“Whoa, settle down and save some fun for the rest of us.” His playful eyes peer at me above the rim of his water glass.
Just as something defensive prickles under my skin, Jonas bounds back down the stairs—a herd of elephants in one small boy—holding his video game. “I have it.”
He flings himself onto the couch, and when Colt leaves me to join him, I realize I still need to figure out dinner. Within minutes I’m elbow deep in the freezer, icy knuckles stinging as they bump against frozen bags of vegetables and the occasional chocolate bar I’ve hidden from Jonas. Seconds before I give up and order pizza, my fingers curl around a glass container, sticking slightly to the frosty surface. It’s so cold it’s painful to grab, but I tug it out of the mess and triumphantly slam it down on the counter.
Hamburger soup.
Jonas always makes fun of me for freezing our uneaten dinners, citing the numerous times I’ve tossed perfectly good leftovers to make room in the small freezer for Costco-sized bags of chicken tenders and fries. Tonight he’ll eat his wordsandthis six-month-old soup.
Once it’s in a pot on the stove, I grab a glass of water andlean against the counter, watching as Jonas lets Colt attempt to navigate the toggles and switches on his video game. He leans into Colt, heckling him for accidentally casting into a stand of trees, with a vibrant smile on his face.
“No, no, no.Oh my God.” Jonas slaps a palm against his forehead. “Bro, I thought you said you knew how to fish.”
“Idoknow how to fish. But this is definitely not fishing.”
Jonas flops backward into the couch cushions when Colt misses yet another cast. “Watching you play is exhausting.”
Colt sighs, handing the gaming device back. “Don’t you have a car racing game we can play together?”
“We can’t play multiplayer with only one handheld console. I hope my dad buys me a new PlayStation for my birthday.”
Steam billows out around the lid of the soup pot seconds before it billows out of my ears.
“Something smellsreallygood.” Colt looks over his shoulder, running a hand through his shaggy brown hair. The casual comb messes it up just enough to hide the wavy indent created by his cowboy hat.
“Homemade hamburger soup.” I stir the delicious slop. It might not look like anything fancy, but I can guarantee it tastes amazing. If there’s one thing I’m confident in, it’s my ability to cook. “It’s almost ready.”
Jonas groans. “Soup is a winter food. Can we order pizza?”
“Soup is an always food, dude.” Colt’s palms slap against his thighs, and he stands up, giving each leg a little kick to straighten out his straight-cut blue jeans. “Let’s go help your mom set the table.”
A humored huff of air blows out of my nose.As if Jonas would set the table without argument.
“Nah.”
See?
Colt looks at Jonas, then at me. Suddenly it dawns on me that, although he’s technically more of Jonas’s guest thanmine, he’s also an adult, and I should be trying to make a good impression.
“Jonas,” I say sternly. “Go wash your hands and set the table for dinner.Now.”
Miraculously, he drops the device on the cushion and shuffles toward the bathroom. Not without grumbling, but I’ll take it.
“Need a hand?” Colt sidles up next to me, peering over at the simmering soup.
“Thanks, but you’re a guest. Sit and relax.”
Minutes later, the three of us are slurping spoonfuls of soup around the kitchen table. And it’s a far cry from the dinners Jonas and I usually have, with him sulking about being away from his online gaming buddies, inhaling his food so he can get back to them. Instead, he’s taking his time, engaging in conversation with Colt about the video game they were playing before dinner.
“So what did you guys do today?” I ask when there’s a small gap in their conversation.
Jonas shrugs.
Colt sets his spoon down softly. “Busted our asses and ate ice cream as a reward.”
Tongue tucked into my cheek, I look at my son. “Ice cream, hey?Lucky kid.”
“I had cookie dough chunks in mine.” The corner of Jonas’s lip turns up in fond remembrance of the ice cream. “Hey, if Dad doesn’t show tomorrow, can I go fishing with Colt?”
