Page 36 of The Wilder Widows

“Stop it!” I tossed a pillow at the door and climbed under the covers. Her laughter trickled under the door before it quieted.

“We’re going for lunch in an hour. Take a nap. You’ll need your energy for later. For your... hootie.”

“Heavens to Betsy, Marge! I’ll come over there and pummel you with my rolling pin!”

“You didn’t pack your rolling pin. At least I hope you didn’t.”

I hadn’t, in fact, packed my rolling pin, though I’d thought about it. You never knew when you may end up needing to do some baking, and only my grandmother’s rolling pin got my dough as smooth as I liked. While I listened to Marge tittering on the other side of the door, I wished I’d put it in my bag.

“Good. Night,” I spat and pulled the covers up over my head. Even with my heart racing from the embarrassment of her picturing me doing... that... it didn’t take but a minute for the exhaustion of the travels to push me off to sleep.

****

“Oh, man. I wish Roxy was here to try this. It’s delicious,” Marge said, her full mouth mumbling the words while she tried to chew the second course of our lunch, a decadent cheese smeared on the baguette. It was even better than the first course, which was some of the best food I’d ever eaten.

“This sure beats hot dish.” I moaned my pleasure while chewing the creamy delight.

“What the hell is hot dish?” Alice hoisted her empty champagne glass and gave it a shake to attract our waiter’s attention.

“Haven’t you ever had hot dish?” I asked.

“I’ve had food that is hot and in a dish. Is that hot dish?” Alice set her glass down after receiving an acknowledging nod from our waiter.

I shook my head, swallowing the last bite of my food. “No. It’s a dish I used to make for my family all the time. You take tater tots—”

“Tater tots?” Marge arched a brow.

“Yes. Tater tots, cream of mushroom soup, some ground beef, and I liked to throw peas in mine. You know, for nutritional value.”

“Oh yes, because peas are going to make that so nutritious.” Alice rolled her eyes and shoved another bite of cheese in her mouth.

“I can’t believe you’ve never had hot dish! Pretty common where I’m from in Minnesota. Although every family has their own interpretation. It was Harold’s favorite, so I made it for my family every Sunday night.”

Memories of my days as a wife and mother flooded back into me. I could still hear my children’s laugher while they raced in the door after a Sunday football game in the park, tripping over one another while they dropped their dirty clothes and raced to the table for the fresh-baked cookies I would have waiting. Harold would greet them with a smile from his post in front of the television, and I would swipe my hands across my apron before pulling them each in for a hug. One by one, I would squeeze each of my six children, pausing to inhale the smell of their hair while they wiggled free for more cookies.

After making them each wash up, they would file down the stairs and join us at the old oak table that had been in my family for two generations. Harold would turn off the television, and my family would gather around the table, our laughter and stories filling every nook and cranny of our home.

My family.

Even though it was only Harold who’d passed away, the distance between all of them scattered around the country often made me feel like I was the last one left. What I wouldn’t give to fall back in time and live forever in the moments where my home was filled with more than just me and my knitting supplies.

“I’ve made it this many years without eating a tater tot, and I’m certainly not going to start now.” Alice crinkled her nose, but her soured expression brightened instantly when the waiter appeared with her mimosa.

“It actually sounds good.” Sylvie shrugged, and a nostalgic glow rolled through her eyes. “My mother used to make a rice dish with cream of mushroom soup and chicken. Oh, it’s been years since I’ve had it.”

“I love me some tater tots, but it ain’t as good as this. No way, no how.” Marge smacked her lips and then popped another bite of food in her mouth.

“Nothing is as good as this,” Sylvie agreed and took a bite as well. “You have excellent taste in restaurants and hotels, Alice. You haven’t steered us wrong yet.”

“Do you know what else I have excellent taste in?” She arched a brow and jutted her chin toward the handsome waiter in the next section over. “Men.”

Sylvie snickered. “I don’t doubt that one bit.”

“What do you think of that one, Doris? I bet he could give you a hootie.”

There it was again. That unbearable heat scalding my cheeks. It surprised me I had any skin left after the number of times they’d heated my cheeks to an inferno.

“You’re redder than the roses in your garden.” Marge snorted.