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Love In The Shape Of Cut Fruit - Refinery29

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Dessert, though, was always luxurious: plates of naked fruit, skinless and seedless, their flesh cut into ice cube-sized pieces. My mother, with the dull paring knife she refused to sharpen, somehow turned lumpy, whole fruit into geometrically perfect pieces. She cut strawberries in the spring; mangos and watermelon in the summer. We’d eat giant grapes all year long, gleaming domes that were cut in half to remove the seeds. Once we moved into the middle class, there was cubed dragon fruit, sliced persimmons, and soft white peaches that tapered into flame-like red tips. After her elaborate preparations, my mother would nibble on whatever was left on the cores and pits by the sink before joining us at the table. 

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Love In The Shape Of Cut Fruit - Refinery29
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