Dinner for Miles

Miles turned the menu over and rubbed the edges twice with his gnarled hands, trying to see if he could find more options or if additional pages were stuck together. Then he looked around the table to see if he missed a part, or if a family member took a page, and finally around the room for a Specials Board. Unfortunately, the menu consisted of a front page with appetizers, soups, and main entrees followed by a back page with desserts and drinks and no Specials Board appeared, no matter how much he willed it. Nothing on the menu looked appealing, nor sparked his interest, no matter how rich, savory or decadent it sounded (or cost.)

His shoulders lifted up as he sucked in air, hung there while he held his breath trying to count to 10, then lowered as he slowly exhaled. He repeated this exercise once more, this time closing his eyes to block out the other people sitting around the table, thinking this act might bring some solace. It did not. 

With his eyes still closed though, he recognized a scent drifting through the restaurant. 

The sweet smell of basil hit him and he immediately drifted in thought to Italy. Now, many years ago, he remembered walking through the hills of Northern Italy with his wife Susan on their first trip to Europe. He recalled seeing little cabins and cottages lining the inclined street leading to their hotel, flower boxes, and gardens alive with the colors red, pink, and white sitting on bright green stems. Other houses showcased grape bushes trellised above walking paths along small but well-manicured lawns, leading to painted doors attached to old stone houses. As they drew closer to the hotel on the left side a wooden sign stood proudly next to an open door. Even though neither could read or speak Italian, they knew a restaurant when they saw one and popped in for a quick bite.

They ordered a plate of local tomatoes and fresh mozzarella covered in olive oil, salt, pepper, garlic and topped with green, sweet-smelling basil leaves. Sharing the plate, the two laughed and talked about their day hiking through the Italian mountains, Susan still making fun of him for pretending to be Julie Andrews singing The Hills are Alive with the Sound of Music. Each one tried to eat as much of the delicious salad as possible while trying to leave the last bit for the other without each other knowing what they were doing. After finishing, Miles remembered the two of them walking hand in hand back to the hotel smiling and stealing glances at each other, completely in love and smitten with each other.

Without opening his eyes, Miles turned his head to the right to find another scent he knew. Even though he forgot the person immediately to his right, he caught the slight coconut and salty beach smell of suntan lotion. Another neuron fired and his mind wandered to the first time he and Susan arrived in Hawaii, one of Susan’s favorite places in the whole world. Stepping off the plane, the sea air hit like a ton of bricks (at least to Miles, who never liked the ocean.) But, the next few days of exploring the island together hand in hand, finding hidden waterfalls, seeing waves crash into the rocks and shoot foam high into the air, watching sea turtles, eating new exotic dishes, and climbing towards a lighthouse to watch whales migrate with Susan were magical. The dinners along the beachfront sidewalk tasted so fresh, as ingredients straight from the farm or the ocean covered their plates. Susan sipped blue cocktails as they chuckled at people walking by in outfits too risqué for normal life, but very fitting for the islands. Finishing their night by walking along the sand eating chocolate ice cream cones waiting for the fireworks so they could cuddle together.

Susan kept trying to convince him they should buy a small shack somewhere on the island so they had a reason to keep coming back to explore and find new restaurants to try. He laughed and reminded her they couldn’t even afford the house they lived in so how could they afford a shack that cost 3 or 4 times as much as their modest home. But he did promise her they would go back to Hawaii more so she could swim with the sea turtles and have more shave ice (sno-cones), which made her radiate like the water reflecting the setting sun on the North Shore.

Still, with his eyes closed, he turned to his left and quickly picked up the smell of cinnamon bread from behind his left shoulder.

His mind wandered to the hills of Colorado on the Christmas Eve both he and Susan sat around building toys for their kids while the smell of a cinnamon broom decoration filled the house. Even though they both were sick and wanted to go to bed, they struggled to put together the small trampoline and other toys the kids wanted. Lying on the floor holding hands to regain their focus, they both laughed at each other (but not too much since the rooms kept spinning.)

Finally, the next morning after the kids woke them up, they both made their way downstairs, grabbed some hot tea and warm potato pancakes Miles made the day before (a family tradition on Christmas), and sat around snuggling together as the kids opened presents. 

Miles turned his head back to the center and took a slow, sad breath. Opening his eyes, he quickly looked at the menu again, but couldn’t contain the frown and drop in his shoulders as he looked. Flipping the menu over absentmindedly, he looked at his water glass, bubbling with seltzer water, a cut lemon resting on top of the ice, Susan’s favorite drink. Right away he felt a hand touch the back of his wrist and he looked up.

“Dad, are you OK? Don’t worry about the prices, it’s your birthday, pick whatever you want, you deserve it. It’s not every day you turn 70 and we all want you to enjoy it!”

“I know, and I thank you, but I can’t find anything I want.”

His daughter reached out with her other hand, clasping both of her father’s hands, and asked “It’s your birthday, I’m sure they can make something for you, so just tell me, what do you want?”

“Your mother by my side again.”