Page 39 of The Coworker
Josh is in heaven as he chomps on one of Margie’s meatballs while the two of us share dinner at the kitchen table. “Mom,” he says. “These are the best meatballs I’ve ever had.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“You know how Margie made them?” Without waiting for an answer, he answers his own question: “She put in meat, but also eggs, bread crumbs, and also Parmesan cheese. She said Parmesan cheese was the secret ingredient.”
“Yes, they’re delicious.”
Josh takes another bite of the meatball on his fork and chews thoughtfully. “How do you make your meatballs, Mom?”
Well, I open up the package of frozen meatballs, stick a few on a plate, and put them in the microwave for sixty seconds. If they’re not done, I put them in for another thirty seconds. “Pretty much the same way, but without the cheese.”
“Next time you make them,” he says, “I’ll help you. Margie told me exactly what to do.”
It’s nice Margie is so good with him, but it makes me sad that when my mother was alive, she never seemed to bond with Josh. She never would have made meatballs with him. She didn’t even care that much when I cut her off.
The doorbell rings, and Josh leaps out of his seat with surprising energy for a kid who just ate about thirty meatballs. He loves answering the door though. It’s one of his favorite things in the world, if you can believe that. I’m not sure why though, because it’s almost always just some guy delivering a package.
I hear the front door unlocking, followed by the sound of soft conversation. That’s strange. Why is Josh talking to the delivery guy?
Unless it isn’t a delivery guy.
I struggle to my feet, which isn’t easy considering I have eaten about twenty-nine meatballs. (They were really good. Must have been the Parmesan cheese.) I shuffle over to the front door, and my mouth drops open when none other than Tim Reese is standing at the front door, talking to Josh. I freeze about ten feet away from the door, unable to move.
“Mom!” Josh calls out. “Look who’s here! It’s Mr. Reese—he’s our assistant principal!”
I look over at Tim, who has a strained smile on his lips. “That’s right. I, uh… I live just down the block, and my mom sent over these cookies from Florida, and I thought…”
He thought he would bring me some cookies. Except he got more than he bargained for.
“Cookies?” Josh asks hopefully. It will be a sad day when my son gets too old to be excited about cookies. Although to be honest, Istillget a little excited about cookies. But at the moment, I’m having trouble dredging up any enthusiasm for them. “Can I have some, Mom?”
“Sure,” I say tonelessly.
Tim looks down at the white box in his hand, as if he had forgotten he was even holding it. He shoves the box into Josh’s arms without taking his eyes off me. “They’re all yours,” he says.
“Mom.” Josh tugs on my arm. “How many am I allowed to have?”
“Um, one…”
“One? That’sit?”
“Okay, uh… two, I guess.”
“But what if they’re small?”
Oh my God, I would let him have the whole box if he would just leave the room right now. “You can have three if they’re small.”
“Yay!”
Josh takes off down the hall with the box of cookies, leaving me and Tim staring at each other in the hallway. Tim shakes his head. “That’s your son? That’s Josh?”
“Yes…”
The confusion on his face almost makes me want to reach out and hug him. “You told me he was in kindergarten.”
“I never told you that.”
“But you…” He glances over my shoulder. “Can we talk outside for a minute?”
