Chapter 5: Sunday Dinner
1343 Words
Saturday was a sunny day.
The kind of Saturday where you wanted all the windows open with bare feet running across the cool kitchen tiles.
Becca snapped on an old apron and grabbed a recipe card from the wooden box her grandmother had given her ages ago.
Pot roast.
Mashed potatoes.
Green beans.
Fresh rolls.
Apple cobbler.
Nothing extravagant.
Just comforting.
She checked the clock.
Craig would be over later that afternoon.
Smiling, she caught herself.
She wasn’t smiling because she was trying to win him over.
She was smiling because she couldn’t wait to eat dinner with someone who warmed the house just by walking through the door.
A House Full of Helpers
“Mom!”
Her youngest tumbled into the room wearing two different socks.
“Can I help?”
“You can wash potatoes.”
“Yes!”
The middle child wandered into the kitchen a few moments later.
“I’ll make the rolls.”
“You know how?”
“No.”
Laughing, Becca shook her head.
“Then today will be a lesson.”
Her oldest shuffled through with a bowl in hand.
“I’ll peel the apples.”
Surveying the kitchen, she noticed flour was already dusting the counter.
Potatoes were in the sink.
The roast was browning in the Dutch oven.
Music flickered from the kitchen radio.
It was an old playlist of ‘90s country songs.
The room buzzed with energy.
For years, Saturdays were performances.
Every detail had to be perfect.
The house had to be cleaned.
Dinner had to be on time.
The children had to be seen and not heard.
One wrong move could send someone into an argumentative frenzy.
Not today.
Today, the potatoes were unevenly chopped.
Flour got on the youngest child’s nose.
Rolls would look like pigs.
And for some reason…it didn’t matter.
It was perfect.
An Unexpected Arrival
Someone knocked on the back door.
Craig came through the doorway holding a small paper bag.
“I brought dessert.”
Becca glanced at the apple cobbler cooling on the countertop.
“I made dessert.”
“I know.” He held up the bag with a guilty grin.
“I brought ice cream.”
Vanilla ice cream.
Her youngest swooned.
“You’re the best grown-up.”
Craig chuckled.
“Shhh… Don’t tell mom.”
“He heard you,” Becca called from the kitchen.
“I know.” He winked.
“I thought she’d understand.”
He hung the bag on the counter, then washed his hands without being asked.
“What can I do?”
“I don’t… actually.”
She pointed toward the bag of green beans.
“Can you snap those?”
“Yeah!” Both kids chimed in at once.
Craig smiled.
“I was hoping you’d offer.”
Ordinarily
They spent the next hour cooking together.
Topics flowed easily across the kitchen counter.
The middle child rattled on about basketball tryouts.
Her oldest went into detail about a science project.
Her youngest decided all future chickens should have names that started with B.
Craig listened intently to every story.
“What names?” he’d ask.
“Biscuit.” Hands are busy working on dinner.
“I love that name.”
“Buttons.”
“I’m sure it is.”
“Barbecue.”
Craig blinked.
“A chicken named Barbecue?” he asked hesitantly.
The youngest beamed with pride.
Becca started cracking up so hard she had to set the spoon down.
Craig leaned in closer and loudly whispered to the child.
“I think Barbecue will live a long and happy life.”
Head nodding so fiercely you would’ve thought in agreed.
“Me too.”
After Dinner
Dishes were finally put away.
Kids kicked a soccer ball in the backyard.
Craig dried his hands on a dish towel and then joined Becca on the back porch.
“You know,” she said, placing another towel in his hand.
“You don’t have to help me like this every time.”
He smirked.
“I know.” Leaning against the railing.
“You know that every time.”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“Because I want to.”
Becca looked at him over the porch.
“I’m part of the dinner, too.”
Simple words.
Words she had never heard before.
Not your dinner.
Not your mess.
Part of dinner.
Part of the night.
Part of what was happening between them.
The Question
They slowly walked toward the back porch while the kids played in the yard.
The sun had started to set, creating a blanket of orange light.
It bounced off the little red chicken coop door sitting in the yard.
Craig leaned against the railing absentmindedly.
“Can I ask you something?”
Smiling, she took a seat on the steps.
“You can always ask me something.”
He paused for a second, taking a deep breath.
“What terrifies you most now?”
The question hit her like a freight train.
Not because it was noisy.
Because it required an honest answer.
Looking out into the yard, she sighed deeply.
“I don’t think I’m scared of getting hurt anymore.”
Craig stayed silent, letting her continue.
“I think I’m scared of happiness.”
He softly furrowed his eyebrows.
“Why?”
“Because every time something awesome happened…”
Her eyes started to water.
“… something bad happened.”
Hands balling into fists.
“I guess I’m scared happiness is just the calm before the storm.”
Craig stayed quiet again.
He looked at their kids playing carelessly in the yard.
Then back at Becca lovingly.
“I can’t make promises.”
Nodding, she replied with what had become a chorus over the last few minutes.
“I know.”
“I can’t promise you won’t get hurt.”
“I know.”
“I can’t promise that everything will be perfect.”
Shaking her head, she gestured for him to continue.
“Life will never be perfect.”
He smiled gently.
“But…” Taking her hands in his.
Looking her straight in the eyes, he continued.
“What I can promise you… Is that we’ll face it together.”
Instant tears flooded her eyes.
Not because what he said was over dramatic.
Because no one had ever offered to take that kind of vow with her.
He hadn’t promised to save her from pain.
He hadn’t said he could prevent hurt from ever happening again.
What he did promise was that he would never let her have to face pain alone.
The First Step
Their children trotted up to the porch.
“Come play with us!”
Craig looked down at Becca.
Smiling through tears, she chuckled.
“I think that’s our queue.”
With a small grin tugging at his lips, he looked back up at her.
“Ladies first.”
Instinct took over, and before she knew it, she was grasping his hand.
Quickly, though, her fingers naturally locked into his.
Warm.
Secure.
Craig froze for a second, too.
Hands connected, but neither of them said a word.
What happened next was natural.
It wasn’t forced.
It was...
Perfect.
Becca looked down at their hands entwined, then back up at Craig.
A nervous smile spread across her lips.
“I guess I just did that.”
His face lit up with the happiest smile.
“I was waiting for you to.”
He didn’t squeeze her hand.
He didn’t pull her closer.
Craig let his hand hover in hers.
Allowing her to pull away if he wanted.
She didn’t.
Instead, she gave his fingers the slightest squeeze.
“Come on, kiddos,” Becca said quietly.
The whole family was waiting for them.
Hand in hand, they strolled out to the backyard.
Kids laughing.
Sun warming their backs.
Chicken coop sitting half-finished in the sunlight.
And for the first time since being eighteen years old…
Becca reached for someone’s hand because she wanted to.
Not because she feared what would happen if she didn’t.
- Writer
