Lemons On Friday Novels & Stories

“Little Lemon!” Mable rushed over and picked Lemon up. Lemon hugged her mother and pressed her cheek against her face, pointing at the butterfly in Jeremiah’s hand. “Mommy... Unc... Butterfwy...” Mable kissed her cheek. “Good girl.” Jeremiah looked at Mable and said, “Lemon kept crying earlier, so I thought she was unwell. It seems she just misses you after not seeing you all day...” Mable sighed in relief. She thought that Lemon was sick and was worried the whole way back.

I said. "The cold doesn't come out but the heat enters," my twin corrected. "Whatever," I replied. I glared at him and headed for the small living room of the unit. We circled on the floor and placed down a small table to place food and drinks of course. “Friday is walwal day. Kampay! ” says Lore while lifting her drink in the air. We had cheered for the bottle of soju and started drinking after. We didn’t even realize that 20 pieces of soju bottles had run out. Our target is now the black label. And, in the middle of being tipsy, I remembered something.

Jamie noticed the scar because he was trying not to notice everything else. The bar was loud in that half-hearted way—music turned up but not committed, laughter skidding along the surface of conversations, glasses clinking like punctuation marks nobody respected. It was a Friday. It always felt like a Friday, even when it wasn’t. The kind of night that stretched people thin and made them careless.

“Do you know what day it is?” “Friday I guess.” Leonard sat up. “It’s Friday and what do we do on Friday mornings here?” David stared at him blankly. Leonard clenched his jaw. “For heaven’s sake David. How daft have you become? Friday mornings are for financial reviews.” David shook his head. “I’ve got a lot on my plate, Dad. You don’t expect me to keep up with all these details. I’m doing my job. That’s what counts.”

- I facepalm myself - "my point is you need to throw that nasty ass candy away and get a lemon." Furrowing my brow, I'm trying to figure out what he's even talking about. "A lemon? Is this some weird reference to making lemonade or something stupid like that?" "While that would have been a good one, no. This is about how sniffing a lemon cancels out all the other smells around you and calms the tummy. In fact…" He reaches into his drawer and rummages around for a few seconds. "Ah ha! Here it is. I brought you this."

Nobody says anything, but we all hover around her these days like she’s carrying the moon itself. “Lemonade,” she announces, lifting it up slightly as she reaches the table. “With fresh mint.” Loria turns, surprised. “You didn’t have to bring that.” Amy gives her a look. “I wanted to bring it. Pregnant lady cravings are contagious, apparently.” We all laugh. Andy sets the bowl of potato salad down, then immediately turns back toward the house. “Be right back!” A minute later, he’s jogging across the grass again with the big white platter full of deviled eggs, the paprika on top bright against the yellow centers.

“Hey, Leila.” Leila lifted a hand and waved. “Hey, Madonna.” “Donna is fine.” “Hey, Donna. Welcome. Sorry for the… mess?” she muttered, her voice coming out uncertain. Kelvin made a sound beside her, and she pinched his thigh. “We didn’t know you were coming.” “Well, I told this grumpy man I would be here.” “No, you didn’t,” Kelvin countered. “I told you last month over a text,” she said. Leila tried not to laugh. That was something Freya could say. “You said you were free Friday.”

Rachel flipped her hair and strolled out of the kitchen. I lost my appetite now. I checked the time on my phone. It wasn’t nine o'clock yet. I couldn’t stay here while Rachel and her Mother were together. I discovered a couple of texts from Lettie. “What are you doing on a Friday night?” “Answer Summer! I have plans.” “Girls night.” I smiled that sounded like fun. “I’m up for it as long as we’re not going to Ezra’s Bar.” I texted back. Lettie texted me back immediately.

Though, with how often we found ourselves working together over the last week, I was determined to make him my friend at the very least. “Mars!” I chirped as I came into the office the Friday of that week. “I brought you some lemon squares!” I held out a plastic container filled to the brim with freshly baked lemon squares. They were my favorite recipe to make, and one of the most universally liked pastries that I knew of. Besides simple cookies, I supposed.