The Blind Date
Grandma sat at the dining table, a shot gun on her lap and her false teeth in the water glass at her elbow. It was a regular Sunday dinner . . . with the exception of the blind date.
Brooke’s eyes were wide as she looked at her grandma across the table. “What do you mean you invited Betty’s son to dinner?”
“He’s just back from the war,” she explained.
“But you knew Charles was joining us.” Brooke rubbed at her throbbing temple. Why did Grandma have to choose now to be herself?
“Is that the bell?” Grandma asked innocently.
Great, just great! Brooke opened the door to both of the men who stood there. One held flowers. The other held a bottle of sparkling water. “Please, won’t you come in?” She stepped aside. “Charles this is Betty’s son—”
“Jack and I have met,” Charles stated crisply, handing her the bottle as he headed down the hall.
“Seems I’ve come at a bad time.” Jack remained on the stoop, the flowers still in hand.
“Not at all.” Brooke smiled awkwardly, trying not to notice the twinkle in his light brown eyes. “We would love it if you’d join us.”
Brook couldn’t help but notice how the brilliant smile he gifted her with lit up his whole face.
“For you.” He handed her the bouquet and entered.
Feeling suddenly out of sorts, she led him to the dining room. “I’ll just go get a vase for these,” she said before she left for the kitchen.
Grandma eyed the gifts that Brooke had placed on the table. Leaning forward, she grabbed the fake flowers in the arrangement in the center of the table and tossed them over her shoulder, replacing them with the fresh ones. “There . . . I just love it when gifts go together.”
Charles gasped as he watched her open the bottle of water and pour it over them.
“Do I smell Brussels-sprouts?” Jack asked conversationally when the room became too quiet.
“They give me gas,” Grandma stated flatly.
“How delightful,” Charles sighed in distaste.
Jack chuckled, “I’ll just have to brave it.”
“That’s my boy!” Grandma smiled. “Don’t let a bit of hot air,” she glanced back at Charles, “stand in your way.”
Brooke returned with a vase in hand, noting the new arrangement. “Grandma, are you behaving yourself?”
“Of course,” Grandma replied. “Shall we eat?”
Brooke seated herself, noting Charles’ sour expression.
“You know my second husband,” Grandma said, making not so idle conversation, leaning forward, and spearing a slice of roast, “thought himself a scholar. Most boring man I’ve ever met.” The shotgun on her lap suddenly exploded, blasting a hole in the wall. Startled, she knocked over her water, which splashed over the other side of the table. . . . Her teeth slid off the edge with the tide.
Charles stood with a yelp, brushing the false teeth off his lap in horror.
“Whoops!” Grandma hollered. “Just patched that up, too, darn-it!”
“Well!” Charles glared across the table, his trousers soaked.
“I’m terribly sorry,” Brooke started.
“Don’t bother!” he interjected, tossing his napkin to the table. He stomped down the hall, slamming the door in his wake.
Grandma glanced over at the other two. “Pass those potatoes, will you?”
Jack grinned over at Brooke before they both dissolved into laughter.
“Well now, you have to admire a man with a sense of humor. My last husband and I laughed together for nearly forty years.” Grandma smiled wistfully. “So how many children are you going to have?”
“At least a dozen.” Jack winked at Brooke with a wide grin.
This was written for a 600 word or less competition.