“It’s long pig,” he told me when I asked what I was eating.

I noted to ask my brother about that term later.

He asks me how the meal he prepared for me tastes. I say acidic.

“That’s what happens when you scare the meat before slaughter,” he explains. I wasn’t sure how you could kill something that would be then eaten without it being scared or at least disturbed.

I clean my plate because I aim to please him.

“Will you have me over for dinner again some day, Will?” I ask in an almost pleading tone.

The sides of his lips curl up into a soft smile after he sees my cleared plate.

“If you clean your plate for me again, you’ll always be welcome.” He picks up his and my plate and brings them to the kitchen.

“Mary, sweetheart. You do know what long pig is. Correct?” He practically confesses.

“No.”