Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

Last night, we had a dinner guest. Guess who? Don’t guess Sidney Poitier, because it wasn’t him!

When Nathan, my son, stays with me, I always try to make a dinner that I know he enjoys. His two favorites are spaghetti and my baked salmon. The latter has become my primary comfort food; whenever I’m stressed, guess what I’m having for dinner?

What makes my seemingly boring baked salmon special is the side dish. Usually, I coat the fish with a light layer of olive oil and then rub some herbs or some pesto over it, which is always “tasty**.”

**When I wrote “tasty,” I had to laugh. My grandmother, no matter what dinner my Mom served her, always would say, “That’s tasty!” It became a running joke between my Mom and my Dad; after my grandmother left the table to go back into her little apartment, which was attached to my parent's house, my Dad would always taunt my Mom by saying, “That was tasty, Ruth!”

Anyway, my special side dish may seem pedestrian; well, the ingredients on their own could be quite ho-hum. It's baked potato covered with broccoli and smothered with cheese. Except, I put four potatoes on a plate, plant a field of broccoli on the potatoes, and then unleash a flood of cheddar cheese; when I pull it out of the microwave, it resembles a small mountain covered with trees and snow!

At about 5pm last night, I got a text from Nathan. He asked, “Can Joey eat dinner with us?” I had to read the text two or three times to make sure I was reading it correctly – Joey, dinner, with us.

As some of you know, Nathan deleted me as his Facebook friend for questioning a post he wrote (some depressing song lyrics) and for scrutinizing his picture (prom date who, I think, led him on something fierce); okay, I probably deserved the deletion. He let me be his friend again; however, I posted something that was too Mom-like (supportive post about his car accident after he chastised himself about it in a Facebook post). He promptly deleted it, and I then decided that Nathan was a good kid, I trusted him, so I deleted myself as his friend, yes, really.

Sometimes mother-son relationships are best in real-time and not in cyberspace. I talked to him every day, and I always knew where he was going and what he was doing, so why did I care about being his friend on Facebook? Heck, in five months, he was going to be an official adult and be able to vote his little Libertarian heart out!

Anyway, after confirming with my brain and heart that I had read Nathan’s text correctly asking if one of his friends could come for dinner, I wrote back, “Yep!!!” After I clicked “Send,” I wondered if my exclamation points may have shown too much enthusiasm. I was quite elated a few months ago when Nathan had not one but two friends sleep over; I had to tread lightly before they came over, fearing that zealous snack buying and preparing the living room with pillows and blankets seemed too invasive for Nathan's friend space with the clearly marked Mom-No-Fly zone.

On that sleepover night, I was to be seen ever so briefly and not heard other than to leave the downstairs and say “Good night.” I was okay with that, though I didn’t think I was a bad or embarrassing Mom. I was only a very enthusiastic Mom.

My phone buzzed again showing another text from Nathan. Joey had to check with his stepmom to make sure eating over was okay. I wrote back telling Nathan that I needed to buy a bit more fish and broccoli; my phone buzzed two minutes later saying, “Joey is coming for dinner.”

This was momentous, because a friend was coming over who actually had to interact Nathan and me in this dinner scenario. I told myself to calm down; I didn’t want to blow it. Nathan was letting a friend hang out with me!!! (Oh, again, with the exclamation points, Jean. Down, girl!)

So, I had a chat with myself on the drive home. First, I said, “Breathe; now’s not the time to hyperventilate, because your son may now think you’re more okay than you were when his friends slept over.” Second, I promised myself that while I would make dinner, I would not make a fuss by buying dessert, flowers for the table, or making an “I ate dinner at Nathan’s house!!!” t-shirt for Joey, yes, with my signature three exclamation points!

Boys are tough; okay, Nathan was never tough. He's been easy going from the get go, and he’s a great kid. But, Iz and I seem to have so much more in common than Nathan and I do. As Nathan’s traveled through high school, I’ve felt a little more distance because his likes and dislikes are now so defined as they should be with him almost being an official “adult.”

Nathan is a libertarian, likes playing airsoft, loves his X-box, magic cards, and Dungeons and Dragons. I am a Democrat, like playing with my vintage clothes, and love pink, Sephora, shoes, and Law & Order. I guess we do meet in the middle sometimes when it involves cats and shows from the 70s (Mary Tyler Moore, Bob Newhart, and MASH); most importantly, we are both lovers not fighters and find it difficult to confront people, especially those who hurt us.

When I got home from the store with Iz, I ran around the house like a maniac picking up, sweeping, and making the beds upstairs. (Nathan didn’t have to know about this bit of enthusiasm; so “Mum’s the word” this time.) I even picked up Nathan’s room for Joey's benefit; of course, when I left Nathan's room, I wondered why I bothered, because I’m sure every 17-year-old’s room looks pretty much the same with the unmade bed, the pile of dirty clothes petrifying in the middle of the floor, the candy wrappers stacked in between the old homework papers, and one empty root beer can on every flat surface.

After I started dinner, I heard Monty bark. If my doorbell ever dies, I don’t have to worry about fixing it. I have a corgibell which alerts me to any movement within 250 yards of the house. Oh, lucky me!

Nathan entered the door with Joey behind him. I glanced down the hallway wanting to rush to the door to greet them. I grabbed the cook top to steady my enthusiastic mother urges and then said to myself, “Just say no to Carol Brady, June Cleaver, and Edith Bunker. No, no, no! Be cool; don’t drool. Cats have class and dogs that bark a lot are a pain in the ass! What?!?!?”

Obviously, it was a struggle for me to hang on to the cook top and any coherent thoughts; however, ten seconds passed, and I began to busy myself at the cutting board, pretending to cut up broccoli that I had already cut up. I heard Joey say, “Hi!” I looked up, pretending that he was just “some kid,” said, "Hi," and I went back to my fake chopping.

Nathan and Joey began to head upstairs. Temporarily lost in my world of fake chopping, I said as they went upstairs in a sing-song-thinking-I-was-being-helpful voice, “Oh, I cleaned up your room a bit, Nathan.” My words were greeted with a grunt. When I realized what I said, I shrieked to myself, immediately put both hands over my mouth, and asked Carol, June, and Edith, “Why, oh, why did you say that?!?!?”

Just then, I was hoping that Nathan couldn’t delete me from the kitchen. I went into the bathroom, opened the medicine cabinet, and searched high and low for my “Carol Brady, June Cleaver, and Edith Bunker” anti-venom. Damn, I was out!

Once I heard them land in Nathan’s room, I decided that there was no turning back. I had said something enthusiastic and so Mom-like. Joey was never going to come back for dinner again, and Nathan would offer to add me as a Facebook friend later tonight only to delete me two seconds after I accepted his friend request. Ouch!

When dinner was ready, I knew I had to make contact with Nathan’s bedroom. It would be very Carol Brady to go upstairs, especially if I were wearing a June Cleaver apron, and then it would be so very Edith Bunker to actually say, “Dinnah’s ready now! Oh, Nathan, don’t you like the way I organized your magic cards in that box?” I decided it was best to remain on the first floor.

I headed to the stairs. I thought long and hard about what I would say and practiced it over and over again. I said, “Dinner’s ready!” Yes, I really had to practice that.

I heard some shuffling and X-box controllers dropping. There was no response; I wrung my hands together and made a Hail Mary play when I shouted to the stairs, “Um, do you want to eat up there or at the kitchen table?” I figured that perhaps Nathan would like to dine sans enthusiastic mother given my "I cleaned your room" outburst earlier.

He responded, “No. We’ll eat at the table.” I said, “Okay.” He said, “We’ll be there in a minute.”

Of course, now I was panicked that I’d had have to make conversation. If I couldn’t say one sentence without thinking about it five time and ten different ways, how could I carry on lengthy discussion over salmon and potatoes? This was looking like one of my biggest parental challenges of the year, and it was too late to phone a friend or poll the pets. Eeeek!

I got the plates ready, put serving spoons out, and then stood there pretending to be busy when I was really waiting anxiously for their arrival. Thud-thud-thud came down the steps. They entered the kitchen, and I decided brevity was best by handing them items and saying, “Plate. Fork. Napkin. Root beer.” and then pointing to the salmon baking dish and saying only “Hot!!!” (At least, “hot” merited the exclamation points!)

They both sat down at the table. I lingered over the salmon baking dish, pondering if I could fake something a bit longer by the cook top before heading to sit down at the table. I then figured that I’d look even odder if I lingered too long at the cook top, so I took a deep breath, walked over to the table, plunked my plate down, and sat in my chair.

Joey thanked me for inviting him. I then I thanked him for driving Nathan home numerous times due to Nathan’s lack of the beaten and battered Big Red, a victim, and luckily the only one, of Nathan’s first driving accident. Joey said the fish was great; I thanked him, and after the easy polite talk, my first babble burbled.

I told Joey how I made salmon at least once a week. I said, “It’s my comfort food.” I quickly looked over at Nathan to see if I was divulging too much personal information, but Nathan was busy munching on a piece of broccoli. Joey must have sensed my drift into enthusiastic and now “sharing” Mom talk when he responded, “Now it’s mine, too!”

I asked about the soccer playoffs, because sports always seemed like a safe subject, except for that whole Yankees-Red Sox rivalry. Joey and Nathan were both on the high school's soccer team. They were playing some school (it sounded like the shell fish, Quahog, but thank goodness I didn't babble that!), this weekend.

For some reason, the conversation turned to a boss I had long ago who sounded like Elmer Fudd. I can’t remember exactly how we got to that conversation, but I did do my Elmer Fudd impression at the dinner table. After I did it, I again went to look at Nathan but Joey was laughing, so what did it matter? I was being Jean, super enthusiastic Mom, and I was doing okay with the dinner guest!

After dinner, I started to get up to clear the plates; however, Joey grabbed his own before I could get up, took Nathan’s, and then reached out for mine. I said, “Oh, you don’t have to do that.” He said, “No. That’s okay.”

I looked at Nathan. Then I said, “Nathan, did you see how he did that?” Nathan was anti-plate clearing when he wasn't anti-clean his room, and then Nathan said kiddingly to Joey, “That’s it. You’re not coming over for dinner anymore!”

Joey said he had to leave, and I told him it was nice to have him over. He thanked me, and I told him that he was welcome any time for dinner; he lived in a town 20 minutes away, and he had driven Nathan home on his way home whenever Nathan needed a ride to my house. As he went out, I said, “Thanks for giving Nathan all the rides,” pushed $20 into his hand, and then said, “Here’s some gas money. I really appreciate you helping him out with the rides."

He thanked me, said good-bye to Nathan, and left. Nathan –gasp– thanked me for dinner, and then headed upstairs. So, I was Carol Brady, June Cleaver, and Edith Bunker sometimes; however, tonight, I was Martha Stewart, off to a rough spot at the beginning and thankfully not over an illegal stock trading, but finished as the hostess with the most-est yet still a sometimes overly enthusiastic but pretty damn good Mom.

Who will be coming to dinner next?! A girlfriend?! Okay, I'm so not ready for a girlfriend; I hope it's Joey, Matt, Sam, or Ben. ♥