Because I’m already online, I check in with my own version of porn. The estate sale page has plenty of new listings, and I look at the online sales quickly, but, mindful that Ken will be back soon and of how deep down that rabbit hole I tend to go, I shut everything down and put it away. My itch has not been scratched, but there’s a smug sense of satisfaction inside me too. I resisted temptation.

The tomato salad Ken loves so much takes time to marinate. I have only a couple of tomatoes in the kitchen, but I can see the plethora of red amongst the green vines in my garden out back. I slip on the fancy harvesting apron he bought me for last Hanukkah and head out.

The first year I planted this garden, it had bloomed so lush and verdant I’d had to put tomatoes and peppers out by the street for free. Since then, I’ve spent hours upon hours composting, weeding, tending. Nurturing. I’ve never matched the output of that first summer, but I still manage to get enough veggies to last the entire late summer and into the fall.

The sun beats hot on the back of my neck as I kneel in the dirt, pulling out the weeds and pushing the thick, heavy tomato vines back into their cages. The peppers are finally turning orange. A few of my jalapeños have bloomed crimson. I even find a fat, short cucumber, probably one of the last ones for the season. In another couple of months it’ll be time to pull out all of these plants and plant some garlic bulbs before putting the garden to sleep for the winter. But not yet.

A shadow falls over me. I look up, shading my eyes. “Hey.”

Eli takes the hand I put out to help me to my feet. “Where’s Dad?”

“He went to get some steaks. What’s up?”

“I came downstairs and nobody was around. I just wondered what was going on.” He looks into the bowl and makes a face. “Tomato salad, huh?”

“You know he loves it.”

Eli, on the other hand, won’t touch a vegetable from my garden. Carrots, potatoes, onions, green beans from the store, sure. But tomatoes, peppers, or cucumbers grown by Mom? Never.

My phone buzzes from the pocket of my dress. “C’mon. I have to get going on this so it’s ready when your dad wants to eat.”

Buzz.

Eli follows me across the lawn, the grass soft and thick and getting too long.

Buzz.

I trip a little on a loose deck step, and he catches me by the elbow. A tomato flips out of my apron’s pocket and onto the deck. It doesn’t splatter, but it cracks open. Juice leaks out onto my hand when I pick it up.

Buzz.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?”

“In a minute.” I wave the broken tomato at him. “Go get the french fries out of the freezer downstairs, please.”