Lasagna

“Honey, she’s lovely. You two should come eat dinner with us. It’s just us and Pastor Palmer. You know Pastor Palmer. I even made lasagna. You love my lasagna. Come in and eat before you two go out,” his mom rambled.

“We have reservations,” Chris lied, knowing full well there isn’t a restaurant within fifty miles popular enough to require dinner reservations on a Tuesday night. He leaned into his lie and added, “I’m trying to impress her, Mom. We’re going to a fancy place up in Bellemare.”

Marie rounded the corner without hesitation. “I’m just going to use the restroom. Real quick.” She tugged her skirt down as Chris’s mom’s eyes widened, noticing the tattoo on her hip poking out the bottom.

“Chris, great to see you again,” Pastor Palmer approached. “Are you staying for dinner?”

“No, we have reservations at that place with the steak special in Bellemare,” he answered, knowing full well the pastor would catch his lie.

“Nonsense,” the pastor said. “It’s Tuesday. Logger’s Inn is closed on Tuesdays.”

He indeed caught the lie and wondered how terrible the steak would be at a place called Logger’s Inn. “I forget how so many places up here are closed on random days of the week. It’s so different from back in the Twin Cities.”

They locked eyes. The entire reason Chris and Marie were both off work was specifically because it was Tuesday and Tree Tops Lounge is closed every Monday and Tuesday, which Pastor Palmer was well aware he couldn’t get his weekly lap dances on those nights. He had to wait until at least Wednesday.

“Do you have reservations somewhere else, perhaps?” The pastor asked, prodding for more. “Somewhere open on Tuesdays?”

“I must have had the day wrong, and I guess I didn’t have formal reservations. I talked with the manager, and he knew we were coming.”

“Sheryl manages Logger’s Inn. Who was it you talked to?”

Fuck, Chris thought and wondered why this man of the cloth enjoyed this form of torture. “I meant the bartender,” he blurted.

“Come sit down,” his mom said, moving on. “I made way too much lasagna, help us out here. You love my lasagna.”

They walked around the corner and sat at the dining room table, which was set neatly in anticipation of a proper dinner with the pastor. Chris’s mom handed his dad two plates and hurried him along to set two more spots while she scrambled with wine glasses. Marie walked in and locked eyes with the pastor, surprised to see a patron who helped keep not only her bills paid but about two dozen other dancer’s bills, too.

“Hi, I’m Marie,” she said without a smile. She stuck her hand out to shake the pastor’s hand, despite knowing full well who he was.

He understood her signal and shook her hand. “Germaine Palmer, nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Chris looked at Marie and mouthed silently, “Sorry.”

She glared back at him.

He leaned in and whispered, “I didn’t know he’d be here. I swear. I’m sorry.”

Marie looked back to the pastor. “You look familiar,” she said. If he were to out her to Chris’s parents as a stripper, she’d out him for how he chooses to spend his salary from the church and, by extension, the money his parents donate each week to fund it.

“Well perhaps a child of God‌, such as yourself, has been to Johnson Hill Community Church. I’m the head pastor there.”

“That must be it,” she said, before adding a glare. “My friend from work goes there.”

“Oh, really?” Chris’s mom overheard as she served lasagna. “I don’t recall. Perhaps Chris hasn’t even told me. Where do you work?”

Fuck, she thought. She knew her mistake. “Oh, I’m between jobs right now. I was working seasonally, cleaning cabins until last week, actually.”

Chris was impressed with her quick thinking, as this was technically the truth. But occasionally cleaning a cabin as an emergency fill in a handful of times over the summer certainly didn’t keep her bills paid. Lap dances did.

They settled into their seats, and Pastor Germaine led them all in prayer. Marie kicked Chris under the table and wished they had left when they had the opportunity.

“Chris, have you settled into a job yet?” The pastor asked, knowing full well Chris was the new bouncer at Tree Tops and was obviously where he met one of his favorite dancers. “Your father was telling me you had a pile of applications going out.”

He swallowed a steaming forkful without chewing. “Um, yeah. I do have a lot of applications here. I’ve turned a few in so far, waiting for some calls back.”

“We are still looking for a part time custodian, if you have changed your mind since we last talked,” the pastor said as if he was offering a desirable role. He was a regular enough ‌patron to know that the dancers are not allowed to date the other employees, or else they’d be fired.

“Oh, yeah. Perhaps.” He took another bite. “I’ve been bar-backing a couple nights a week until I can get something better.”

“I really wish you’d find something outside of a bar. It’s not good to surround yourself with those kinds of people,” his mom said. “Maybe finish schooling eventually. I’m not rushing you. But a job with your business management degree could be very fulfilling.”

Marie wondered what his mom would think of her job if simply filling beer coolers isn’t a Christian enough of a way to make a living and what his dad would think if he knew two of the people at the table had seen her nude body up close at her place of employment.

Chris’s dad remained quiet, oblivious to the awkwardness between his pastor friend and his eldest son. “Managing a business would be good,” he muttered between bites.

The room filled with awkward silence.

“This lasagna is really good,” Marie said, and unlike many of the things she had said, she actually meant it.

“Oh, thank you,” Chris’s mom smiled. “It was my mother’s recipe. I’ve been making it this way since I was seventeen.”

“Yeah, Mom. It’s very good. Thanks.”

She maintained a smile and then fought off a yawn. “All of this fresh air really takes it out of me. I get tired so early since moving out here.”

“You get up so early, Mom. You don’t need to be up at five. You’re retired,” Chris said before wiping the corners of his mouth.

“I can’t help it. I’m such an early bird.”

“Are you an early bird, Pastor?” Marie asked, knowing how late he typically stayed out at night.

“I’m naturally more of a night owl, I’d say,” he replied. “I only get up early on Sundays. But boy, do I ever appreciate sleeping in the other days of the week.”

“What do you do, then? When you are staying up so late?” She followed up her original question, wanting to play his game.

“Lots of things,” he said, covering his mouthful of food with his fist before continuing. “I’m an avid reader. I love mysteries.”

“How interesting,” Chris said dryly.

“I like to can things.”

“Oh, what kinds of things?” his sarcasm increased. “I’ve always wanted to try canning.”

Marie kicked him lightly under the table.

“Lots of things. Jellies, sauces. All sorts of garden veggies,” the pastor said. “Maybe we could do some canning next harvest season.”

“Like Little House on the Prairie,” Marie added.

“I’d love to learn how to make and can red sauce,” Chris’s mom said. She was deaf to the tone of the conversation.

“And I’d love to try said red sauce in a lasagna like this one,” the pastor said.

“I don’t know if you could stay up late enough for late night canning sessions, Mom.” He pictured his mom fainting at the thought of watching her new pastor friend sitting down for a lap dance.

Marie took a sip of her small pour of wine. For five adults drinking wine from a single bottle, they barely put a dent in it. She wondered if his parents ever got a buzz.

One by one, they each placed their forks on their plates.

“Help clear the table,” his mom said to his dad. He quietly stood up and brought a few items into the kitchen alongside her.

“Cut the shit, Germaine,” Marie said once she knew Chris’s parents were out of earshot. “You mind your business about where we work, and I won’t expose your spending habits to them and, frankly, the rest of town.”

Chris loved her intensity, and the God fearing man also feared her. “Have a wonderful evening and God bless,” the pastor said. He nodded in agreement.

“Thanks for dinner,” Marie shouted into the kitchen.

“You two have fun tonight,” she yelled back.