A few sprays of cologne and I felt ready to go. I was dressed rather nicely, wearing some designer jeans, a nice, buttoned shirt, and a blazer. I wasn't on my way to a wild party, or a date with a hot chick; I was having dinner with my neighbor, Mrs. Holt.
I lived with my widowed father in a nice neighborhood. My dad was a vice president at this big pharmaceutical company, which meant he was either working at his office, or wining and dining people for work. Thankfully, his huge paycheck meant that I wanted for nothing. Still, I might have seen him maybe once or twice a week, as he often opted to sleep in hotels. This meant that I practically had the house to myself.
This also meant that, more often than not, I had to feed myself. It wasn't a big deal; I had a checking account balance that would make even some of my teachers jealous, so I could order practically anything that I wanted. Whether it was a Brazilian steak house or Waffle House, my options were endless.
It had started over a month ago when I had come home to an empty fridge. After some minor deliberation, I had decided to go down to the local Buffalo Wild Wings, enjoy a nice meal, and possibly watch some Premier League games. It's not like dad would even mind.
After grabbing my keys, I hopped into my car and backed out of the garage. A few miles down the road, while sitting at a four-way stop, I had happened to notice my neighbor Mrs. Holt struggling to unload groceries out of her car. My wanting to help her ended up with her inviting me over for a nice meal. Not only did I enjoy the first home-cooked meal that I'd had in ages, but I was able to enjoy some nice company. After dinner, I stayed for dessert, and was sent home with some gifted leftovers.
It then became a weekly ritual that had been going on for a little over a month. She was happy to invite me over again. The next visit, I was treated to shepherd's pie. A week after that, I was treated to spaghetti and meat sauce. The week after that, I feasted on grilled chicken and baked potatoes.
Even though I was wealthy, popular, and had lots of friends who were the same, I really treasured my weekly dinners with Mrs. Holt. These days, I didn't care much about going to the hottest parties to get blitzed and hook-up with hot chicks. I barely cared when my dad bothered to make an appearance at home. One day a week, I got to eat dinner with a wonderful woman who fussed over me and listened to what I had to say. It was like having a second home.
That Friday after school, dad sent me a text to let me know that he'd be crashing at the Hilton for the weekend. I smiled; usually he didn't bother to text me any notice. Even though I'd been invited out to the lake with my friends, I lied telling them that I had to work on an extra credit project for History class.
Tonight was pot roast and mashed potatoes with Mrs. Holt. I came over at 6 PM sharp, holding an apple pie in my hand that I had picked up from the store. After ringing the doorbell, a clap of thunder could be heard overhead, and a few seconds later, Mrs. Holt opened the front door.
She was a curvy woman in her mid fifties, with long strawberry blonde hair that had streaks of gray. Despite her older age, she was still pretty, though not a former beauty queen, in my opinion. Still, I'm sure she could still turn some heads, possibly if she fixed herself up more.
My hostess hurried me inside and gave me a hug. After closing the door, another round of thunder could be heard. As I walked through the front hallway of her home, a cozy feeling washed over me. Mrs. Holt's house wasn't as chic as mine, but it had all the warmth that my house notably lacked. There were pictures of smiling people on the wall, some fuzzy slippers near the front door, and a bin full of woven blankets.
"Wow!" Mrs. Holt exclaimed. "I think we're due for a storm tonight."
"Sounds like it," I agreed. "I brought some pie for dessert."
"You're so sweet! I have some vanilla ice cream in the freezer that will go great with it."
Before she could even tell me, I made off to the guest bathroom to wash my hands. I looked around the bathroom, smiling at her cute decorative towels and the scented candles. I felt foolish for having lived down the street from her for over 10 years and just now getting to know her.
Mrs. Holt had divorced her husband 2 years ago. She had a son who had moved out long before Mr. Holt had moved out, so she'd been an empty nester. Even before we had become friends, she was undoubtedly one of the nicest people in my neighborhood. When our neighborhood had a block party, she'd made a brisket so good that some of the neighbors insisted she open her own restaurant. There were even a few times that I'd fantasized that she'd maybe ask my dad out for a date, but she wasn't his type; he liked the high-maintenance women with too much makeup and at least one type of completed cosmetic surgery.
I walked out of the bathroom and went to the kitchen. Mrs. Holt handed me a plate and told me to help myself. She allowed me access to the hot food sitting on table while she poured me a glass of lemonade.
As I savored the wonderful meal, we told each other about how our respective weeks went. It was nice to have someone asking how I was doing in school and to fuss about me. Halfway through my first helping, we could hear the torrential rains beginning.
"That pot roast was amazing," I said, mopping my mouth with my napkin.
"You sure that you don't want another helping?" Mrs. Holt asked.
"I'm going to try and save room for dessert."
"You know the drill: some of this is going home with you." She looked out of the window at the windblown rains. "With this weather, I don't think you'll be going home any time soon."
"Fine with me," I said.
"How about we go watch some TV?"
"Sure."
We headed to the living room, where we watched a few episodes of Family Feud, followed by "The Wizard of Oz". About halfway through the movie, the power went out. I turned on the flashlight on my smart phone, and Mrs. Holt did the same. Thankfully, she had a lot of candles around her house, so she lit them and sat next to me on the couch. We sat there in the dimly lit room, which was silent, save for the sound of the falling rain.
"If you want, I can break out some dessert," Mrs. Holt offered.
"My stomach's still working on dinner, thanks," I told her. "As a matter of fact, thanks for always having me over. I really like coming over here."
"It's my pleasure, honestly. An empty nester like me really knows the value of good company."
"You know...your cooking reminds me a lot of my mom. When I was a kid, she was always cooking for me. She made a mean grilled cheese sandwich."
"She sounds like a wonderful person. I used to make my son David grilled cheese when he got home from school." She gave a wistful sigh.
"Is he planning on visiting soon?"
Another sigh. "I barely see him. He's got a nice new job, and he's loving his independence. Sad thing is, I miss taking care of him. I spoiled him rotten since he was my only son. I'd clean his room, cook his food, and even do his laundry when he came home from college."
"That was very sweet of you," I said.
"Yeah, well, it didn't stop him from leaving. Didn't stop his father either, though, I think his secretary might have helped, too. I bet she doesn't even know how to work a stove." She gave me a worried look. "Mark, do you think that I try too hard to please men?"
I found my momentarily caught off guard, but I was quickly able to regain my composure and answer her question.
"With David, I just think he grew up and is enjoying doing things for himself for once. As for your husband, he was a jerk."
