The First Supper

Exactly what number on the stove dial means “simmer”? Are green beans a good side for pasta? Speaking of the pasta, I think there’s some Italian word for how hard it’s supposed to be, but this feels okay. The directions say to warm on the stove but I think the microwave should be fine eh? We’re all getting to the same place here.


These were all thoughts running through my head as I cooked dinner for myself in my own apartment for the first time, an event spurring feelings that conducted great gratitude for my mom (Mom, I now understand why dinner was your most avoided activity, because I could have made a sandwich with a side of carrots and still had all my main nutrition groups provided). Okay, I’ll admit that chicken bowtie pasta and some green beans was not the hardest dish out there, and I stood back in pride that I hadn’t burned any food or appliances or myself.

And then I realized that I have to do this every day. Let’s just say a home cooked meal will probably be a weekly thing at this apartment (that’s why we have hot pockets people).

The food is one of the smaller things I miss about my parents’ house. The washing machine here has all of two settings, the dishwasher does clean the dishes…as long as they are sparkling when you put them in there, and don’t even get me started on the needle sharp water pressure in my shower (I needed to toughen up anyway). Yesterday I wanted to make some cookies, more for self therapy than taste, and realized I had about two of the ingredients and payday is a week away. And then there’s my family. I never realized how much peace it brought me just to hear my brothers playing video games in the other room, or to go upstairs to find my mom watching House Hunters in the middle of the night when I couldn’t sleep either. Dad coming home from work meant I was finally (hopefully) going to get fed, more than likely by Red Robin’s burger chefs.

I feel I was ready to have my own place, and don’t get me wrong, the privacy is nice sometimes. I only wish I had truly understood everything I had three months ago, and I can vouch that moving out is not all of the glamour you picture in your head. For now, I’m focused on embracing my adulthood and not looking back, but nothing is more comforting than knowing my family is just 45 minutes away should I ever need to do some proper baking or embrace a good hug.

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