Everything Happens Today by Jesse Browner

There is something I’d like,
Wes
, if you don’t mind.”
    â€œName it.”
    â€œSweetbreads.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œSweetbreads.”
    â€œYou mean, like, pastry?”
    â€œLook it up. You asked what I want. I want sweetbreads.”
    â€œDo we have any in the house?”
    â€œI don’t think so, honey. You may have to go the store.”
    Wes thundered down the stairs, calling for the dog, who appeared from somewhere on the garden level, wagging her tail and laying her ears back submissively. He slipped into a worn gray hoodie that hung from the coat rack by the front door, and scratched the dog above the tail as he pulled the phone from his back pocket, opened the iPedia app and typed in “sweet bread.” He took the leash down from the coat rack and hooked it to Crispy’s collar while he waited for the query to load. He had opened the door, with Crispy straining on the leash, when his query came up, redirected to “Sweetbreads.” Above the text was the photo of something brown, bulbous and glistening on a bed of creamy rice.
    Â 
    â€œSweetbreads are the thymus glands and pancreas glands of lamb, beef, or pork. There are two different connected parts to the thymus gland, both set in the neck. The ‘heart’ sweetbreads are more spherical in shape, and surrounded symmetrically by the ‘throat’ sweetbreads, which are more cylindrical in shape. Although both are edible, the heart thymus gland is generally favored because of its delicate flavor and texture, and is thus more expensive.
    Â 
    â€œThe etymology of the word ‘sweetbread’ is thought to be of Old English origin. ‘Sweet’ is probably used since the thymus and pancreas are sweet and rich tasting, as opposed to savory tasting muscle flesh. In Old English, sweet was written ‘swete’ or ‘sweete.’ ‘Bread’ probably comes from the Old English word ‘bræd,’ meaning ‘flesh.’”
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    Wes pulled Crispy back into the house, closed the door, unhooked the dog from the leash, hung the leash back on the coat rack and returned to his mother’s room. Nora was still reading, and now that she had sat up Wes could see that the book was A.J. Liebling’s
Between Meals
, a book he himself had read aloud to his mother, cover to cover, twice over the past few years. She seemed to love it because it was about Paris and it was about food, but Wes could never quite figure that one out, since her diet was now basically restricted to high-fat rice pudding and the only time in her life she had been to Paris was on her honeymoon, a time he imagined she would prefer to forget. But she couldn’t get enough of it. She and Nora looked up expectantly as he entered the room, holding the offending iPhone in front of him, evidence of an as-yet undiscovered crime.
    â€œMom! Are you kidding me?”
    â€œWhat is it, Leslie? What’s wrong?”
    â€œSweetbreads? It’s disgusting!”
    â€œI didn’t know you were such a prude, honey.”
    â€œLet Bobby see!” Wes handed the phone to Nora, who peered into it as if it were an oracle or a train schedule.
    â€œI’m not a prude, whatever that means, but I can’t cook this.”
    â€œOf course you can. You’re a fabulous cook. You can cook anything.”
    â€œMom, please don’t ask me . . . Anyway, I don’t think it’s such a good idea. All you’ve eaten is rice pudding for a month. It’ll make you sick.”
    â€œI’ll worry about that.”
    â€œEw! This is gross! Bobby’s gonna barf!”
    Wes sat down at the edge of the bed and took his mother’s hand, which was warm and dry.
    â€œMom, I don’t want to . . . are you sure this is what you want? I mean, you’ve been kind of out of it for a while. Are you sure you’re not . . . I mean, is this really what you want? Pancreas?”
    â€œYes,