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"Like a hobby?"
He didn't look at me as he dealt with the remaining pieces of chicken, coating each and putting them in the pan. "Mom has a busy life too."
His words stabbed me straight in the heart. The kid learned to cook because he had to.
I opened my mouth to apologize, but he interrupted me. "Do you have the wine? These are done. We’re supposed to take them out and put the wine in to start the sauce."
I grabbed the wine from where I'd set it on the counter and pulled out a corkscrew to open it up.
I tried to apologize again, but once again, he spoke before I could. "Are you making something else with this? Pasta or rice or something?"
Holy hell, was I supposed to serve something else too? "What would you suggest?"
"I like pasta more than rice."
I opened the bottle of wine and then went to my cupboard, rummaging through it. "I've got spaghetti.”
"Do you have egg noodles?"
What the fuck were egg noodles?
"It’s a wide, wavy noodle. Oh, never mind. If spaghetti is all you have, we can use that."
"Good."
"What about a vegetable?"
We had to serve a vegetable too? I went to my fridge and opened it. "I have a bag of salad."
"I guess that will do."
It was a little uncomfortable and weird to hear such disappointment in my son's voice at my lack of cooking knowledge. I also didn't much like that the reason he knew how to cook was so he could eat. Taylor and I had really failed him.
At the same time, I enjoyed watching him excel as he turned the chicken over in the pan.
By the time Betts arrived, Dean had created the meal that I had envisioned in my mind but clearly was incapable of making.
"Wow, something smells good." She looked at me like she was impressed. "You really did make dinner?"
"Not without my help," Dean called from the kitchen.
I gave Betts a sheepish look. "Actually, I was more of a hindrance than a help. Dean is the mastermind behind our meal tonight."
Dean looked at me in surprise, as if he didn't think I would give him credit.
"Well, whatever you made, Dean, it smells delicious."
Dean turned back into the kitchen, but not before I saw a smile on his face.
I escorted Betts to the dining area and then went to help Dean serve up the plates. When we sat at the table, Betts inhaled her food as she put her napkin in her lap. "I haven't tasted this yet, but I know that if you ever want to come cook over at my place, you're more than welcome."
"Have you ever eaten anything my dad has made?" Dean asked her as he sat at the table with us.
Betts shook her head.
"I figured you hadn't because if you had, you wouldn’t have agreed to come over for dinner."
"Hey." I jokingly reached out and lightly punched his arm. "I'm not that bad."
