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But I'll be making lasagna for supper. Hope you don't mind!" After two weeks of granola bars how can we so no?" laughed Misty, exaggerating their plight and causing Bob close his eyes and chuckle as he somehow continued to slice the celery into perfectly even pieces."I keep telling her to take a cooking course," commented Vivian from the large, round wooden table at the opposite end of the room near the entrance to the kitchen."I tried once," Miranda replied a little dejectedly as her mother sipped her tea, eyeing the courier with a piercing gaze, "I just keep forgetting how long to cook things for." I saw her burn water once!" called Bob from the orderly chaos he seemed to be orchestrating."Did not," muttered Miranda shaking her head, giving her stepfather a look of mock wary annoyance as Misty tried not to laugh."Well you did melt the pot to the stove, dear," concluded her mother, motioning for them to sit with her."And that's why I'm not aloud in a kitchen anymore," sighed. “Huh?”Muireann got his attention. “Pete ... do you want to go to the dance?”He was flabbergasted as he looked back and forth between us.“What? I thought you two were going together.”She nodded. “We are. But if you want to go, you can join us. If you don’t mind sharing me,” she added, laughing a bit self-consciously.“And look, I don’t like dancing all that much, so I’m totally down with the idea,” I confided.He remained uncertain. “Are you sure?”“We’re all going to be hanging out as a group anyway. It’ll be fun. I mean, unless you had other plans?”“Not really.”“Then join in.”He took a breath, and then slowly came to his decision. “All right ... Yeah, I’ll do it.”“Good,” I said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Now get packed up so we can get the party started!”He gave me a long look, and then nodded. “Yeah ... I’ll catch up with you in a bit.”As he went back to his equipment, Muireann and I found each other’s hands and intertwined them. For a time we stood there side by side in the.
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A napkin passed to her after a long lunch at the local Greek restaurant. She was with her then boyfriend and he was a late arrival. He sat opposite her and ate quietly. He didn’t speak much, but it was clear he was taking in everything around him. ‘Call me tomorrow at 6am’ It said. A phone number was printed in neat handwriting next to the benign command. He didn’t ask for her number. He didn’t try to impress her. Just a note in passing at the end of lunch. She tried to remember if he had done it in view of her previous boyfriend. She pulled the covers up over herself as she tried to remember his name. That failed memory was certainly telling. What she remembered clearly was that he had seen in that one lunch what she had not seen in two months of going out with her ex. That he couldn’t give her what she was seeking, that she was likely going to be satisfied with something that was good enough for the promise of a safe existence and a caring, nurturing relationship. She tucked the.

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