Dinner Dates

Chapter 1

oOoOo

With that lovely enticing aroma of freshly made home baked sugar cookies emanating from the kitchen, anyone who came into the house would know instantly that someone had been busy. She'd been humming all day, happily cooking, cleaning, dusting and polishing, in between cooking batches of cookies. Of course, heart shaped cookies. She had time, in between sips, to decorate them in either white or pink icing. She had made enough for Valerie and the girls, and even for Stephanie if she came by, to take a heart-patterned box home, tied with cellophane and a decorative red ribbon.

Helen Plum had on her prettiest apron after the household chores were done which, of course, included the windows which gleamed like never before.

For something extra special, she had decided to make rum balls as a special after dinner dessert, to have with the coffee. Mmm. They smelled sensational. She loved the aroma of the ingredients marinating in the rum, wafting so temptingly under her nose. A little tot of rum wouldn't hurt. She may have put an extra shot of rum into the mixture, but just enough to keep them moist yet firm enough to roll. Can't have them go all sloppy … besides, it would make it difficult to roll them in coconut or those nice genuine chocolate sprinkles. One of her Dutch acquaintances had suggested chocolate hail, or hagelslag, to roll the rum balls in. Oh my God! So decadent, sinfully decadent. Helen did sample just one, or … three, before she stopped herself. So, she had rum balls rolled in coconut and rum balls rolled in chocolate hail. Rather than wash her hands, she licked them clean and then washed them. Placing them in her best crystal bowls, she stood back and surveyed the table. She had even cut out some tiny red and pink hearts while she had a coffee after lunch, folded them in half loosely, then scattered them randomly onto the dinner table with the crisp white linen tablecloth with matching serviettes.

Since Frank never mentioned going out for dinner, she had planned a delicious home cooked meal, one of his old-time favourites. Frank was very fond of spaghetti and meatballs. It was a little more involved than spaghetti Bolognese but she didn't mind, for this special day. The table was set with candles in the centre, waiting to be lit, and crystal glasses. She had grated some fresh parmesan so he could sprinkle it liberally on top of the garlicky meatballs.

By six o'clock everything was ready. The meatballs had been slowly simmering in that rich Bolognese sauce and she had placed the dish in the oven on low heat, ready to put on the table to serve. She had rinsed some fresh basil to garnish the bowl and dress the dinner plates nicely. The pasta was cooked and drained, ready to serve as Frank walked through the door.

She was all girlie excited as she imagined a kiss on the cheek as he gave her a lovely bunch of flowers and a nice box of chocolates. Oh, that would be so nice, a lovely surprise she thought, as she took another sip of her red coloured punch. She turned the heat off the stove allowing the hot water in the pot to keep the pasta warm with its steam. She lit the candles, and dimmed the lights, smiling contentedly with the ambient atmosphere she had created.

There was a knock at the front door. She smiled excitedly, primped her hair, checking it in the mirror in the hallway, and quickly wiping the residual redness from the 'punch smile', from the corners of her mouth. She straightened her apron and touched up her lipstick, a Sexy Fireman's Red, before reaching for the door knob. "He must have his hands full," she thought gleefully. Yes, that must be it, "with flowers and chocolate, and perhaps a bottle of champagne even!"

Much to her chagrin, it was not Frank. Her smile dropped momentarily until she saw the fancy envelope, and she smiled sweetly at the man in the beige three button winter overcoat … probably a wool blend, wearing a neat tartan woollen scarf.

"Mrs Plum? Mrs Helen Plum?"

"Yes," she smiled expectantly, "that is me."

Before handing her the card, she had to sign the tablet. All the while she was thinking, "Oh my goodness. A parcel as well." He then signed and dated the tablet, bid her a good evening politely, before turning towards his car parked in the street. The snow was just starting to fall again.

Blinded by her hubris, she did not recognise what had just occurred. She looked at the driveway, but Frank had not arrived home yet. How strange. He is normally so punctual for dinner, always home by ten or fifteen minutes if he had a cab fare to run.

"Never mind," she thought happily, blissfully unaware. But she was a tad disappointed.

Sitting at the kitchen table, using one of her sharp kitchen knives, she slit the envelope open expecting a card with hearts. Her heart dropped as she unfolded a couple of stapled sheets. It was addressed to her when she checked the envelope again, as was the letter. Then she saw the barristers and solicitors' legal letterhead. She dropped her crystal glass, spilling punch over the little embroidered white linen table cloth. Tears sprang from her eyes. She was quiet, but only for a moment.

"DIVORCE PAPERS?!"

And then she screamed and shrieked in anger, for more than a minute. With her hair, now dishevelled and untidy, because she had pulled at the ends in frustration, she ripped her apron off and threw it across the kitchen. She stood quietly, turned off the stove and the oven. She took the meatballs, which smelled so heavenly, from the oven and placed the matching ceramic lid on it, after tasting just one meatball. She had lost her appetite. Taking a cork mat, she placed the covered dish in the fridge on the mat.

She was about to put the pasta in a bowl but in a resurgent fit of rage, she threw the pot, pasta and all, the against the wall with a Banshee wail.

"How dare he! WHY ME?!"

She drank another glassful of the punch before walking quietly into the dining room, looking at the beautiful romantic dinner setting. Large ploppy tears spilled from her eyes. Blowing out the candles, she sat down heavily.

Shock.

Disbelief.

"What will the neighbours say?" as she poured another glassful of punch.

oOoOo

TBC

So, where is Frank?

Keep the faith, this is definitely a BABE story.

A BIG thank you to Ms. Margaret for planting the seed, for me to nurture and grow into this Dinner Dates delight.