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I finally feel like I know what I’m doing.
She left her supplies on the worktable and headed down for a bite. Something smelled delicious, but she was surprised to findHenry Dale in the kitchen alone. Judging by the empty packages on the counter, he was making spaghetti with canned sauce. Not that she objected. Any meal she didn’t have to cook counted as delicious in her book. He was definitely fixing enough for everyone too.
The old man had already come a long way from his “leave me alone, don’t talk to me” days. He didn’t even claim he only needed someplace to lay his head at night either. She’d noticed that he fretted over Rowan, if they were getting enough sleep and enough to eat. And these days, Henry Dale spent most of his time working on some project in the shed. He’d been at it for the last week.
“Need any help?” Iris asked.
He waved his long spoon in the direction of the fridge. “I was planning to make a salad, but you can do it if you want. There’s lettuce, carrots, and cucumber in the crisper.”
“No tomatoes?” she joked.
“They’re in the sauce.”
“You’re making a lot of food.”
He nodded. “Sally is inviting Ethel over, and Eli is bringing someone too.”
She paused in pulling vegetables out of the fridge, trying not to show too much interest. “Oh? Anyone I know?”
Henry Dale shrugged, swirling the pasta around in the frantically boiling water. “He didn’t say.”
“Maybe I should call Hazel,” Iris joked.
“If you want. I’ve made enough food to feed ten people.”
She opted not to, mostly because Hazel might feel like she’dbeen added at the last minute, and it was better not to do things impulsively that could hurt people’s feelings.I’ll invite her next time.Quickly, she washed the lettuce and chopped the veg, throwing together a salad in record time.
“Looks good,” Henry Dale said. “We have any Italian dressing left?”
Iris grinned. “It’s cute you think we can’t eat salad and spaghetti without it.”
“Oh, go away.” But he seemed to be smiling too.
At least she’d gotten a heads-up; that gave her time to head upstairs and put on some better clothes. It would’ve been embarrassing to receive visitors in paint-stained yoga pants and an old hoodie from a college she didn’t graduate from.
“I’m definitely not competing,” she said, rummaging through her options.
Obviously, it was a total coincidence when she came downstairs in a super cute blue-and-black-plaid dress, a bit retro with a black Peter Pan collar and pockets. She’d thought about adding tights, but that seemed like overkill. Her stomach felt odd and tight and knotted at the prospect of meeting Eli’s guest. It wasn’t like they’d discussed deepening their relationship, after all, but she’d thought maybe—
Get a grip. Whatever happens tonight, be an adult.
Rowan came down soon after to help set the table, and Sally breezed in five minutes later with an older woman in tow. Ethel was a curvy woman with silver hair and a flair for dramatic style; she came in like she owned the place and offered hugs to everyone who wanted them. Then Mira got home from work, which justleft Eli. For so many dinner guests, they’d put the leaf in the table and added folding chairs from the basement.
Everyone was at the table looking at the two empty chairs when the front door opened and closed. Iris clenched a fist against her knee, resolutely pinning on a smile. Eli came in with a gorgeous Black woman. The lady was put together from head to toe, dressed in a blue power suit, and Iris’s heart plummeted to her shins.
“Everyone, this is Keshonda,” Eli said.
A chorus of “a pleasure” and “nice to meet you” sounded around the table, as Henry Dale plated the pasta and spooned sauce over it. Iris actually preferred cooking her pasta al dente and then stirring it into the sauce and cooking for five minutes more. Then she’d let it sit for another ten minutes to let it absorb the flavor. More delicious, less messy.
“I offered to take you out to dinner to discuss the offers,” Keshonda said. “But I won’t say no to a home-cooked meal.”
Ethel was already twirling spaghetti around her fork, using her spoon to brace it. “I love doing this. Best pasta I ever had was in Venice. Little place on the corner, run by two delightful old gentlemen who had no idea where St. Claire was.” She ate her bite with relish, seeming surprised to see she still had everyone’s attention. “More about Venice? Okay. Surprisingly, I also had theworstshrimp cocktail. Different place, they put mayonnaise on it for some reason. But they also had a tiny balcony out back where you could eat by the canal, and they served food through the windows.”
“Now I want to go to Venice,” Keshonda said.
“Me too,” Rowan agreed.
“I’m saving up for a trip,” Mira added. “My dream vacation,but it’s not Venice. For me, it’s New Zealand. What about you, Henry Dale?”
