Penelope
Okay, I was excited to see what the airline was going to serve us for dinner. It wasn’t that I was hungry, exactly, but TV dinners! Wouldn’t Grandma giggle over that! Up in the sky!
As the stewards came down the aisle with the trays that apparently held our orders, I craned to see what the meals looked like. There were covers over most of it, so, other than the look on people’s faces when they opened them up, I could see next to nothing.
Ah, but the aroma! It was a restaurant of flavors, the air simmering with deliciousness. Suddenly my stomach did a spastic growl of greeting.
Timothy smiled. The big lug! How dare he hear my stomach’s rumbles of eagerness. Where was privacy? How did one stop inner parts from salivating with impatience and excitement?
I covered my belly, attempting to subdue it, or at least to simmer it down to a tinier roar, but Timothy, apparently picking up on my disquiet, grabbed my hand, picked it up, and kissed it.
“I’m glad you’re excited about your first space meal,” he said. “I hope it meets your grandmother’s raves over TV dinner nostalgia. If not, I’ll demand that Ben buy some aluminum pans with dividers, and allow you to experience that when we return home.”
“Home?” I hadn’t thought about where we’d be living when we returned from our honeymoon. Timothy had always changed the subject when I’d brought it up. His house was nice, and I knew the apartment where I’d been living would be too small for him, but . . .
Before I could address the issue, a male steward politely greeted us, asked if he could drop down our tables, then spread a tablecloth over them, and set down a couple of cloth napkins. He checked his list, verified it with us orally, then served us our orders.
Steam rose from the cover as the steward lifted each of them. There were sadly no aluminum dishes with partitions like I’d envisioned. However, there were several beige plastic dishes. One had a chunk of chicken drenched in a pale gravy, which flowed over the green beans on the side of it. I think there were some mashed potatoes under the chicken lump, too. Off to the corner of the tray, sat a small bowl with the apple pie/tart thing I’d wanted. Oh, and a puffy bread roll had its own dish on the side opposite of that.
“What would you like to drink?” the steward asked us.
I again went for water. I still hadn’t drunk all of mine. Timothy requested another bottle of water since he’d finished his, then asked for a spare, in case I ran out.
“No problem,” the man said, reaching down under the cart to grab a couple of bottled waters.