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“Aren’t you going to ask me the typical questions?” Cara asked, taking a sip.
“And what would those be?” Coop replied.
“You know, like where am I from? Do I go to school? I feel guilty because I feel like I know so much about you thanks to the magic of the internet.”
“Are you saying you stalked me?” Coop interrupted, playfully.
“Stalked is a strong word. I prefer researched,” Cara replied.
“Well, I guess this is the best way I could put it. I want to know everything there is to know about you. I don’t just want to know where you grew up and where you went to school, or why you deliver food. To be honest, I didn’t ask because I just got caught up.”
“Caught up?” Cara asked.
“In you…” Coop continued, “I have been caught up in you since earlier today when I opened the door. I can’t really explain exactly what that means, but I do know that whatever it is has led me to invite a complete stranger over to my place and cook dinner for her and worry if I was wearing the right shirt and if she would even show up and…”
“Stop…” Cara interjected.
“I’m sorry, that probably wasn’t the answer you were looking for,” said Coop.
“No… no, it certainly wasn’t,” Cara replied. “But I honestly don’t think you could’ve answered it any better than you did.”
“Really?” Coop asked.
“Really,” Cara responded. “As my dad used to say it was perfectly imperfect.”
“I’m sorry, when did he pass?” Coop asked.
“Oh, he’s still alive,” Cara quickly replied, realizing that her wording would’ve led him to believe otherwise. “I just haven’t heard him say it for a long time…”
“Oh, gotcha,” Coop answered, sounding relieved.
“I’m glad you said what you did because I am having a lot of the same feelings,” Cara said.
“Yeah… if you would’ve told me this morning that we’d be sitting here, I would’ve said you’re crazy as an outhouse rat,” Coop replied.
“An outhouse rat? That must be a Southern expression,” Cara said, laughing.
“Don’t even get me started on Yankee expressions!” Coop countered. “Like, why do y’all call soda, pop?”
“Touche, you got me there,” Cara admitted, taking an exaggerated sip of her frosty root beer.
“Have you had your fill?” Coop asked, gesturing towards the table, which despite their efforts was still half-filled with shrimp, corn, sausage, and potatoes.
“I can’t eat another bite,” Cara said, raising her hands in surrender.
“I’m full as a tick, too,” Coop said with a hint of pride before continuing. “Would you like to go out on the balcony?”
“Sure, but only after you show me where the bathroom is so I can wash up,” Cara replied, referring to her hands.
“Oh, of course. It’s the first door on the left,” Coop said, pointing towards the hallway off of the kitchen.
As Cara excused herself and made her way to the restroom, Coop put the leftover food into a large plastic container. One of his favorite parts of a shrimp boil was using the leftovers the next day to make his mom’s jambalaya recipe.
After putting the container in the refrigerator, Coop picked up the corners of the makeshift paper tablecloth and brought them together in the middle which enabled him to pick up all of the shells at once and discard them into the garbage can.
As Coop was washing his hands at the kitchen sink, Cara emerged from the hallway.
“Wow, you clean up fast,” Cara said as she gestured towards the now-clean table.
“That’s the beauty of the paper,” Coop said, drying his hands.
“I think I might start putting paper down at every meal,” Cara laughed. “No more dishes!”
“Makes cleaning up faster than a knife fight in a phone booth,” Coop mused as he motioned for Cara to follow him towards the door to the balcony. “Follow me, I’ll show you my favorite place to chill.”
