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Sole was investigating the ruins of a small grocery store with Nick when she found it. It was hidden under a snow-dusted, overturned shelf—a little can with a label that read “Cromwell’s Gourmet Cranberry Sauce.”
“Holy jumpin’ cats,” she murmured.
Nick stepped closer.
“What is it?” He said.
She tossed him the can. He scrutinized the writing, running one metal finger over the tin ridges with a clacking sound.
“Huh. How about that.”
“Isn’t it amazing?” She said.
“I guess if you like that sort of thing.”
“Easy to turn your nose up at something like this when you don’t have a stomach,” she scoffed.
“For the record, I never much cared for it even when I did have a stomach.”
“Well I like it.” She took back the can. “Brings back memories, you know?”
“Yeah?” He leaned against a shelf that was still standing. “What memories?”
She turned the cylinder in her hands.
“Of Christmas, of course,” she said. “When my mother and I would spend all day cooking. We made everything from scratch, you see. She hated this canned stuff. But even so, it reminds me of better times.”
An unexpected lump rose in her throat at the mention of her old life. She did not want to think about what happened to the rest of her family when the bombs fell. The best outcome she could hope for was that the blast killed them all instantly. God forbid she find any of them shambling around as feral ghouls. Would she even recognize them?
A breeze blew through the broken shop windows, bringing a flurry of snow with it. She shivered. Without a word, Nick took off his coat and draped it over her shoulders.
“What did you cook?” He said.
Sole composed herself, glad for the distraction.
“The usual stuff,” she began. “Turkey, corn, mashed potatoes. We would make the stuffing out of cornbread, and sweet potatoes with caramel sauce, and a pumpkin cream pie.”
Nick closed his eyes and let out a subtle groan.
“Mmm. My mouth would be watering if it could,” he said.
“Sorry for bringing it up.”
“Don’t be; I asked.” He grumbled a sigh. “You know, sometimes I think I can still taste it? Which is ridiculous considering I don’t have taste buds, but what are you going to do.”
Sole traced a finger over the metal rim, thinking about the question. The can was still perfectly sealed; it even had an opening tab. Then it dawned on her: even though she couldn’t do a thing for his sense of taste, she could do something for his sense of smell. She popped the seal and peeled off the lid. The contents had turned to a mass of nearly-black sludge. Even so, the sweet scent of cranberries and cinnamon filled the air.
“You’re not planning to eat that, are you?” He said.
“I just thought we could enjoy the bouquet.”
She inhaled deeply, relishing how the spicy scent tingled her nose, then handed it to Nick. He did the same.
“Mmm… Well, I guess I can’t object to just smelling it,” he said. “Especially if it means I won’t have to hold your hair back later.”
She took a small bit of the cranberry sludge and rolled it between her finger and thumb. It had a grainy texture; the sugar in it had long since crystallized. Sugar was a good preservative, she thought. Maybe this stuff wouldn’t turn her stomach. And it did smell so tempting. She wondered if it would taste as good as she remembered.
A different memory flashed behind her eyes, of the time she found a can of sweetened condensed milk that made her sick for two days. Then an earlier one, of her mother storing the extra sauce in a mason jar, and of her father sneaking a spoonful when he thought nobody was watching. The lump rose up in Sole’s throat again. She shook her head and wiped the sludge on her pants.
“We should get going,” she said. “Before all these memories of the old days get me down.”
Nick had stuck his nose almost all the way into the can. He reluctantly withdrew and glanced up at her.
“Are they getting you down?” He said.
“They will if I dwell on them.” She took the can and set it on a shelf that was still upright. “I just want to forget.”
He took her hand in both of his.
“I understand. I do,” he said. “I get wanting to hang onto some things that hurt, and wanting to let go of things that made you who you are. But how would you feel about a compromise?”
“I’m listening.”
“Instead of throwing out the old ones, let’s make some new memories. Add a little sweet to the bitter.”
A hint of mischief glittered in his yellow eyes.
“Alright. What’s your plan?” She said.
He shrugged.
“Maybe we can mix some of this stuff with wax and make ourselves a candle. Then the customers will come flooding in because my place is the only one in town that smells decent.”
“While we’re at it, we can teach these kids what a cranberry was,” Sole added with a chuckle.
“Or I could find a way to distill it into a perfume for my gal.”
“I hope you mean me.”
“Or…” he took the belt of his coat and tied it behind her back, binding her to him. “Or I could just kiss you right here.”
“Hmm,” she pretended to think it over. “How about all three?”
“Hoped you’d say that.”
He closed the remaining space between them. And the scent of smoke and oil and cologne mixed with that of the cranberries and cinnamon.