If you’re not familiar with A Christmas Memory by Truman Capote, then please enjoy this completely original work of fiction written by me, Kate.

Imagine a Christmas morning in late November 2016. Consider the kitchen of a sprawling, old White House. It’s all stainless steel counters and shiny, oversized appliances. In the center of the room there’s a cluster of pots and pans hanging from the ceiling, their bottoms blackened with use.

A man with shorn, graying hair is standing at the kitchen window. He is wearing brown shoes and a light tan suit that is a strange choice for late November. He is tall and lean, his face smooth except for the laugh lines at the corners of his mouth. He turns to me with a twinkle in his eye and says, “Are you fired up and ready to make fruitcakes?”