Scheduling
"You know what I love about wings?" Sam said as she lay on the couch in her and Carly's apartment, sucking the meat off a bone. "They're small enough for you not to fill up on too quickly, but large enough so they pack a punch with each bite."
"Just make sure you get all the bones in the trash this time," Carly said, rolling her eyes. "It's really hard explaining to dates why my living room looks like a chicken graveyard."
Just then the apartment door swung open and Freddie walked in.
"Hey," Carly smiled at him.
"Hey," Freddie said. He glanced over at Sam. "And hello my beautiful, talented, sexy girlfriend. My God you look absolutely stunning, just laying there…barbecue sauce all over your face."
"For the love of ham, what do you want?" Sam asked, rolling her eyes.
"I need your help," Freddie said, sitting down next to her, letting her legs fall across his lap.
"With?"
"My boss is having a big potluck lunch on Friday to celebrate us finally launching our new software system," Freddie said. "And he wants everyone to bring a home cooked dish."
"So?" Sam yawned.
"So? Sam, I can't cook!" Freddie said.
"Yeah, I'll say," Carly chuckled.
"Okay, you have no room to talk, Ms. Lemonade!" Freddie snapped.
"Hey!" Carly said indignantly.
"Look, Sam, I-I just need you to help me make something edible," Freddie said. "It can be an easy, low-key recipe; nothing complicated."
"Dude, why don't you just buy some dish to bring from the store?" Sam asked.
"I told you, it has to be home cooked!"
"Oh like your boss would know the difference," Sam said, rolling her eyes.
"He would, trust me," Freddie said. "I heard he had one of these potlucks years ago, and some poor chump brought in food from a restaurant and he got moved to the office right by the bathrooms. Do you know what it smells like over there?"
"Gross," Carly frowned.
"Come on, baby, please?" Freddie begged. "I'll buy you a tub of chicken for your trouble."
"You already buy me all the tubs I want," Sam pointed out. "I want…I want you to massage my feet, whenever I ask, for a month."
"A month?" Freddie exclaimed. "No way!"
"Fine," Sam smirked. "Have fun in your new office by the bathrooms then. You should invest in some air freshener."
"No, I-I-Alright!" Freddie conceded. "Whatever! I'll be your dang foot masseuse for a month."
"Good boy," Sam said happily, wiping her hands on her shirt.
"Thank you," Freddie said, leaning over to kiss her, tasting the sauce from her lips as he did so. "Hey, want me to get you a napkin or something?"
"Nah, this is one of your old shirts," Sam said, wiping her hands again on the fabric.
"Of course," Freddie chuckled. "Although by the looks of it, I'd say ribs aren't the only thing you should be eating shirtless…"
"Yeah?" Sam grinned. "You think?"
"Definitely," Freddie nodded. "In fact, maybe you should-"
"Could you at least wait until I leave the room?" Carly gagged, quickly getting to her feet.
"Well next time leave the room faster!" Sam called after her.
….
"Alright," Sam said a few days later as her and Freddie stood in the kitchen. "So what do you want to make?"
"I dunno," Freddie shrugged. "What do you think I should make?"
"Listen, Frednub, I said I'd help you," Sam said firmly. "Not do everything for you."
"Excuse me?" Freddie said, raising an eyebrow. "How many school projects did I do for you over the years? How many essays, worksheets, dioramas-"
"Fine, fine!" Sam said. "Jeez, bring up ancient history, why don't you. Hand me that blue cookbook over there."
Freddie got the book and Sam began to flip through the pages. "Let's see…okay, here we go. You want to make my special meatballs?"
"Oh yeah, those things are delicious," Freddie nodded. "Do we have all the ingredients though?"
"Oh I always make sure I have meatball supplies around," Sam said. "You know my meat cravings. Plus we have the finals of our Meat Golf tournament coming up."
"Right, I need to start getting in shape," Freddie said. "So, how do we make these? Are they hard?"
"No, they're pretty easy to make," Sam said. "You just get the ground beef and pork, throw them into a bowl, and then add a lot of seasonings."
"Okay, well, that doesn't sound too bad," Freddie said, stepping over to the fridge to get the meats. "What seasonings do you need?"
"Um, garlic, oregano, basil, salt, pepper, onion powder," Sam recited, pulling the ingredients from the spice cabinet. "Some bay leaves, maybe a little Italian seasoning and-what are you doing?"
"What?" Freddie frowned. He had put the meats into a large bowl and had the oregano shaker in his hand, about to sprinkle some in. "You said this is how it's done. I put the meats in a bowl, now I add the seasoning."
"You've got to mix the meats together!" Sam said. "Look at that in there! There's just two hunks of meat."
"Well I'll mix them once I add all the seasoning," Freddie shrugged.
Sam's eyes widened. "You'll mix them once you add all the seasoning?" she said. "You'll mix them once you add all the seasoning! My God, Freddifer, what are you making? Mouthwatering meatballs or paper machè? You mix the meats together first, and then you mix everything together again each time you add a new ingredient."
"But that's so much work," Freddie commented. "It just seems like it would make more sense to-"
"Hey, you asked for my help!" Sam snapped. "Now do you want it or not? Because I have no problem walking out here and taking a nap or-"
"No, I'm sorry," Freddie said quickly. "I'll do it your way…the right way."
"Shoosh yeah, you will," Sam snipped. "Now you do that, I'll start working on the sauce."
"What do you mean?" Freddie frowned. "Don't you just empty a jar of the stuff over the meatballs?"
"Baby," Sam sighed. "Baby, baby, baby…I love you and everything, but I'm about this close to slapping you."
"What?"
"You think I use sauce from a jar?" Sam said. "What? Am I some forty-year old soccer mom trying to feed a family in under five minutes? No! I make my own sauce!"
"That's a thing?"
"Unbelievable," Sam mumbled, getting a saucepan from the cabinet. "I've made meatballs for you how many times?"
"Sorry, guess I've been too distracted by the hot chef to worry about the food preparation process," Freddie laughed.
"Stop sucking up and get back to work," Sam smirked.
Freddie smiled as he turned back to the meat mixture in front of him. "Hey…I've always wondered something. Where'd you learn to cook?"
"I'm Italian," Sam shrugged. "Everybody in my family cooks. Well, except for my mom. Whenever we'd have a party for somebody making parole or getting out of a traffic ticket or something we'd make sure there was a ton of food. I guess I picked up a few things."
"That's nice," Freddie said. "Only thing I've picked from my family is how to make my own ointments…Okay, I mixed all the ingredients. My hands will probably permanently smell like meat now."
"Eh, there are worse things," Sam chuckled. "Alright, now what you do is ball them up, and let them stew in the sauce until they're cooked through. But make sure you don't make them too big or too small. The perfect meatball is one that that isn't small enough that it becomes just some dinky pizza topping, but not so big that it becomes all crumbly. Try to make it about half the size of your fist."
"Uh-huh," Freddie obeyed. "So how long do they have to stew in the sauce?"
"About an hour," Sam said.
"Well you have the stove on the lowest heat setting," Freddie said. "Wouldn't it be quicker to turn it up so the meatballs could cook faster?"
"Do I tell you how to write up your geeky computer codes?" Sam snapped. "It's better to let it cook on a lower heat because it gives the flavors more time to seep in. It's science."
"Must've missed that lesson," Freddie said, slightly amused.
As he balled the meat, he couldn't help but stare as his girlfriend fussed over her sauce. It was so intriguing to see Sam so committed to something that she cared about. He loved the way her brows scrunched in concentration and the way her entire focus was on this sole activity.
Sam glanced over at him. "What?"
"Nothing," Freddie said. "I'm just glad you're here to help me, Sam. Thank you."
"Well I am getting foot massages out of it," Sam pointed out. "But, you know, cooking with you hasn't been nearly as annoying as I thought it would be. Maybe, if you want, I can show you some other recipes some time."
"I'd like that," Freddie said as he placed the meatballs in the bubbling sauce.
"And maybe while I'm at it," Sam said as she placed a lid on the pan and set the timer on the stove. "I can finally show Carly how to make some decent lemonade."
"That would be good for all of us."
….
"Here they are," Sam said an hour later as she lifted the lid off the meatballs, and the delicious aroma of real Italian cooking filled the kitchen.
"Oh man, these look incredible, Sam," Freddie said. "You did great."
"Hey, you did help," Sam reminded him. "Here, let me get you a container for you to bring them to work in."
"There's no way I'm ending up with the smelly office now," Freddie said triumphantly. "Not with these babies."
"Looks like we have enough left over to make ourselves a little snack," Sam said, taking two plates out. "Hope you're hungry."
"For these? Always," Freddie told her.
Sam spooned out some meatballs onto their plates and then handed one to Freddie.
"Oh…so good," Freddie moaned happily as he took a bite.
"You wouldn't get this flavoring with jarred sauce," Sam scoffed, stabbing her fork into one and moving it towards her mouth. In the process, though, the meatball slipped off her fork, causing sauce to splatter all over her shirt.
"We should invest in a bib or something for you," Freddie laughed. "I swear, you're the messiest eater I've ever seen."
"Guess meatballs get added to the list of foods I shouldn't wear a shirt while eating," Sam smirked seductively.
"Wait…really?" Freddie said.
"Yeah, this is a good shirt, not one of your lame ones," Sam said. "I'd hate to get anymore sauce on it. But…if I take my shirt off to finish eating these meatballs, you've got to do it too."
"Uh, deal," Freddie said at once, quickly setting down his plate to remove his own shirt. "Hey, you know, while we're on the subject, you're also pretty messy when you eat fish sticks. And sandwiches. And soup. And cereal."
