Capturing the Moment

Chapter 7

Conner

Apology dinners are kind of my thing, not gonna lie. 

They work like a dream. Bad report card in elementary school? Apology dinner.

Flunk out of college and become an actor? Apology dinner. 

Forget my girlfriend's birthday? Nursing school graduation? Our three month anniversary? Apology dinner. Works every time. 

I don't know what it is about cooking someone a meal that inspires Ultimate Forgiveness, but those little miracle dishes have worked for me since the dawn of time - or when I learned how to cook. 

This one's going to work too, I can feel it. 

I'm not sure what I did wrong, why Ryan seems so much more mad today than usual. But he's going to forgive me for good after this. 

He stormed off during my big reveal earlier, pretended he got a phone call and left. Sidney left soon after, but I texted to invite her back for dinner. 

When our powers of persuasion combine, Ryan's going to agree to be our photographer in a heartbeat. 

A nice meal, a nice conversation. And he'll bend to our every paparazzi whim.

While he's gone, I scan his kitchen for dinner supplies. I don't have a car, and my current budget can't support takeout, not even the cheap stuff. What I find in Ryan's kitchen is all I've got.

So I hunt around, trying to combine his barebones ingredients into an actual meal. Except I can't. Saltine crackers, half a box of dried pasta, and some grapes. That's not dinner. It's the world's scariest snack.

He just went to the store, and I swear all he came back with was canned soup and a few boxes of cereal.

Luckily, I find a Red Baron pizza in his freezer, and dinner is served. Maybe if I light some candles or cut the pizza into fancy shapes, it won't matter.

It's probably not the meal itself that makes apology dinners work, anyway. It's the pout of regret and my puppy dog eyes. They're a real one-two punch.

Once dinner's settled, I focus on dessert. The grand finale. Ryan doesn't have anything frozen that fits the bill, so I have to get creative.

I'm about to Google "dessert saltines with grapes" to see what comes up when I spot salvation on his countertop.

A whole bunch of ripe bananas just hanging out, begging to be used. And I swear the heavens open above me while a host of angels sing hallelujah.

Ryan has bananas. Miracles are real.

Maybe my dinner's going to seem a tad plain, but dessert's going to be on fire. Literally.

When Ryan and I were kids, our parents took us on one of those giant cruise ships for a week - to the Bahamas. I think. I barely remember the island destination, but I remember the ship's restaurant.

The fancy linens. The five-star menu. The intricate place settings with too many silverware.

Our very first night, Ryan ordered bananas foster for dessert, and that one simple act set the tone for the rest of our vacation. Once they lit that dessert on fire, on a little cart right beside our table - I was done. It was the most beautiful thing we'd ever seen!

After that, Ryan and I ordered it every single night. I didn't even like bananas back then, but it was worth it to watch them light it on fire.

I haven't thought about that vacation cruise in a long time. Years. But I love that memory of us. I love it so much I immediately have to think about something else.