THANKFULLY,THE EVENING before Christmas Eve, it’s just Eric and I having dinner with his grandmother and Larry.
“The house looks wonderful, Evelyn,” I tell her as she hands me a glass of wine.
“Thank you, Sean. I really enjoyed putting up all the decorations this year. It almost felt like going back in time.”
“I think you’ve outdone yourself. The house is more beautiful and brighter than I remembered,” Eric says. He’s not drinking at all tonight, to my great surprise.
We’re in the small lounge, as Eric and his grandmother call it, although it’s as big as my entire apartment. A crackling fire dominates the room, releasing a comforting and pleasant warmth; not to mention the familial atmosphere, the twinkling lights reflected in the windows, and the scent of cinnamon and spices in the air.
“What’s on the menu for the next few days, then?” Eric asks his grandmother. I’ve worked out that Larry will be taking care of dinner this evening. I haven’t seen anyone else around the house, so am guessing that Eric’s grandmother has sent them all home for Christmas.
“Tonight we have lasagna, made by Larry’s magic hands.”
“I hope you won’t judge it too harshly,” Larry says to Eric.
“Then I hoped you’d take care of the rest,” his grandmother continues.
Eric studies her, shocked.
“Seeing as you’re here.” Evelyn shrugs. “You might take care of dinner on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day this year.”
“But I… I don’t think…”
“You don’t want to cook for your family?”
“I’ve never cooked for them before.” Eric’s voice is hard, resentful.
“Wouldn’t it be the right time to start, then? Don’t you want to show your parents what they’ve been missing all these years?”
“I don’t have to prove myself to anyone.”
“Of course you don’t,” Larry intervenes. “What your grandmother means is that we’d all love to… Have a taste of your talent.”
“You’re just trying to sweet-talk me,” Eric says, softening to the idea.
“But it’s working,” Larry says with a wink.
Eric shakes his head.
He’s not annoyed by the request, but he doesn’t feel comfortable. I get it. He’s never cooked for his family, and considering what they think of him and his choices, I don’t blame him.
“I could help,” I say, cautious. “I’m not great in the kitchen – I don’t have your talent – but I can chop, peel, wash dishes, tidy up the kitchen… I mean, anything you need.”
Eric studies me for a moment. I don’t know what’s going through his head right now, but I can read the hope and gratitude in his eyes.
“Would you come to the market with me first thing tomorrow morning?”
“Anything you need.”
Eric sighs, then turns to his grandmother. “Any special requests, or…?”
“I trust you,” she tells him.
“Me, too,” adds Larry.
“And me,” I say.
Everyone’s eyes shift to me, but I only care about Eric’s.
