My wife's friends are always punctual, so where were they? It was supposed to be an informal lunch, but we'd spent weeks planning it, and yet our guests seemed to have vanished into thin air.
I began trying to cook, thinking of pork or perhaps something with chickpeas and spinach. But my wife just rattled off a list of ingredients: onions, peppers, maybe some pears for dessert. I was in charge of the menu, but she was running the show. "Just tell me what you're cooking," she said.
As we worked, I'd periodically ask her if we needed any help or if they were on their way. But by 12:30 pm, when the table was set and the meat was resting, the only sound was our silence. It wasn't until quarter to two that my wife realized our guests hadn't called – not once, but twice.
We stared out the window, waiting for what felt like an eternity. The clock ticked by: 2 pm, 2:05 pm... something had clearly gone wrong. "Are you sure they knew it was lunch?" I asked, feeling a sense of unease creeping over me.
And then it hit me – my wife's text message from months ago inviting them to supper, not lunch. We'd been so caught up in our own planning that we'd forgotten the original invitation.
I slumped forward, putting my head in my hands. Our friends would arrive at 7:30 pm, and we'd have to regroup after our morning's mishap. The stew I planned to create later would be a disaster – it wouldn't even pass muster as "lunch." But hey, at least the wine would flow.
As I looked up, my wife was scrolling through her phone, tracing back their conversation chain from August. She shook her head and muttered, "Supper."
I began trying to cook, thinking of pork or perhaps something with chickpeas and spinach. But my wife just rattled off a list of ingredients: onions, peppers, maybe some pears for dessert. I was in charge of the menu, but she was running the show. "Just tell me what you're cooking," she said.
As we worked, I'd periodically ask her if we needed any help or if they were on their way. But by 12:30 pm, when the table was set and the meat was resting, the only sound was our silence. It wasn't until quarter to two that my wife realized our guests hadn't called – not once, but twice.
We stared out the window, waiting for what felt like an eternity. The clock ticked by: 2 pm, 2:05 pm... something had clearly gone wrong. "Are you sure they knew it was lunch?" I asked, feeling a sense of unease creeping over me.
And then it hit me – my wife's text message from months ago inviting them to supper, not lunch. We'd been so caught up in our own planning that we'd forgotten the original invitation.
I slumped forward, putting my head in my hands. Our friends would arrive at 7:30 pm, and we'd have to regroup after our morning's mishap. The stew I planned to create later would be a disaster – it wouldn't even pass muster as "lunch." But hey, at least the wine would flow.
As I looked up, my wife was scrolling through her phone, tracing back their conversation chain from August. She shook her head and muttered, "Supper."