The Brits Call it Coriander

‘I want to be admired like parsley or a stalk of romanesco broccoli,’ Nina said matter of factly. After a thoughtful pause, she added: ‘Never cilantro.’ People often mentioned parsley and cilantro in one breath, as if the two were a packaged deal. Inseparable twins through birth. She felt clarification was in order.

‘Never, for sure,’ Willow hurriedly agreed. The short red hair bounced with every nod of her head. Her eyebrows pinched together as if they were pulled by a single string when she thought of the flavour. ‘It’s either you like it or hate it. Personally, I find it revolting. It tastes like soap.’

Nina had the snarky impulse to ask how she knew that. She suppressed it and only said: ‘I’m glad to see we’re on the same page.’

They sat silently on the folding wooden deck chairs, two tote bags to their feet, as the sun caressed the exposed parts of their bodies. It was slightly windy, not much, just the right amount to befit a lazy afternoon at the beach. Salt, sand and laughter from the group of people on their left. Nina flipped a glossy page in the magazine she was reading. Really, it was more like browsing rather than actually reading. Her mind was divided between the mindless article, the clinks of beer bottles on her right and her pesky thoughts.

Willow suddenly craned her neck and asked: ‘What about avocados?’

‘What about avocados?’ Another flick of pages.

‘You don’t want to be worshipped like an avocado?’

‘No,’ Nina sighed and dropped the magazine on her lap. ‘Avocados are a trend. They come and go.’

‘What? Are you kidding?’ Willow exclaimed. ‘What about all the avocado socks, plushies, shirts, hair accessories… for fuck sake, tattoos! Erin has one right on the small of her back!’

‘Just a trend,’ Nina waved her hand dismissively. ‘Like platform heels, chain belts or high-waisted jeans. It’s not like… having a little black dress in your closet.’

‘I don’t think I have one.’

‘Trust me. A must-have that never grows old and will always serve you.’

The two women stared at the ocean. The soft waves moved back and forth, carrying little pebbles and seashells from one spot to the other.

Willow pushed her sunglasses off her nose. ‘Why are we talking about this anyway?’

‘Because I have decided that I don’t want to be loved like a woman anymore.’

Willow snorted a laugh. ‘What are you on about?’

‘I don’t want to be loved like a woman that someone can simply discard.’ Nina tossed the magazine into the tote bag, which then flopped onto the sand like a sack of potatoes.

‘You can throw away parsley very easily,’ Willow assured her. ‘I always forget I have it in the fridge, or I have too much of it. It ends up wilting and all sad looking and gross.’

‘That’s not the point.’

‘So what is the point?’

‘Is that important?’

Willow considered it. ‘No, I guess not.’