The Glory ( Freen❣️Becky)

18

Freen closed the door on her truck, staring up at the house that Becky now called home. While not at all as elaborate or imposing as the mansion, it was still impressive and certainly made a statement as to their social status...and their wealth. She'd guess the lots were at least an acre each with the homes on them all four to five thousand square feet. The landscaping was immaculate and well-designed, leaving mature trees surrounding the house. Seasonal flowers were crowded into every available space, the color splashing brightly across the green lawn.

She stepped onto the sidewalk that curved perfectly through the trees, slicing the lawn in half. She took a deep breath as she stood at the front door, thinking again that this was a bad idea. Her mother wanted them to be friends. Becky wanted them to be friends. Freen wasn't so sure. There was too much history between them. Too much left unsettled.

But no. It was settled, wasn't it? Becky was married. End of story. With that thought, she pushed the doorbell, hearing the subtle yet elegant ring tone announcing her presence. Becky opened the door a few seconds later, looking flushed.

"You came early. Good. Because I'm lost."

Freen raised her eyebrows. "Well, it's a big house. I'd get lost too."

Becky laughed, her eyes sparkling. "Very funny. No, lost in the kitchen," she clarified.

"You're cooking?"

"I told you I would."

Freen's eyes followed the length of her-silk blouse, black pants, black pumps then back up, jewelry and makeup in place, all matching perfectly. She then looked at her own clothes- her nicest pair of jeans, her running shoes, her T-shirt emblazoned with Sarocha's Natural Foods Market.'

"You should have warned me," she said. "I didn't realize it was going to be such a formal dinner." She held up a bottle. "I did bring wine, though."

"Oh, Freen, it's not formal." She motioned to her clothes. "This is just...never mind." She smiled again. "Please come in." Freen stepped inside, the entryway large and

open. She paused. "Do I get a tour?"

Becky shook her head. "Trust me. You don't want one." She closed the door and Freen followed her through the house-formal living room, a quick glance into a less formal sitting area, and finally into the kitchen.

Freen stopped, staring at what she could only describe as a mess. Four pots, two pans and three bowls-all in various stages of meal prep-littered the stove and countertops. She laughed.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Becky laughed too. "Making dinner."

Freen walked closer, inspecting the contents of the pots. One was filled with water and pasta. Another had vegetables, still uncooked. A third had some sort of tomato sauce. The fourth... some kind of white sauce. She looked at Becky with raised eyebrows.

"It looked easier when your mother made this."

"My mother?"

"She's been...well...teaching me to cook."

"I see."

"And it's not like you're normal," Becky said, pointing to her. "A steak would have been much easier. Of course, I don't know how to use the gas grill."

Freen laughed. "Oh, the plight of the rich and pampered." She handed Becky the bottle of wine she still held as she surveyed the kitchen, trying to decide if she could salvage dinner. "Spaghetti?"

Becky nodded. "The sauce has been simmering for an hour now. Your mother said to make some vegetables since you don't eat meatballs or anything like that."