Chapter 19: Refrigerator Biscuits




      "So what makes them refrigerator biscuits?" I sputter, swallowing a savory scone stuffed with spicy beef.

"You keep the roll cold," she expounds, opening the refrigerator door and pulling out a dough log in the kitchenette of her tiny apartment. "Then you cut it into rounds before filling and baking."

"Clever," I exclaim, unable to stop myself from then humming a song that's been stuck in my head.



     It had been a month since the field trip with Freida-Mae. Term papers, final exams, moving, and what-all (aka girlfriend) had consumed her semester's end. It took running into me at a graduation party for her to recall she'd invited me to dinner. By then I'd nearly forgotten we'd been joined at the hip for one breathtaking weekend in the Blue Ridge. I'd also caught sight of an interesting new woman wearing knee-torn army pants and toting a canvas messenger bag to our shared summer class at Virginia Commonwealth. And now there was that irrepressible earworm buzzing on about a doomed relationship despite my best attempt at ghosting it.



     "Great wine choice!" FM exclaims while placing the bottle on the table between us. "How did you decide on Viognier?"

"I wish I could extol the acidity of the Languedoc soil," I begin, then murmuring another line from the song before adding "but I really just asked the cashier what pairs with biscuits."

"Well it goes with savory or sweet," she professes, turning to pull another pan out of the oven. "Try one of these!" 

"Even better for dessert," I proclaim, swiping the blackberry jam from the corner of my lip before droning into the refrain once again.

"Enough already," she fairly yells, agitated by my monotonous humming. "And don't think I don't know that song!"




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