I got some plates and cutlery and transferred them to the table. Howard brought everything over and set them in the middle. I took several strips of chicken and a baked potato. I took a bite out of each, and groaned at the amazing taste.
“How the heck are you better than me at cooking,” I grumbled in mock annoyance.
“I guess I’ve just got the touch,” he said with a chuckle. “I used to help Mom with cooking. Dad left us when I was really young, I barely remember him, so it was just Mom and me for the longest time. I started helping out with cooking and other chores in the house around middle school because it took a lot of effort for her to work and raise a kid on her own. I pretty much looked after myself just to give her a break.”
I smiled sadly as I ate another strip of chicken. “I never did that. Mom always insisted on doing everything since it was the only job she had, taking care of Dad and me. She did everything without complaint, even up until she got sick. Dad and I barely knew how to take care of ourselves without her around.”
It wasn’t until I was around eighteen, when Mom got really sick, that I started learning to cook, and it had been an uphill battle since then. Dad was an even worse cook, having never stepped foot in a kitchen for anything other than getting his coffee and maybe some toast, so back then, it was left to me. I’d cook, and sometimes the food would come out great and sometimes not so great. When I was distracted, I’d forget and everything would burn.
Things weren’t easy for us back then. Not for either Dad or me. We both woke up in the morning and had breakfast prepared, if we were home for lunch then Mom cooked without being asked and called us for food. The same for dinner. There was never one time I remembered going up to Mom and saying ‘I’m hungry’ because she always seemed to know and took care of it before it was a problem.
Mom really took care of us.
It was depressing, every time I thought about my mom. So much time had gone by, but the pain didn’t lessen, I just got used to it. There were times I could even picture the happy times, and I no longer cried over it, except for two specific dates. Her birthday, which we’d always celebrated, just the two of us even if Dad was busy with something, and the anniversary of her death.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Howard said, breaking me out of my thoughts. When I met his gaze, his expression as he watched me was sympathetic. “What did she have?”
I sighed. “She had cancer. I can’t even remember which kind of cancer, because that time of my life is really hazy. It was several years before she actually died from the day she got diagnosed, but it felt like the time passed by so fast... it’s hard to believe it’s been five whole years since then.”
“And you miss her,” he stated.
“Of course. How could I not? She and I were pretty close. You’re lucky you still have your mom with you.”
I stabbed at a piece of chicken. I didn’t mean to make the mood so melancholic, but I couldn’t help it. This wasn’t something I should be able to get over. Then, Howard chuckled, and I looked up, frowning.
“What’s so funny?”
He smiled. “It’s not that there’s anything funny. You realize this is the first time you’ve talked to me about anything personal?”
My frown deepened. “That’s not true. You and I talk all the time. I’ve even told you about–”
“Everything you’ve ever talked to me about, has something to do with the team. Even if it’s something personal, it has something to do with the team, how you really want the GM position but your dad won’t allow you and such. This is the first time I’m hearing about your personal life entirely outside of football.”
“I told you about my friends that one time,” I said defensively.
“You did,” he agreed. “But that was because I happened to meet you outside when you were with one of them. You couldn’t even bring yourself to introduce me to her. Really, Zoe, I would think you were ashamed of me or something.”
“It’s not that, it’s just...”
Because we weren’t really together, I didn’t think there was any reason to be involved in each other’s personal lives. Of course, then it turned out Dad and his mom were dating, so I’d even met his mom already, which was a step higher than any other guy I’d been with, and Howard and I weren’t even officially dating.
I’d thought that this whole ti
me, but I couldn’t bring myself to say the words right then. It felt like something was choking me. Clearing my throat, I set down my fork and got up.
“I think I’d like something to drink. Do you want anything? Or just water again?”
“I’ll have what you’re having,” he said simply.
I was relieved when he went along with me changing the subject. I went to the fridge and looked over the choices. There was some beer in the fridge, but it was Dad’s. I never touched his alcohol in case he asked about it, because it would lead to a conversation, I didn’t need to have with my dad at twenty-six.
We had some wine bottles that had been around for a few years. It was a good thing that wine didn’t expire with age. Dad rarely touched them, since they’d been Mom’s, and I occasionally drank a glass when I was in a particularly bad mood, but I didn’t break any of them out today. There was lemonade, so I poured two glasses of that and went back to the table.
“Lemonade with chicken?” He asked skeptically.
I chuckled. “One of my mom’s favorite pairings. Actually, she’d have it with wine, but because I couldn’t drink wine, she would drink lemonade with me. A lot of my friends would go for chicken with beer back in college, but I always have it with lemonade, or lemon water. If I don’t have that I’ll have orange juice.”
Howard followed my lead as I ate a bite of chicken and washed it down with the lemonade. The taste was nostalgic for me, and Howard seemed pleasantly surprised.
“You like it?”
He nodded. “It surprisingly works.”
We continued to eat in silence for a while. Even when we didn’t talk, it felt comfortable with him. This wasn’t like how it was when it was me and Dad, and I did miss eating with someone else. After I graduated college, Dad would come home late after eating out so there were few times when I had to cook for more than one person. This was even better, because I didn’t have to cook it.