Skip the dishes. And the cooking. And the ...
Christopher and Pammy moved into a bigger apartment recently. They have the ground floor of an older house with working fireplaces and a yard for their pups, and I’ve never seen them happier. It’s lovely.
I’d bought them a barbecue as a housewarming gift, mostly because I had visions of Skip the Dishes, a food delivery service, showing up too often. The kids work opposite shifts as a rule, and while Pammy is a good cook, Christer is …. less so. Nonetheless, I was pretty happy when a dinner invite came via Ari. Their previous place had been too small to host a dinner, but now with a backyard and spanky new barbecue, Christer was stepping up. I thought.
“We’re going to the food market thing in Jackson Square, is there anything specific we should buy? Not sure what you had planned,” he texted.
I detected that somehow when I wasn’t looking, he’d lobbed the ball back over the net to me. Smack.
“Well, what are you doing?” I responded. “I can bring something.”
“I think the world needs to taste those chicken burgers with pineapple,” he wrote back.
The world. They only have seven lawn chairs.
“The upstairs neighbours have veggie skewers and shrimp and a couple of steaks,” he said.
I asked how many people were coming. “8-10, total. I kinda want you to tell me what we need to buy because you’re the best at this stuff.”
I felt a rush of wind up my kilt.
“Do you want a big salad? Do you want those tomato and bocconcini appetizers? Just imagine what you want, and go buy the stuff,” I wrote.
“OK you do that and we’ll do the rest.
We’ll get peppers and onions and potatoes. And snacks. My snack game is pretty much the best,” he responded. “Everybody is coming. I’m excited. Is this what being old feels like? Getting excited to see family?”
“Yup.”
Damn. I’m getting old.
An hour later, I got another note. The head count was up to 12. He doublechecked that we would be bringing burgers and buns and appetizers. He asked for salad dressing. I upped my provisions accordingly, mostly registering “enough for 12” somewhere in the back of my brain.
Another hour went by. “Can you bring a big salad bowl?”
We crammed everyone in my car (they said to save gas; it was so I’d be the designated driver), the back laden with all the requested things. I also had an armful of irises I’d cut from the garden for Pammy, and a carafe to put them in. I like hosting; I also like guesting.
We trundled up the drive, five of us with our hands full. Christer was holding court in the backyard as Pammy stuffed puppies out of the way and helped unload. I looked around for the promised other provisions. I saw a lot of beer, and Pammy opened the fridge to reveal corn and peppers and lettuce.
“The market was so much fun! Look at all the stuff we got!”
I noted how clean their place was, and then two of us got to work making dinner. I could hear Christopher laughing and socializing. I could hear him doing everything except cooking or serving. Pammy explained that all the planning had exhausted him.
The other contributions he’d assured me would be there, weren’t. Miraculously, I’d factored in this possibility and there was plenty of food. Pammy sent me a note later that night.
Pam: “I asked him about something that happened last night.”
His reply: “Babe, honestly, I don’t know. I was too busy being the adult.”
Pam: “@@”
He better not have skipped the dishes.