“Jen, will you marry me?”
“No, but I’ll have a beer,” she chuckled.
Flashback about 6 hours. The evening started out pretty normally. How we wound up in bed together is another story, for another day. She called me to tell me she needed talk to me about her mother.
Her mother has been sick for a while and it’s been your typical TV-movie experience, except for the fact that her mother isn’t dying. She just thinks she is sick. In the head mostly, a hypochondriac. But since her mom is so old, Jen doesn’t bother to try and change her. “Old dogs and new tricks,” she always says.
I wasn’t surprised that the voice on the other end of the phone was hers, probably because I was hoping it was. Plus, she usually called around now, while I was sitting down to my evening bowl of Cheerios. This kind of regularity helped me keep my shit from falling apart completely.
“Hey bud, what’s goin’ on?”
“Not too much, just same old, say mold. You know. Me and little oat-rings.”
“That’s it, I’m coming over to cook you an acceptable dinner”
“NO!” I screamed, but she had already hung up…
When she showed up at my door 30 minutes later with a pot (strangely enough, I don’t have any) and an apron. I was scared. Thankfully, it wasn’t anything special. Just a box of Kraft Macaroni & Cheese and some garlic bread from the Italian place on the corner. She knew I wouldn’t deal with anything fancier than that. Plus, it was just an excuse for her to come over.
After our “dinner” was done, I flopped down on the couch and flipped on the television. She whistled while she did dishes. Survivor was on, and I was mesmerized. She sat down next to me and said, “What am I gonna do with you?”
Puzzled, I looked up and said, “Hey, if you want one, the beer you brought over is still in the fridge.”
This is part one of a three part story. Please see part two
and part three