More Than Mac and Cheese

If he had a regret about his life since Sally and the kids, it would be the lousy kitchen he had at his house. It wasn’t spacious. Even by himself, he felt like he was bumping into himself. He needed room to make his mess, the same way a painter needs a studio splattered with her colors. The stove heated unevenly, the oven didn’t always heat up, and counter space was limited. Plus, he didn’t have all those weird utensils like the Ronco slicer and dicer. He stopped his pity party. It wasn’t the things: it was cooking simply for himself. If a person, including himself, Landon, cooks a great meal and no one else eats, does that mean it’s not great? He’s not a philosopher, but that’s the way it felt to him. There’s no point if it can’t be shared and enjoyed.

         Now, that had changed. He still had the same terrible kitchen, but Erin didn’t just let him use her kitchen, she wanted him to. She was a modern woman, and she was tired of cooking, and irked by what it represented. She also had been cooking only for herself and Stephanie, and what did a nine-year-old know about good food. Give her a box of Kraft mac and cheese, maybe adding a bit of extra fresh grated cheese (couldn’t tell her because she’d think it was being made better and she claimed to like mac and cheese exactly like it said it should be made coming out of the box), and Stephanie was happy. It was about filling the belly.

         Tonight wasn’t the first time Landon had cooked for them, but it was more important, even more significant than the first time he’d executed a meal only for Erin. He knew that the first night, just going through the process was impressive. Her ex didn’t cook. Not only didn’t he cook, but Erin was also expected to prepare and present exquisite meals in a timely manner, meaning around his television sports schedule. Like everything in her marriage, what her ex wanted was really about control and power. That first time, for Landon, it had been about offering her a different version of how a relationship could work.

         The kitchen was a mess. The counter was covered in chopped onions, three different colored peppers – yellow, red, and orange (green being too easy and obvious) – cilantro and garlic. Next to the chopped items was flour, a light dusting of snow, from the making of from-scratch pasta. Erin had a KitchenAid pasta and cutter set. The stove had water heating. The island was torn lettuce, quartered cherry tomatoes, and cubed mozzarella. He was whisking a small bowl for the salad dressing. He’d prepared a goat cheese crostino ahead of time. The focaccia bread was in the oven. He hoped everything would finish about the same time because he wanted to show off.

         Finally, for Stephanie, he had her favorite, the Kraft special but nothing added, carrot oven fries, and a lemon cheesecake with the crust made from Girl Scout Thin Mints.

         What he had to tell Erin after the meal would probably cause her to end the relationship. Landon’d understand, and even if the night ended badly that didn’t mean he hadn’t appreciated everything Erin had done for him over the last few weeks. Now wasn’t the time to think about later. Live in the moment. Landon understood thinking ahead resulted in missing the present, the smells of focaccia and raw garlic, Stephanie in the den watching Rugrats, laughing a full bellied guffaw, Erin pouring another glass of wine, the chopped vegetables sizzling on high heat on the stove, the normalcy of it all.

         Five minutes later, Erin was rounding up Stephanie, not without protest because cartoons are always better than adult food. Only she didn’t know that Landon had a special casserole dish of mac and cheese, nothing added. He taken off his apron and changed his t-shirt into a collared one. He had a sip of his first glass of wine, on his best behavior. Erin raved about all aspects of the meal, the way each plate was laid out – nothing slopped on the plate – the contrast of colors, the sweet versus tangy in the marinara sauce, about every third bite and ooh or aah. She even said once, “Orgasmic.” Stephanie was too busy shoveling mac and cheese in her mouth to notice or question. “Mister Landon” – that’s how she addressed him, and he hated the Mister part – “this is so much better than Mom’s.” He laughed inwardly. Stephanie was so impressed – maybe – that she asked for a little of the adult food, which she also praised highly. Dessert was the show stealer. Stephanie ate half her large slice before Landon asked her what she thought of the crust. “Great,” she said. He asked her what it tasted like. She said, “a chocolate bar, and something else in it tickles my tongue.”

         Erin smiled. She knew. She’d put the Pope’s blessing on it already.

         “It’s made from Thin Mints,” Landon said.

         “No way.”

         “Yeah way. That’s cool. So cool.” She paused. He knew she was precocious, but this was beyond even what he thought. “Next year, I’ll tell my customers that the can make pie crusts from the cookies.” She nodded. Erin had told him that she was the biggest seller this past year and had announced that next year she’d double her sales.

         Landon cleaned up while Stephanie put Stephanie to bed. It was about a thirty-minute process. He wiped down the counter three times. He dried the pots twice. He didn’t know when Erin would reappear. He didn’t want her to go into the den and settle down with another glass of wine. He wanted to say his piece and then get the hell out. He wasn’t good at wasting time. Normally, he’d have read a detective novel. He didn’t bring one with him. Instead, he opened her refrigerator and rearranged it. He figured she didn’t care because there was no order when he started.

         He realized he was often organizing events, places, people’s lives. He knew it was because he needed to have control of something, anything, even a sense of control. Today was no different. He was finally finding a footing again.

         He went into the den and grabbed a Southern Living magazine, something he’d have never seen in his house growing up. He went back to the kitchen, opened the magazine, and rested his elbows on the island and read. He was reading an article about new restaurants in New Orleans.

A tap on his shoulder stopped him. Erin was standing beside him, a bit away from the island, her arms open, waiting for a hug. He closed the magazine. He didn’t move. She stood statue-like, expectant.

Knowing there was no time like now, he cleared his throat.

“I have something really important to tell you,” Landon said, his voice wavering.

“I have something really important to do to you,” Erin said, a bit exasperated. She turned her right hand over and pointed a finger at him, curling it towards her.

“Not yet. Before we get too far into this relationship” –

“Too far. We’re already there, aren’t we?”

“Further, then. My ex-wife.” He stopped and then soldiered on. “The reason I don’t see my kids – ever – is because my ex said I had molested two of them.” He’d said it. He closed his eyes and waited. Seconds passed. More seconds passed. The room was silent except for their breathing. He opened his eyes, expecting Erin to be gone. She hadn’t moved.

She sighed. “Do you think I’m stupid or something?” She wasn’t yelling but Landon wished she were. “I’ve lived here my whole life. As if I don’t know what goes on?” Landon thought of his father, not a good thing, bad memories, almost as bad as his ex’s lies and accusations. His favorite line about assuming, which Landon did in this situation that Erin didn’t know about the rumors, was “You know what assuming does, don’t you?” He did. It hurt him to think he’d actually learned a valuable lesson from his father. “I knew about your ex’s accusations minutes after she first made them. That was five years ago, god damn it.” He’d never heard Erin curse before. She’d had opportunities. It wasn’t yelling, but it would do. “Sure, everybody knew then and still knows. Most, I’m sure, keep their distance from you.” She paused again. The room was quiet. He hoped Stephanie didn’t wake up, need a glass of water, or say there was a monster under her bed. He must get through this. Now. Uninterrupted by outside forces. Those were always the undoing of a moment, good or bad.

She reminded Landon of a storm that came in waves, between each wave was the calm and soon after the “calm” came another, and then another calm and -. “I never believed it to begin with. I’ve known Sally a lot longer than I’ve known you. She’s bat shit crazy. You may be weird, but you’re not crazy. She may not be weird, but she’s crazy.

“I’m a grown woman.” Yes, she is Landon thought. That’s what he liked about her: her independence, the fact she’d been dragged around the block, just like him, and she’d come out okay, it seemed, on the other side. “I can make my own decisions. Don’t think just because our paths, until recently, crossed paths that I don’t know what was going on with you and your family. I’ve seen you with Stephanie. Do you think for one god damn second” – that cursing thing again, he thought – “that I would let you hang around Steph if I thought for another god damn second that you might molest her, I’d even let her sell you Girl Scout cookies for fudge’s sake.” The storm might be receding. “Go. To. Your. House. Alone.” He was wrong again.

“HELLO? Hello? hello?, hello.” She giggled. He couldn’t decide whether she was sexier when she was angry or tittering like a young schoolgirl. It didn’t matter because he liked both moments.

Her arms were still outstretched. He stepped into them, unsure if she was still offering.

Might as well find out, he thought.