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It might be the best homecoming of my life. I’m ravenous after a day on my feet where I only had time to grab a single greasy slice of pizza from a street vendor eight hours ago. My stomach is howling just from the smell, and as soon as Theo starts feeding me samples of her creations, I’m completely undone, stuffing my face with both hands.
“Oh my god! What did you say was in this?”
“Brisket!” she says gleefully. “Do you like it?”
“Theo,” I say with utmost sincerity, “it’s like I was on prison rations my whole life. Until I met you, I don’t think I even knew what food was.”
She laughs, even while she shakes her head. “You’re just being nice.”
I toss one of the jalapeño poppers in my mouth, crunching down on the fiesta of spice. “I’m many things, but none of them are nice.”
“Tell me your favorites!” she demands as I sample each dish.
“How am I supposed to pick favorites?” I take a massive bite off a wedge of apple pie then demolish two of the sliders. “That’s like trying to pick between the Mona Lisa and the Last Supper.”
Theo bounces with pleasure. “You really like them?”
“Can’t you see how much I’m eating?”
I’m going to gain ten pounds if Theo stays with me for a week.
Not to mention, I haven’t come home to a lit-up house and a warm meal in…too goddamn long. I better not get used to this.
“What’s all this for?” I ask, setting down my fork.
“It was an idea I had this afternoon,” Theo explains. “For an upscale diner. I was experimenting with the kinds of dishes I could make…”
She shows me the menu she’s written out in her adorable curly script on a spare sheet of paper. I can see she’s already tweaked a few of the dishes based off her efforts today, scratching out ingredients and making notes in the margins.
“What made you think of a diner?”
“There was this place my mom and I used to visit in Old Hollywood. It was a 50s style restaurant, only the owner was Cantonese, so there were all these cool twists on the menu—warm pineapple buns and congee with bacon and eggs…that sort of thing. When I was making BLTs for lunch, I started thinking what twists I could put on diner food if I wanted to make it fancy…”
“I love BLTs.” I pick up my fork once more so I can steal another bite of that country skillet. One bite turns to six as I shovel potatoes directly from the cast-iron skillet into my mouth.
“I don’t think your dad does,” Theo says ruefully.
I lower the pan, my stomach sinking. “What do you mean?”
“Well…” Theo grimaces. “I brought a plate over for your dad. But he got really upset.”
“Oh, shit…”
“I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have woken him up.”
“It’s not that.” I set the skillet gently back on the stove.
“What is it?” Theo bites at her lip. “What did I do wrong?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head. “It’s just bad luck. BLTs were the only thing my mom knew how to make.”
“Oh…” Theo’s hands drop to her sides and her shoulders slump.
“She was a great actress but a terrible cook. She’d even burn the shit out of the bacon, but my dad didn’t care.” My throat tightens so the words come out slightly squeezed. “He thought everything she did was…absolutely perfect.”
“Oh my god. He must have thought I made it on purpose…here you go, your wife’s favorite meal.” Theo covers her face with her hands.
“I’ll talk to him.” I take a step toward the back kitchen door, but Theo blocks my way, both palms on my chest.
