying because I couldn't remember whether he liked them or not.
I called him.
We needed to talk about my grandpa's death and funeral and school and his new job and our lives now, without eachother...to have a good conversation, like we usually do, because it had been incredibly too long since we'd had one of those.
Instead I asked him if he liked mushrooms and danced around all of the other issues as I tried over and over to swallow the lump in my throat.
He does...by the way....like them.
Not corn, or ham, or Bud Light. But mushrooms, he likes.
The real conversation will just have to wait until I can actually have a real conversation without crying.