December 4, 2003
When we got back to the apartment, he tended to a small ceramic sake bottle heating in a pan of water on the stove. Brought out a cutting board, rinsed a Bosc pear and a large apple in the sink. Sliced the fruit neatly, arranged the slices on a little plate. Took everything into his bedroom, including me. We sat on the bed, the plate between us on the comforter. We sipped the warm sake. Ate the chilled fruit. I didn't tell him I'd never been one of sake's biggest fans. And that I thought it tasted like witch hazel.