“Uhm…something easy yet delicious.”
“How about spaghetti and meatballs? I think that should be easy enough for you to handle.”
Some might be offended that their dad just basically gave them a thinly-veiled insult, but I’m not. He knows just how awful I am at cooking, and at least he’s trying to help without being a butt about it.
“Okay, I think that sounds doable. What do I need to do?”
“Well, first, let’s make a list of the ingredients you are going to need.” He starts listing them off, but I stop when he gets to the frozen meatballs.
“I want to make them fresh,” I say.
“Wow, I’m impressed.” I can hear the smile in his voice.
We spend the next ten minutes on the phone while he tells me everything I need to buy and do to make the perfect spaghetti and meatballs.
“Thank you, Dad,” I say. “I owe you one.”
“You don’t owe me anything. How about you just stop by sometime this week and tell me how the dinner turned out?”
“Deal.”
***
“Yuck, I do not like this,” I say out loud as I am forming the meat mixture into small balls. Mia sits a couple feet away from me, desperately hoping I will drop something.
I consider giving her some, but I have no idea if dogs are supposed to have raw meat like this. I don’t want to do anything that might make her sick. Her shitting all over the house wouldn’t be ideal for me trying to do somethingnicefor Beau.
One by one, I drop the meatballs into the hot pan with a little bit of oil at the bottom. My dad told me to brown them and then let them finish cooking in the oven.
“I can do this,” I say to myself over and over again. “This isn’t that bad at all.”
I manage to get the meatballs browned and in the oven before moving onto the sauce. My dad gave me all the ingredients to make the sauce but hearing all the work that goes into his recipe, I opted for jar sauce instead.
I’m really hoping Beau doesn’t have cameras in here because he’s going to see how weird I am, talking to myself like I’m on a cooking show or something.
When I have everything going, I decide to take Mia outside to play for a few minutes. We play fetch, and I throw the ball high and watch her leap into the air to get it. Seeing that makes me wonder if I can still do a cartwheel.
Might as well try.
After hyping myself up for a minute, I manage to do an almost-perfect one.
Hm. I wonder what else I can still do.
I used to be able to do a back flip. I probably shouldn’t try that once since I could so easily get hurt…
Who am I kidding? I’m not going to be satisfied until I try it. With Mia watching me nervously, I do it. That one isn’t quite so perfect, but hey, I’ve still got it.
Next, I slide down into the splits.
I’m feeling pretty damn good about myself when I realize that I have been out here way longer than I intended.
Rushing inside, I immediately smell something burning. Sauce has exploded all over the stove, the noodles have cooked so long they are basically slop, and when I open the oven, smoke pours out before revealing meatballs that have turned into lumps of coal.
“Fuck!” I cry, doing my best to get everything under control. I manage to tamp it all down so as to not set the house on fire, but dinner is completely ruined.
“ADHD, one. Jo, zero,” I mumble.
Maybe making dinner was a bit too ambitious for me.
