At first, I won’t get out of the car. I’m supposed to. We’re in my driveway and the house is right there, and it’s embarrassing how long this moment is stretching out, but I can’t make myself move.
We sit for a while, then Matt says, “Well, I like salad.”
He cuts the engine and comes inside with me. It helps. In between cutting up the Jell-O, gathering the rest of the ingredients, and tossing it all into the big bowl, I manage to explain the issue.
“It’ll be my first time back at youth group. But Sheila made me promise.”
“You’re rocking it,” Matt assures me. “You got this.”
I text Mom that I have a ride to youth group.
Have fun, she texts, with a little turkey emoji. Mom is very emoji-happy. She’s trying a little too hard to seem chill at the moment, but I can live with it. She is putting up with my need to go places without her, and I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.
We sample the salad. It’s okay, I guess. Passable.
“This is great,” Matt says. “Never had anything like it.”
I nod, wordless, but the truth is, Sheila made it better.