THE FOOD OF LOVE

7 -- ISOBEL'S CHICKEN POT PIE

"Hello darling !"  Laurent greeted his mother with a huge, bone crushing hug, and she pretended to not be able to breathe, although it wasn't far from the truth that she couldn't.  Laurent was 6 foot 4, and while she was tall for a woman at 5 foot 9, she tucked under his chin perfectly.  "How are you this big ?  You were never this big."  she mused.

"Mumma"  Laurent cleared his throat, though why, he didn't know.  He wasn't nervous, and what he was about to suggest would only be greeted with enthusiasm, or at least he hoped it would.  It was the questions that would follow the suggestion that would be tricky.  He wanted to answer them honestly, but he didn't want to give too much away.  

Isobel looked at her son earnestly, smiling up at him as if he had hung the sun in the sky that very morning.  Laurent cleared his throat again, gazing absentmindedly at the wall behind his mother.

"Laurent ...... what ?"

"Um ..... Larry and I were talking the other day ..... "  and a lot of other things, he smiled to himself.

"Larry ?"  she couldn't remember a Larry.

"Yeah, chef Fresser, where we went for dinner ?"

"Oh, yes !  Lovely man.  Bit rambunctious though."  And .... here it was.  "You've been talking ?  About what ?"  

"We have a lot in common, don't we."  He knew he shouldn't offer information, but sometimes it was easier just to say what you needed to say, instead of waiting for someone to drag it out of you, and possibly cause all kinds of misunderstandings along the way.  "We kept in touch.  We met again at an industry conference, actually."  

"Oh, how nice."  Yes, how absolutely lovely.  He couldn't help but grin at his mother's perfect English accent and intonation, even after being in the States for, how many years ?  Since college, where she had met his dad.  He cleared his throat again, Isobel knowing that this was unusual for him, that something was up.

"Darling !  What ..... "  Don't stop now ..... 

"Anyway, I told him about your amazing chicken pot pie, and he'd really love to try it."  He knew flattery would get him everywhere, especially what he wanted.  He almost felt bad.  Almost.  But he was on a mission, and there was no time to waste.  Isobel shrieked with unwelcome surprise at Laurent's suggestion.

"What ?!  No ..... no, Laurent.  I can't have Larry ...... chef Fresser, tasting my food, no.  Nuh - uh.  It isn't going to happen."  A minor road block.  

"Why not ?  You know how much of a foodie he is, and he loves to try other peoples food.  And your pie is really, really good."  He pulled her to him again, and kissed the crown of her long blonde hair.  As if feeling his heart beat and the rise and fall of his chest would calm her enough to say yes.  "And who knows, maybe he'll put it on the menu at "Fresser"."  Ooooh, that was a low blow, stroking the poor woman's ego like that.  However, she hadn't arrived on the last turnip truck.  He wanted something.

"I've invited him to lunch, if that's OK, as he can't do dinner, for obvious reasons. Can you do your pie ?"  

"When"

"Tomorrow"

"Tomorrow !  What the ..... Laurent !  Why the hurry ...."

"He's a busy man, mumma, and anyway ....."  There it was again, offering information.  "We need to talk you and dad about something"  For a few seconds, she was skeptical, then, her brain grabbed hold of that one word, and her face lit up.  There had been no one in her son's life, not that she knew of, not for a long time.  They didn't tell each other everything, she knew that, but if there had been someone, if there was someone, she would have known.  Wouldn't she ?