When I was sure everything was back where it should be I plug the microwave in and say. “That should be it.”

  “Let’s test it out.” She pats my shoulders. Taking a gss from the cupboard Heather pours about a half a cup of tap water into it the into the microwave. She shuts the door and turns it on for thirty seds. The light es on, the turntable turns, and the time ts down, but these things were w before the repair. It was only once we found out if it was actually heating anything that I’d find out if I’d fixed it. As much as I wanted aaste though what I truly wanted was to do this thing for Heather. Even more addictive than her ‘honey’ was her praise and approval. Simply put, I wanted her to be proud of me.

  A long beep annouhe end of the half minute. Pulling open the door Heather removes the mug and cups it in her hands. After an anxious few seds face brightens. “It’s warm.”

  “Ha, ha! Didn’t I say it robably the tch?”

  “Yes, you did. Good job, Elliot!” Pg down the cup she leans in to give me a little pey cheek. “Thank you.”

  The repair, the smile, the pe the cheek, these were all trifling things a I could not wipe the silly grin from my face. I had that same uplifting feeling as when I’d told her about my job. There was something in her eyes or her face or…I don’t know what exactly, it was hard to pinpoint, but she just had this way of making the little victories feel big. She could be weird and tough, but not once since I’d met her had she made me feel small. Not on the i least.

  “I’m happy I could help.”

  “Such a big help.” She pats her pocket. “Would you like your honey and special treat now or ter?”

  “Um…”

  “I gave you more this time so it will st awhile.” She suggests. “Why don’t you take it now, get your treat, maybe go off for a little aloime fun, the ready for the best darn chi pot pie you’ve ever tasted.”

  “Oh. Um.” I take a breath. “Since you put it that way, um, no thank you.”

  “Okay. You just go and…” She stops, a brow raising in surprise. “Did you say no?”

  “Mm.” I nod. “I’d like to wait until after dinner if that’s okay.”

  “After dinner? But…you’ll miss the fvors and…the whole experience of the meal.”

  “I know.” I say. “Um, maybe before dessert I’ll have it. Then after supper I enjoy…things without rushing them.”

  Tilting her head she studies me closely. “Okay. I end your trol.”

  “It’s not trol.” I whisper, emotions bubbling up to crack my voice despite me pushing them back down.

  She touches my arm. “”What’s wrong, Elliot?”

  “I, um…” I swallow and take a long fortifying breath. My head down I say. “I shouldn’t have asked for that dinner.” Another breath. “That was… my mom’s…um…”

  “Hey.” Stepping in she pulls me head to her shoulder and hugs me just in time for me to hide my misty eyes from her. “It’s okay.” She says as she holds me close. “It’s okay, Elliot.”

  “I don’t know what I was thinking. Asking for that.” I sigh. “I haven’t had it since…um…”

  “It’s okay.” She soothes with a squeeze. “I uand.”

  “I’m sorry.” Letting out a long breath I blink the moisture away. “I just, um…I don’t want to have oer than hers.”

  “No amount of honey could ever do that.” Pulling back she looks me in the eyes. Gently she strokes my cheek with her warm, soft palm. “I ’t be her, Elliot.”

  “I know.” I nod. “I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. We should have something else.”

  “I disagree.” She says. “Nobody’s food will ever be as good as mom’s, but you shouldn’t go on denying yourself things that you love. It’s been long enough, don’t you think?” Her warm eyes brightening she says. “I would be hoo prepare you a chi pot pie. If you’ll let me?”

  “I’d, um, I’d….I’d really like that, Heather.”

  Laying her hand over my heart she says. “If you o take a moment alone or cry or just need a hug, it’s okay. I’ve lost people close to me too. I know how it all well up at ohere’s no shame in expressing your feelings. You are safe here.”

  “Thank you for uanding.” I let out a hard breath. “God. You must think I’m so messed up.”

  “You’re not messed up, Elliot, you’re human.”

  “I don’t mean to use you as a therapist, Mrs. Hutton.”

  “It’s not therapy.” She smiles. “It’s called being a friend.”

  Touched by her words and her warmth, the pain inside of me retreating back to its dark cavern, I smile back at her.

  Hers widens and she pinches my cheek. “Would you help me with supper?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Hutton.” I say. “I’d like that.”

  “Call me Heather.”

  “Okay…Heather.”

  “Good man.” She says. “Probably good to wait for your honey and your treat anyway. As you said, why rush it when you savor it.”

  “Exactly.” I cur with a firm nod. “Um, if you don’t mind me asking, what exactly is my…treat?”

  “You’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?” She winks and in the space of that wink her voice hardens with maternal authority. “Now go get out of your nice clothes ahat cute little hiney ba here, toot suite.”

  I snap to attention. “Yes, ma’am!”