Karen finally stopped expecting him to become one of those people.
The Conversation Daniel Had Been Avoiding
A month after my first kiss with Karen, Daniel invited us both to dinner.
Not separately.
Together.
Karen nearly dropped her phone when she told me.
“He wants us to come over on Sunday.”
“Your sister’s house?”
“No. His apartment.”
I paused.
“Are you sure?”
“He said he wants to cook.”
I frowned.
“Daniel doesn’t cook.”
“Exactly.”
We both laughed, but I could hear the nerves beneath her amusement.
Sunday evening arrived far too quickly.
Daniel opened the door wearing an apron and holding a wooden spoon.
“Welcome to the worst decision I’ve made all week.”
Karen hugged him.
“What’s burning?”
“Nothing.”
A faint smell of smoke drifted from the kitchen.
“Daniel,” I said, “the smoke alarm is blinking.”
“It’s decorative.”
Dinner was an adventure involving overcooked chicken, undercooked potatoes, and a salad that somehow tasted mostly of salt.
