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I'd love one of those.
Me:
Really? Great. Are you up for a short hike?
Owen:
Yes. Just text me the location, and I'll meet you at seven.
***
"Why are you making burritos when it's not even Sunday?" John asked later that same afternoon when he came into the kitchen.
He never knocked. He was like family, and it was no surprise when I turned around and saw him standing in the kitchen with me.
"I wanted to make more," I said, feeling annoyed that I had to explain myself.
"Why on a Thursday?" he persisted, coming to stand next to me at the stovetop. He took a spoon that was resting on the counter nearby and dipped it into the side of my egg mixture.
I had just enough of the mixture waiting to be spooned into tortillas, and the amount he took was so large that I knew I would make one less burrito.
"Smells good," he said, before he put the heaping spoonful into his mouth. It was a gigantic spoon—a serving spoon—and he had to eat it in two bites. He worked to contain the huge, hot bite in his mouth. I felt the urge to turn and make an angry expression at him, but I just smiled sincerely.
The truth was that John had helped Stanley a lot over the years, and he had helped my mom and me, too. He was always willing to help out, and I knew I needed to be nice and patient about him taking some of my eggs.
I turned to adjust the number of tortillas, and before I knew what was happening he got another spoon from the drawer anddid it again. It only took seconds for him to eat it and toss that second spoon into the sink with a clang and open the fridge.
"You still have three burritos right here," he said with his mouth still full.
"I know, but I wanted fresh ones," I answered, smiling and praying for patience.
"Why'd you buy the good cheese? That stuff's overpriced." His mouth was still full when he asked.
I tried to remain calm. It was frustrating that I felt like I had to lie about what I was doing. "It tastes good," I said simply.
"Yeah, it tastes good," he said, finishing the bite.
"It better taste good, she's using every pan in the house!" Stanley yelled from his recliner in the next room. "All I hear is banging and clanging in there!"
"Sorry!" I called. "I'm almost done."
I knew I hadn't been loud, but it was always easier to apologize than try and justify my actions.
"Corey's getting up and going on a hike in the morning." my mom said, coming into the kitchen.
I smiled at John's confused expression when she said that. It would be so much easier if I could just come out and say that I was meeting someone there, but that would bring on ten times more questions. And they were questions I couldn't answer, honestly. I didn't know Owen. I didn't know a thing about him. They would ask me about him, and when I told them I knew nothing, they would insist that I not go.
Nothing like this had ever happened to me before, but I knew what the results would be if I told them I was meeting a guy. I wasn't going to get into it.
"Hiking? Why?" John asked.
"She's trying to get in shape!" Stanley yelled.
"Where are you going hiking?" John asked.
"I don't know yet," I said, shaking my head and staring down at the burrito I was wrapping.
"I told her to walk on that treadmill," my mom said. "I have a perfectly good treadmill in there, going to waste."
