Sunday Vitamins

Every Sunday morning, Margaret arranges the small orange pills in her palm—vitamin D, the doctor called them, though she always thought of them as her friendship tablets. For fifty years, she and Eleanor had taken their vitamins together, first as young mothers chasing toddlers, then as working women, and now as widows sharing quiet companionship.

On this particular Sunday, Margaret's cat Bartholomew sat by the window, watching palm trees sway in the breeze beyond the glass. The same cat—well, his grandfather—had watched Margaret and Eleanor's children play in this very room decades ago. Bartholomew seemed to know his role: guardian of memories, keeper of secrets.

"He's waiting for her again," Margaret whispered to the cat. Bartholomew's amber eyes flickered with what might have been understanding. Eleanor had moved to Arizona last year, claiming her arthritis needed dry heat, but Margaret knew the truth. Eleanor's granddaughter was pregnant, and someone had to teach the next generation how to properly stew tomatoes.

The telephone rang—Eleanor, right on schedule. "Did you take your vitamins?"

"Every Sunday," Margaret replied, cradling the receiver like a precious artifact. "Bartholomew is watching the palms. He says hello."

"That cat remembers more than we do," Eleanor laughed, the sound warm and familiar across the miles. "My mother used to say friends are the vitamins that keep your heart young. She was right."

Margaret thought about this—how friendship had sustained them through marriages and divorces, through children's weddings and grandchildren's graduations, through knee replacements and mammograms. These weekly calls, these shared vitamins, were the rituals that anchored them.

"Next month," Eleanor said softly, "I'm coming home. The baby's due in August, but I need to see my palm trees again. Need to see you."

Margaret smiled, tears pricking her eyes. "I'll put the kettle on."

Bartholomew stretched, stood, and padded to the door as if already sensing Eleanor's arrival. Some friendships, like cats and good habits, only grow sweeter with time.