I had a rich friend growing up named Lily. We weren\u2019t supposed to be friends, not really\u2014at least not by the logic of small-town social divides. Her family had a fountain in their front yard, marble countertops, and a summer home they only used twice a year. Mine had a single rusty swing set, laminate tiles that peeled at the corners, and a calendar full of odd jobs to make ends meet.<\/p>\n
Still, we clicked. At school, we sat beside each other during lunch. I shared my slightly smashed peanut butter sandwiches, and she traded little squares of imported chocolate her dad brought back from Tokyo or Vienna. Sometimes, she\u2019d stay over at our house for dinner, and my mom\u2014God bless her\u2014would whip up something hearty and full of flavor: pasta with chunky meat sauce, or fried rice with vegetables that came straight from our modest garden.<\/p>\n
Lily loved our food. She\u2019d say things like, \u201cIt tastes like someone actually cared while cooking it,\u201d and I\u2019d always beam, like I\u2019d done something right just by sitting next to her.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I had a rich friend growing up named Lily. We weren\u2019t supposed to be friends, not really\u2014at least not by the logic of small-town social divides. Her… <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-191","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"yoast_head":"\n