The Secrets to New York

Eighteen | Pasta Sauce

I was out at the grocery store when I saw your mom. She was in the sauce isle.

I tried to avoid her, but she always had a good eye.

Emery She smiled warmly. I greeted her with a small hi.

We talked for a little while and she invited me over for dinner. She said we could have pasta. I agreed with some hesitation (I guess I was worried that it might be awkward or something. I don’t really know). But I agreed nonetheless. I was nervous the rest of the day as I ran frantically around the house, trying to find something that was presentable enough to see your mom in. I had been spending the last few months in nothing but sweat pants and oversized tee shirts and my diner uniform.

I started to feel better once I pulled into the once familiar driveway to the small tan house.

When I got inside I helped her make the pasta. It was nice to catch up with her; I’d missed her almost as much as I miss you. I could tell she was lonely, too. She told me that you have been travelling and that you were in Chicago right now.

We always said we would visit Chicago together.

She ended up inviting me to thanksgiving dinner again. Her face was so full of hope and it broke my heart a little bit more.

I have never really been able to say no to your mom, you know.