The Long Egg Tart: A Love Story Told in Leftovers

The bakery sold a tart as long as a ski. Mei saw it on her phone at 11:40. By noon the line bent around the corner. Her phone died at three percent. At the counter, the card reader blinked red. She dug through her bag and found coins. Not enough. The man behind her set a bill on the counter. Kai. She turned. “Next time you queue,” he said. She wrote her number on the receipt. He folded it into his pocket. The cashier slid the box across. It was longer than the counter mat. Kai carried it out. Mei followed.

They ate it on a bench outside. The crust was still warm. She tried the plastic knife and broke the top. He split the tart with his hands and gave her the middle. His thumb touched her knuckle. Hot. “You take the edge?” she said. “Edge is crisp.” She laughed once. Her phone buzzed. She looked down. “Take the picture,” he said. She took it. He held the box. The receipt stuck to his palm. He peeled it off. A pigeon walked under the bench. Mei tore a corner of the box and dropped it. The pigeon took it and left.

That was the first week. The second week, it rained. They stood under the awning. The line was shorter. They bought one tart. She tore the edge off her slice and put it in his palm. He ate it. Rain hit the metal trash can. “You always take the middle,” she said. “You always give it away.” She put her hand back in her sleeve. He leaned in. Her phone rang. She lifted it. The screen lit her face. “Wait. The light is good.” She photographed the tart on the paper bag. He stepped back and wiped his palm on his jeans. The rain kept going. “Done.” “Good.” They walked to the subway. He held the box. She held her phone.

Third week, she brought him hot tea. The tart was too sweet. He had said once that sugar made his teeth ache. She put the tea in his hand before he asked. He drank. “You didn’t take a picture.” “It’s just tea.” “The tart was just a tart.” She looked at the subway map. He looked at the tea. The carton was warm. She had bought it at the convenience store. The receipt was in her pocket. She did not throw it away.

Fourth week, she posted the photo. The long tart, cut into six pieces, on a paper bag. No hands. No him. The caption: Some days need sugar. He saw it at 12:10. He was in the break room. The microwave hummed. He typed a comment. He deleted it. He typed again. He put the phone face down. At six, he met her at the bakery. The line was gone. She was on her phone. “You didn’t post the part where we shared it.” “It’s a tart.” “Then why did you wait for the photo before eating?” “You always need a plan.” “You always need an audience.” She put her phone in her pocket. He put his hands in his jacket. The cashier asked if they wanted a box. Mei said no. Kai said no. They stood there. The cashier wiped the counter. “I’m not hungry.” “The line will be shorter next week.” “Good.” She walked to the trash can. She threw the leftover tart in. The paper bag followed. He did not pick it up. He watched the bag sit on top of the other trash. A fly landed on it. He left.

The next week, he opened the fridge. The half tart was still there. The crust had gone hard. The custard had turned. He turned on the light. He closed the door. He opened it again. He took the tart out. He put it on the counter. He cut it with a knife. The knife slipped. He put the tart back in the box. He put the box back in the fridge. He closed the door. The light went off. He stood in the kitchen. The clock on the stove said 9:14. He opened the fridge. He closed it. He went to bed.

Two weeks later, she bought two ordinary egg tarts. No line. No box the length of a ski. She did not take a picture. She put them on the table. He sat down. She pushed one toward him. “How do you want to split it?” “Any way.” “The middle is yours.” “The edge is crisp.” “I know.” She bit the edge. He ate the middle. The paper bag sat between them. He folded it twice. He put it under the plate. She did not reach for her phone. He did not ask for a plan. The tarts were small. They finished them. She wiped the table. He washed the plates. The water ran. The bag stayed under the plate.