Pancake syrup builds memories.

A tale of grilled cheese and lemurs.

Theodore was a man of few words and many recipes. He spent endless nights pouring over pages of well-used and well-loved recipe books, yellowed with age and the occasional spill of vanilla.

Theodore found little joy in his mornings and afternoons where he wasted hours in a small office cubicle; the ceiling-high glass windows somehow made him feel even more disconnected from the outside world, despite their intended purpose to provide employees with access to nature and natural sunlight. Theodore had always had a strange distaste for those windows, viewing them as only an illusion set up by his employers. Standing before them with a mug of freshly-poured coffee in one hand, he placed his other hand upon his hip, frowning slightly at the highways that lay below him and the vehicles, their roofs shining in the midday sun, speeding past.

His coworker, Nancy, had paused next to him on her daily trek back to her cubicle after her exaggerated lunch break. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we had homemade meals here?”

Complaints like these always indicated that Nancy’s lunch bag had lacked the normal container of elaborate leftover meal from her previous dinner and, instead, had carried a sloppily-made peanut butter sandwich and a random assortment of vegetables and dry granola bars.

“I’ve been getting into cooking,” Theodore confessed, glancing at her face for a reaction. Per usual, Nancy gave away nothing, her blue eyes not even blinking. Theodore took this as a sign to add more detail. “I’ve been making some wonderful chocolate-stuffed pancakes with caramelized bananas.”

Another glance only resulted in a disinterested side-eye from Nancy.

“And, one time, I made this exquisite apple pie tiramisu,” Theodore added, taking a cautious first sip of his coffee. Not enough creamer, as he expected. The color had been off.

“That’s nice,” Nancy responded, absent-mindedly. “Do you think the sun’s going to be out tomorrow? It’s awfully bright today.”

Theodore struggled not to roll his eyes. Her indifference to his current passion- his one and only passion as of now- was moderately irritating, especially when her best change of subject was the weather. He decided to try one last time with a “And a lovely grilled cheese with bacon.”

At this, Nancy perked up. “Grilled cheese? I know someone who likes grilled cheese.”

Theodore was pleasantly surprised at this reaction. “That’s… great. I can’t quite express my love for grilled cheese in words. It’s the best type of sandwich, really.”

Nancy even gave a smile at that. “Well, if you’re so good at making grilled cheese, you should pack one for Jasper tomorrow, and I’ll share it with him.”

“But it’ll be cold,” Theodore quickly blurted out, astounded at the idea.

Nancy didn’t seem bothered, giving a small shrug of her left shoulder in response. “He won’t mind. If you wouldn’t mind, please no bacon. It’s too close to species of his intellect and height.”

Theodore, who had been taking a swig of too-bitter coffee at that moment, choked and sputtered out a “Species?”

Nancy eyed him, cautiously, seeming to weigh in her brain whether it was worth telling him her next sentence. Ultimately, she decided it was, and she declared, “Jasper’s a lemur. I wouldn’t tell anyone if I were you. It isn’t very good office-cubicle-lunch-break talk, if you know what I mean.”

It registered in Theodore’s brain that she had made a stab at his small number of friends and acquaintances that were limited to only his coworkers, but he chose to ignore it, focusing instead on the confession she had laid at his feet.

It was on this day that Theodore became involved in a mass lemur trade scheme.