Secret of the Mango
Language: en
The evening sun was dipping below the skyline as I walked into the kitchen to start on dinner. When I opened the trash can under the sink, a thick, cloyingly sweet scent hit my face. It was the heavy smell of overripe fruit. There, buried under a pile of vegetable scraps and eggshells, was a fresh mango pit. The flesh had been gnawed completely clean. My hands froze. Oliver was allergic to mangoes. Deathly allergic. If even a drop of the juice touched his skin, within ten minutes the area would swell, turn angrily red, and break out in a dense cluster of hives. For the five years we had…