“It sounds great. I’m always grateful for a homecooked meal, and I’m definitely not picky.”
“I’m the same way,” I said. “The bar went through a rough patch when I was about six or seven, and my mom and I were barely scraping by. Living on a grocery budget of ten dollars a week taught me to be grateful for whatever was put in front of me.”
“We were lucky, because my mom found a job in a mom and pop grocery store after we got settled in Kansas. In fact, she still works there. It was great, because she got first dibs on the clearance bin. Some nights, we’d play mystery meal with cans that didn’t have labels. Would it be corn with a side of peaches for dinner? Or green beans with a side of even more green beans? Nobody knew until the cans were opened. Maybe that should have been depressing, but as a kid I actually enjoyed it. Ma played it up and made me think it was a fun game.”
I told him, “She sounds like a good mom.”
“She is. She’s also a good person. She tries so hard to make the world a better place and is always doing volunteer work in the community, on top of her fulltime job. She devotes her time to dogs, kids, the elderly—if there’s a way to help, she’s all over it.” Jack looked like he was getting emotional, so he took a sip of wine and changed the subject. “Speaking of helping, give me something to do, so we can get dinner on the table.”
“If you want to, you can chop the vegetables that are drying beside the sink. First though, why don’t you put on some music?” I opened an app and handed him my phone as I explained, “The house has a built-in sound system that’s linked to my online Spotify account, so pick a playlist.”
He took the phone from me and chuckled as he scrolled through the list. “Oh, of course. We’ve got Rat Pack, Rat Pack in Vegas, Rat Pack Live, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Junior, Sinatra, more Sinatra—you, my friend, are stuck in a rut.”
“Yeah, but I like my rut.”
“I’m logging onto my playlists,” Jack said. “Not that I don’t enjoy your stuff, but I think it’d be good for you to branch out a little.”
A moment later, the Spice Girls started playing in surround-sound, and Jack flashed me a huge smile. I shook my head and said, “No way,” as I tried to take my phone back, but he leapt up and held it out of reach.
“Yes! This is happening, so stop being uptight and enjoy it.”
“Don’t tell me you actually like this.”
“Of course I do,” he said. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because you’re not a twelve-year-old girl.”
“And you’re not a seventy-five-year-old senior citizen, but look at your musical taste!”
“I have great taste,” I insisted.
“So do I, and if you stop being biased and listen, you’ll realize this is such a good song.” With that, he turned up the volume and proceeded to dance around the kitchen while singing along to “Wannabe,” loudly and badly.
It made him so happy that I decided to let him have his fun. I even ended up tapping my foot to the beat at one point, and when he discovered that he yelled, “Ah ha!”
“Okay, so it’s actually a really catchy song,” I conceded, which delighted him.
He turned down the volume a bit when that song ended, but he kept shaking his hips to the rest of his Spice Girls playlist while we stood side-by-side chopping vegetables. Once that task was done, it only took me a few minutes to get the rest of the dish completed, and then we sat down to big bowls of pasta at the kitchen island.
There was something touching about the way Jack ate. He savored every mouthful and heaped it with praise, as if it was the best thing he’d ever had. Then he grinned at me and asked, “Would you judge me if I licked the bowl?”
I got up and cut a slice of French bread for him as I said, “No, but maybe this is a better approach.” He beamed at me before using the bread to mop up the last of the sauce.
“I’m way too full now,” he said, when he finally sat back and patted his stomach, “but wow was that good. Thank you for dinner.”
“My pleasure.”
Jack helped me clean up and load the dishwasher, and then he glanced at me uncertainly and said, “You must be really tired, since you barely slept last night. Are you going straight to bed?”
I shook my head. “I need to unwind first.”
“Want some company?”
“Definitely. Let’s go upstairs, so I can change into something more comfortable.”
I took his hand as we left the kitchen, and he held on tightly. Along the way, I scrolled through the app on my phone with my free hand and shut off the lights on the first floor, then the sound system.
When we got upstairs, he asked to borrow a phone charger. I found a spare in my nightstand and handed it over as he asked, “Will I be sleeping in the guest room tonight?”