“Not even for your woman?”she demanded.
Hutch raised his brows to me.
I told Mrs.Matthews.“I drink wine, but I also drink beer.”
“I have bourbon,” Hutch offered before she could say anything.
“Dash of water, rocks,” she stated instantly.
Now I was in danger of busting out laughing.
She sat.Mark sat.
While I got the meatballs out of the oven, slid them into the sauce and dealt with the spaghetti, Hutch got the drinks and set the table.
Hutch and I served up family style, and after plates were filled, Mrs.Matthews speared a meatball and held it pointed up to the ceiling.
“Can you please explain why this meat is white and my spaghetti is brown?”she requested.
I couldn’t hold it anymore.
I started laughing.
“I eat clean, Mrs.Matthews,” Hutch shared, his deep voice sounding subdued, but it was only because he was again trying not to laugh.“That’s whole wheat pasta and those are turkey meatballs, and I’m just gonna say, Mabel does not eat clean, so she doesn’t mess around with flavor even though she’s making something I’ll eat.”
Mrs.Matthews bopped the meatball my way as she spoke.
“Mark my words, young woman, do not acquiesce to the silly demands of some man.I do not care how tall or fine looking he is.Or how broad his shoulders.Or how thick his hair.Or how full his mustache.”
She seemed to have lost her train of thought (I didn’t blame her), then she brought it back.
“It starts small like”—she whirled her meatball fork in the air—“turkey meatballs,” she said with distaste.“And then you never know what he’s going to be expecting.”
“I’ll bear that in mind,” I replied solemnly.
She brought the meatball to her nose, sniffed it like Moxie would do, then took a tentative bite.
She tipped her head in ammgesture and ate the whole meatball.
Mark was snarfing it down like he hadn’t eaten in a week.
I glanced at Hutch to see the lines by his eyes were very deep and his shoulders were shaking, but he was bent over his bowl shoving spaghetti in too.
“I have an armoire I want you to look over, Mabel,” Mrs.Matthews stated.“It was my great-great grandmother’s.I would like you to assess it.I think it needs refinishing.”
“Oh my God, Mrs.Matthews, I’d love that.”
“Obviously, if you agree with me, you’ll be doing the refinishing,” she said like she was doing me a favor.
“I’d love that too.”
“You can give me a quote after you look at it,” she decreed, spearing her salad.
“I’ll call.We’ll set a time for me to come over.”
“I’m sitting right here,” she pointed out.“Would tomorrow do for you?”
I looked to Hutch.
