Scent (Scomiche)

Might As Well Make Her Middle Name 'Brat'... Just Kidding, That Wouldn't Help

“Yeah, I’ll handle it. Do you want help with anything?”

“Can you grab the cooking wine from the cabinet behind your legs and go pour some into the pan on the stove with the chicken in it?”

I do as he asked, then follow any directions after that, pulling up some music on my phone for us to sing to. I mean, he’s heard me sing on Facebook (thanks Bryan) and as I’ve grown older, I’ve cared less about what people may think.

When Your Body is a Wonderland by John Mayer comes on, he grabs my free hand and pulls me over to him, causing me to drop the spatula that was in my right hand. He twirls me then presses me to him and we move together, faster than the actual tempo of the song, but it makes me laugh, and then he twirls me again to release me back to the stove. Then we harmonize to the last note of the song.

If Lindsey is listening at all, she’s probably so annoyed with us.

Around five, our dinner is ready, and since I offered to handle the Lindsey drama tonight, I go knock on her door. “Time for dinner, Linds.”

There’s no answer, so I take that as her ignoring me and head back to help Scott set out all the food. After everything is set out and she still hasn’t appeared, I go knock again. “Lindsey? I’m coming in if you aren’t out here in the next thirty seconds.”

Magically, the door opens and she comes out, slamming it again.

I stop her lightly with my hand. “Let’s try that again.”

“Let’s not,” she replies.

Scott glances up and makes eye contact with me. “Lindsey, go,” he demands.

She huffs and goes back into her room, coming back out and shutting the door so extra quietly and slowly I kind of want to tell her to just stop, but this is what I asked of her, so I let her be a brat and then watch her pick a spot at the table.

“I’m not eating,” she announces.

I dish her out some food anyway. She gives me a death glare. That’s fine.

When we all have food on our plates, Scott looks to Lindsey, who’s looking down at her phone.

“Phone away. Do you want to say grace?”

“No,” she answers immediately.

“I’ll do it,” I say.

“Oh,” Scott’s voice peps up, “Thanks, Mitch.”

Scott reaches out his hands and takes mine and Lindsey’s. Lindsey’s grip on my hand is so loose I can barely feel it.

“Forgive me, I don’t even remember the last time I said grace, but I’ll try.”

“No problem,” Scott smiles, then bows his head and closes his eyes.

Lindsey makes no motion to do the same, but I follow Scott’s lead. “Thank You, God, for this amazing dinner that Scott prepared for us. I am so blessed that I am here with my old friends, Scott and Lindsey, and that I am able to eat in their beautiful home tonight. Thank You for keeping us all safe throughout the journeys of our lives. And, yeah, again, thank you for the food You have provided us with tonight. Amen.”

“Amen,” Scott repeats, squeezing my hand once.

We both dig in, and Lindsey just sits there.

“How is school going for you, Lindsey? Sophomore year now, that’s a pretty big deal,” I say, trying to make conversation.

“Fine.”

“Any favorite class?”

“Nope.”