My husband unexpectedly invited his boss over. They were famished when he called and said they’d be here in five. He requested the lunch roast I cooked two weeks ago.
He insisted on making the dish in five minutes against my advice. I requested an hour’s wait. He said to do it faster because it was too long.
Oh, okay, I thought. I was scrambling to make everything work when they came and sat down at the table. I had no notion what to do.
I ran into the kitchen to get my supplies. I couldn’t believe he put me here. The kids and I spent the day cleaning and running errands.
I had no time to make this dish last minute. But here I was, trying to make something fancy in minutes. As usual, his supervisor, Mr.
Sterling, was tall and serious. He didn’t look like a fast eater, but I had no alternative. I’d try to save it.
If I put more herbs, it might taste better. I wasn’t sure if he’d notice, but I hoped staying calm would help. As I frantically sliced veggies, I felt my husband behind me.
“You’re doing great,” he remarked to encourage. “Not to worry, it will work out.” There was an anxious edge to his voice. I didn’t blame him.
It didn’t please me either. I was never excellent at rushing in the kitchen. I liked taking my time and mastering each step.
I considered cooking an art. It showed love and concern. But now?
The task was stressful. As I threw items in the oven, my heart raced, hoping they would cook quickly. While I prepared, Mr.
Sterling and my husband talked via the kitchen door. My husband was exaggerating his work stories to impress his supervisor. My spouse was always a show-off, especially in his work.
But this time felt different. His nervousness was obvious. His efforts were excessive.
Minutes seemed endless. As I placed the roast in the oven, I was almost sweating, praying it would cook quickly. The gravy was still thin and the vegetables uncooked.
Ten minutes had passed when I looked at the clock. Only 10? Felt like infinity.
I inhaled and wiped my brow. It was ludicrous. Didn’t want to do this anymore.
I wanted to tell my husband to think about this before inviting his boss over last minute. But I didn’t. I kept quiet and finished the dinner.
A scene was the last thing I wanted. The oven timer beeped just as I was thinking I could do it. I promptly removed the roast, but it was undercooked.
My frustration grew as I cursed. I put it back in and set the timer for a few minutes. My heart raced as I considered my options.
I could not afford to fail. I had to act swiftly. I tried cooking raw vegetables on the stovetop by tossing them in oil.
They wouldn’t taste like roasted vegetables, but I had to make do. I also had trouble thickening the gravy. I tried, but it stayed thin and watery.
I was about to give up when the doorbell rang. Here they were. I hurriedly wiped my hands on a towel and ran to welcome them, attempting to disguise my panic.
Hey guys, come in! I forced a smile. My spouse was surprised to see me so organized after all the craziness.
Mr. Sterling nodded in agreement without saying more. Despite his quietness, he had high expectations.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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