Finding Mayhem

by Layla Frost

At the knock on the door, my heart clenched, and my stomach fluttered in a way that had little to do with Squish. I’d thought our Friday dinner had been a one-time thing before he’d surprised me with steaks on Saturday. Eating delicious food and watching TV with him was a fun time. A great time. Probably one of the best I’d had in a while—dethroning the cookout. I hadn’t been expecting him to show up again for another round of dinner and binge. But I’d hoped. I opened the door to see Ward in his usual ensemble of worn jeans, long-sleeved tee, leather cut, and biker boots. In his hand was a plastic bag that he handed to me. “What’s up?” I asked. “Got some work to handle but wanted to drop off dinner.” Like all our conversations, I didn’t ask about his work, and he didn’t volunteer any information. He did, however, always ask about my work—though never anything that was too invasive of my kids’ privacy. Just how my day was, what I did, how I felt. It was very one-sided. As was our dinner arrangement, which seemed to entail him ordering or bringing me meals. Like the bag I held. “What is it?” “Comfort food.” I believed it because just the smell was warm and inviting and soothing. “Thanks.” “Welcome, neighbor.” He turned and jogged off my porch before adding, “Don’t watch our show without me.” “Can’t make any promises,” I called back. But when I ate, I did it while watching something else. It was the least I could do in return for the best fried chicken and sides I’d ever had.