Toast · Chapter 4 of 8

Gary.

I was not going to write about Gary. My therapist says I should write about Gary. My therapist does not have a food blog, so this is on her.

2013–2019

Gary liked his toast cut diagonally.

I should have known then. Diagonal toast is a choice, and Gary made it every single morning, loudly, with the big knife, while I stood there holding the small knife, the correct knife, saying nothing.

Gary also put the toaster on 5. Not once. Every time. He said 3.5 “was not a number.” He was technically right, and it was the beginning of the end.

When we separated, Gary took the car, the good blender, the dog (who chose him, and whom I do not blame) and our joint subscription to a meal-kit service. He also asked for the toaster.

The settlement

Alternate weekends, and one public holiday each.

We settled. The toaster lives with me during the week and with Gary on alternate weekends. Gary gets it on Thanksgiving. I get it on Mother's Day, which Gary argued was not relevant to a toaster, and lost.

The handover happens in a supermarket car park, in a padded bag. We do not speak. Gary leaves it on 5. I set it back to 3.5. Neither of us has ever mentioned this. It is the most honest conversation we have ever had.

Schedule B of the settlement. Gary's weekends are in blue. The toaster's preferences were not consulted.

Ad. Targeted, somehow, at this exact paragraph.

Thank you for being here

I needed to get that out. Recipe time!

Almost. You cannot make this toast properly until you understand why it works, and there is real science here, and I learned all of it.

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