The Minions of the Pointy Sticks were laughing and knitting when Gigi pulled out her cellphone for me and called her son. Just to make sure he was home. (Try to make sure he doesn’t leave!)
And then I excused myself, got back on the freeway, and headed toward their house.
Maybe I’ll embarrass him if I tell on him that he was vacuuming and didn’t hear the doorbell. (I hear he’s already spoken for in the has-parents department, sorry, you can’t have him.)Â So I knocked hard.
Sam opened the door to a chocolate torte being offered up. He’d mentioned last week, out of my earshot, how much he’d wished for “the best chocolate cake I have ever eaten in my life before or since,” after I’d made him one for his pushing my chair at Stitches five years ago, and by his sister’s indignantly-teasing reaction I knew I had to hear that one and made him repeat it.
I tell you, that wish was definitely my command. That’s an easy one.
Standing in his doorway tonight, he told me how much I’d turned his day around five years ago; I told him how much he’d turned mine around too, oh my goodness most definitely, and I thanked him again for last Saturday.
Any time.
Any time back atcha.