Caramel Sauce

“Sweet,” Dad said, licking his lips.

“Different,” Mom added.

We were seated in the dining room for Thanksgiving dinner. Mysixteen-year-old brother wanted to showcase the skills he had masteredin a culinary arts course.

“Wait!” he exclaimed.

The rest of us watched him taste the meal before him. An expression ofbewilderment spread across his face. He ran back to the kitchen andreturned.

“I emptied out the wrong pot,” he conceded. ‘The caramel sauce wasmeant for apple cake.”

“So what is left for the cake now?” Dad asked while Mom and Irefrained from laughing.

“Turkey gravy.”

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction.