BURGERSCOOT

Monday night on Samantha’s porch

Roger rolled the cooler filled with beer, some soft drinks, and, as an afterthought, a bag of pretzels, which he now hoped they wouldn’t break into. He wanted to talk; the sound of chomping on hard pretzels would be intrusive, while sipping on drinks, Roger felt, would be okay. When he got to Samantha’s front porch, he set the cooler down, sat down on Samantha’s bench farthest from her front door, and texted her. “I would like to talk about Friday night. I’m on your front porch. I brought your favorite beer and some soft drinks.” He wanted to add, “I’m not leaving until we hash this out,” but he didn’t want to give her an ultimatum. He was on Samantha’s porch, and she was his senior by over twenty years, after all.

Some background first

Roger grew up in this neighborhood of Austin, Texas. His best friend in middle school through high school was Pete Bennet; Samantha was Pete’s mother. After graduation, Pete moved to San Antonio and started working for his dad. Mr. and Mrs. Bennet divorced when Pete and his brother Bryan were in high school. Samantha retained her married name, which seemed weird to Roger, but he knew another divorced woman who kept her ex’s name, so he knew it wasn’t unusual.

After graduating high school, Roger attended the University of Illinois at Springfield, where he promptly dropped out, enrolled in a trade school, earned a plumbing certification, and found a well-paying union position at a large construction company in Chicago. He had no friends before he met Chloé. Chloé was an intern at an architect’s office and a student learning Architecture. They met on a construction site. They dated for two years until she broke up with him. He then moved back to his childhood home in Austin.

A new start/A familiar city

Roger found and bought the rundown house next to Samantha’s house. He bought it virtually sight unseen. On his second visit to his new house (he was still living in a hotel until the house was ready to live in), he saw her. My god, even after seven years, she still looked like the Samantha he remembered. She had added a few more pounds, and her dark hair now had a shock of white in the front, but she was still the woman of Roger’s dreams. He started moving in the few items he had in his trunk and backseat while keeping an eye on Samantha trimming her rose bushes until she came over to introduce herself to her new neighbor. When Roger walked towards her, her face lit up. “Roger?” “I’m back,” Roger exclaimed with his arms wide open. Samantha came in for a hug, and they had a long embrace.

They spoke briefly about their lives since Roger left. Roger invited Samantha into his house, and when she insisted on helping him move in, Roger gave her a small box to bring inside. The irony was not lost on Roger that Samantha was carrying the same box that contained the exact contents of what his now-ex-girlfriend Chloé had left on the hood of his car, sans a toothbrush and some glossy photos of Chloé and him. Roger kept only the frames, which he had bought and wasn’t going to chuck just because they once had photos of his ex in them. Roger had violently shredded the two photos the night of the breakup.

During the move, Samantha examined all the rooms where the mom in her came out. “Roger, you have a lot of work to do here. I hope you are up for the task. Roger smiled, remembering Pete’s mom. Roger loved Samantha because, in many ways, she was a more lovable parent than his emotionally unavailable mother. Still, the sexual attraction was undeniable. Samantha saw that the house came with a refrigerator, old but functioning, but a bit loud. She grabbed the door handle, looked at Roger, and said, “Do I dare open this?” Roger laughed and said one of the first things he did was clean it. She opened it, only to find a carton of milk, a smaller carton of half-and-half, a tub of butter, and eight black-boxed Factor meals. “Roger Anthony Coleman!” “Don’t worry, Samantha,” Roger quickly replied, his right hand up in a “stop” motion, “the breakfasts and dinners are good and nutritious.” Samantha shot him a suspicious look. “I’ll believe that when I taste one of these.”

And with that, Samantha unofficially took over the role of Roger’s meal provider. Roger felt his mother wouldn’t care; she and her new husband had moved into a wealthy senior community in Phoenix, where people got around in golf carts. Also, Roger and his sister Lea, who had married and had moved to Atlanta, rarely communicated with their mother. While Roger was buying a bed, bathroom necessities, a TV, and a couch, and establishing gas, electricity, utilities, and other essentials, Samantha fed him most evenings. When she found out Roger was eating fast-food breakfasts while on his way to work, she insisted he get up earlier for work so he could have the time to sit down and have a proper breakfast, at least on weekdays, with Samantha, who would make him pancakes, waffles, French toast, or his favorite, scrambled eggs, bacon, and home fries. It was like his childhood when he would have many meals at Pete’s house, and Mrs. Bennet was always happy to feed him after clearing it with Roger’s mom, who was a professional and had little time for that kind of care. At Roger and Lea’s house, breakfast was either cold cereal, Eggo waffles, or Pop-Tarts.

Roger and Samantha spent a lot of time after dinner watching old movies on streaming services like Netflix, Max, Hulu, and Turner Classic Movies (TCM). They both loved romantic films and rom-coms, often talking to themselves about the action and to the characters on the screen: “Kiss her, you fool,” “Uh-oh, the girlfriend found out. He’s a goner now.”

Roger liked fixing things around Samantha’s house, like doors that didn’t close properly, doorknobs that had come loose, easy electrical problems, and not-so-easy plumbing problems. They had a truly symbiotic relationship, and Roger considered Samantha his best friend — his only friend. He hadn’t made any friends since moving to Austin, and he wasn’t interested in dating since Chloé had broken up with him–that is, until he met Amber.

Roger met Amber in the waiting room of his new dentist’s office. While waiting, they wondered who would be seen first. (It appeared they had the same appointment time). Amber must have taken an interest in Roger because she suggested whoever sees the dentist first buys the other a cup of coffee. Amber won, and when Roger finally came out of the dentist’s office, Amber was waiting for him. “I’m a woman of my word. I’m thinking the coffee shop in the lobby should work just fine.” Roger and Amber got along swimmingly. They ended up doing a few more coffee dates. Amber knew where the good coffee shops were hiding.

During this time, Roger never told Samantha that he was seeing someone, albeit casually. Roger never thought it was worth sharing, plus he enjoyed his time with Samantha so much that he didn’t feel right bringing Amber up. That was about to change.

Friday night

Roger came home from work one Friday night, showered, pressed his only good slacks and collared shirt, grabbed the only three ties he owned, and walked briskly over to Samantha’s house. Roger usually cut through their yards, but he had the slacks and shirt on and didn’t want to deal with the thorns in Samantha’s rose bushes. While walking on the sidewalk, ties in hand, he got a text from Samantha saying she had made the chili and cornbread he loves and to come over. Roger balked but then continued. He felt bad standing up Samantha, but this was a date — the first one since Chloé; Samantha would understand.

When he got to Samantha’s, he walked into her house–their relationship had progressed to that point–and with the ties around one hand, he asked Samantha which one of these looks best with this shirt and slacks? “Oh, sorry, I didn’t tell you, I have a date tonight. Save some of that world-class chili and cornbread for me later. Her name, by the way, is Amber, and I think she is special! I’ll swing by later to tell you how it went.”

Samantha looked him up and down, taking in his pressed shirt and slacks, and dress shoes she had never seen before. (Roger almost always wore boots.) He had never looked that nice before. She had a wooden spoon near her lips and quietly placed it back in the saucepan, then turned off the burner. “So, what do you think?” Roger continued, oblivious to Samantha’s state, “This gold and black striped one, this solid brown one, or this flower and butterfly one Chloé bought me? I’d have tossed the flower-and-butterfly one because it reminds me of her, but I’m guessing it is a nice tie.” Samantha walked past him in the narrow galley kitchen with her head down, opened her front door, and said through tears, “Please leave.”

Roger dropped his arm holding the ties and slowly started to walk out the door. “Samantha, what’s wrong?” Samantha answered through tears, “Are you that blind? Just leave, please!” In shock, Roger did as asked. Just before he was completely out the door, Samantha croaked, “The flower and butterfly one. It’s very nice.” She finished a second before the door slowly closed. “Chloé has an eye for style. The striped and the taupe are too wide.” Roger left Samantha’s porch, wondering what just happened and what the hell is taupe.

Two days in silence

Roger walked down Samantha’s walkway to the sidewalk like a zombie. He made a sharp left turn onto the sidewalk, thinking Samantha was upset because she had made one of his favorite dinners, only to have him turn it down. Roger was oblivious to the real reason Samantha was crying and kicking him out of her house. He thought maybe Samantha was really proud of her cooking, and he would have to work on breaking the news to her if Amber and he became an item, and he went out to dinner more often with Amber. That real reason for Samantha’s tears would finally sink in later. He didn’t remember making it to his front door and into his house. When he sat at his new kitchen table, he snapped out of the trance enough to call Amber, canceling his date. Amber wasn’t happy about the last-minute cancellation without an explanation, but could hear the distress in Roger’s voice. He spent the rest of the night mindlessly watching TV.

All of Saturday and Sunday, Roger didn’t try to contact Samantha, who was also silent. Roger left the house early, ate breakfast and lunch out. When he came home, he walked quickly from his car to the front door, head down, not wanting to look over and see if Samantha was looking at him. He didn’t even check his mail on Saturday and left it in the mailbox on Sunday as well. He ate two of his dwindling number of Factor meals for dinner over his sink on those two nights, his mind on Samantha: how was she doing, how upset would she be if she saw him eating over his sink? He couldn’t even look at the black Factor boxes, knowing she would not approve. He watched action and sci-fi films and series on Netflix, Max, and Hulu on Saturday night until a ridiculous hour. On Sunday afternoon, he realized this situation was unsustainable. After eating his Factor dinner over the sink, he drove to the local Total Wine and More, a Lowe’s, and stopped by the Texico for gas and the last provision he needed for his plan. He went straight to bed when he got home, thinking about what he had to do after work tomorrow. He slept poorly, as he expected.

Back to Monday night on Samantha’s porch

After Roger texted her, Samantha quietly came out and sat on the bench opposite Roger. She didn’t look at him, just kept her head down and asked coolly, “What do you want, Roger?” Roger pulled out a Heineken, opened it, and began: “I wanted to tell you a story. First, do you want a beer?” Samantha politely said no. Roger. took a pull from the bottle Samantha turned down. “Well, if you change your mind, just let me know. I bought your favorite for this occasion, but I also bought some Cokes and some sparkling water–Pellegrino, so just let me know,” Roger said. Samantha quietly thanked him again for the consideration.

“Did I ever tell you how my relationship with Chloé came to an end?” Roger didn’t wait for Samantha to answer. “Over the roof of Chloé’s canary yellow VW Jetta.” Roger took another pull of his pale ale and continued, “You see, she asked to meet me at a park close to one of our favorite coffee shops. So, I parked my silver Nissan Murano next to her car. I started to get out when Chloé burst out, ‘I’m breaking up with you.’ Before I had a chance to remove my right leg from my car, she had walked over to my car, nearly sprinted, actually. She placed a box of the stuff that I had been keeping at her place for nights I slept over: stuff like a change of clothes, a toothbrush, a few other toiletries, oh, and two framed photos of the two of us; I think one was of us at a mutual friend’s wedding and another on the beach at an exclusive resort in Baja California. The funny thing about the framed photos was that I gave them to her as gifts.

“Chloé sprinted back to the other side of the car. I guess to protect herself or something. Then she said that she had been seeing someone else. I stopped arguing, if you want to call it that, and wondered, when did she find the time to see someone else? Then, in a calm voice, I asked who the guy was. She ignored my question and continued nearly yelling, ‘I’m in love with him. I don’t love you, Roger. I don’t think I ever did.’ And then, to twist the dagger, added, ‘You’re not ambitious enough. I can’t see myself with a plumber for the rest of my life. You were never a serious person; you couldn’t even finish a single semester in college.’ Then she slid into her car, saying one or maybe two more things, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying and didn’t want to know. As she drove away, I envisioned she was still shouting at me. After she drove away, I quietly picked up the box of my stuff from the hood of my car, damn near threw it in the back, and drove home.

“I showed up the next day at work and only put in the motions of doing my job. Thankfully, this was an office day for me. All I could think of was how I was going to survive after that emotional beatdown, especially when Chloé and I had mutual friends, and we would often run into each other in the apartment complex where most of us lived. Also, I couldn’t see any of my remaining friends: virtually all of them came from Chloé’s side, and even the guys would probably shut me out, not wanting to endure Chloé’s or their girlfriend’s wrath. Then, while staring at my company’s website for future jobs assigned to my crew, I saw that the corporation was expanding into Texas, with new offices opening in San Antonio and Austin, and they were looking for anyone who wanted to move to either office. For the rest of that afternoon, I planned to get a post in Austin.

“What you need to know, Samantha, is I had only one reason to want to live in Austin, and that was you. When I graduated from high school seven or so years ago, I didn’t leave any friends in Austin behind. The few friends like Pete moved away, but I knew there was you, and between good ole Google Maps and a very eager local real estate agent, I was planning on buying a house anywhere in or near this neighborhood. I hit the jackpot when it turned out there was some rundown shack next to the Center of the World, as far as I was concerned. When the transfer was complete, I packed up my car and drove the 1,250 miles to you. I couldn’t wait to get to you. I got here in record time only stayed in Memphis a night; it was pretty much a straight shot to get right here!” Roger pointed emphatically straight down at Samantha’s porch.

“Whenever those foolish romantic feelings gave me the idea I was ultimately going to sleep with you, and we would end up in love for the rest of our lives, I had to splash cold water in my face in a cruddy bathroom off the freeway. The practical reason I was heading home was to be Samantha Bennet’s friend. I mean, come on, she’s over twenty years older than you are, Rog! What I knew was that I would be back in my old neighborhood, and maybe we would become great friends. I had to live with the possibility that you may have remarried, and if that was the case, so be it. But Friday night might have changed things—changed things back to the dream a foolish teenager had of living with his best friend’s mom and having a lot of sex, the way teenage boys thought what marriage was all about. In that one moment when you kicked me out of your house, the pie-in-the-sky reason for moving back here suddenly became a dream realized, or at least it became a lot closer; I just needed some time to catch up to you.

Roger emptied his Heineken, pushed the spent bottle into the ice, then pushed the cooler away from him with his foot and moved closer to Samantha. “Here’s my question: what did you mean when you kicked me out of your house Friday night? How do you feel about us, Samantha?”

Before Samantha could answer the question, Roger gently moved her face up to meet his and said, “I love you, Samantha Bennet,” and gently kissed her on the lips. Samantha did not kiss him back at first. She sat perfectly still, as if the porch boards, the bench, and even the hot Austin air had all stopped to hear what she would say. For a while, neither of them communicated with each other. She took a slow breath. “I’d like that beer now.”

Roger reached into the cooler, pulled out another Heineken, and opened it. Samantha took it and had a drink.

“I thought I was too old to be this foolish. Friday night, when you walked into my kitchen with those ties, looking so handsome and so happy, I understood something all at once. I had been pretending you were just Pete’s friend, just the boy I used to feed, just my neighbor who fixed my leaky sink and ate too many frozen dinners. But you weren’t any of those things anymore. You now were the man I waited for every evening without admitting I was waiting.”

A cicada buzzed from somewhere in the roses. A car passed slowly down the street. The cooler settled with a little crack of ice.

Samantha took another pull of the pale ale, then said, “I’m not saying this won’t be complicated.”

“I’m a plumber,” Roger said. “Complicated is just something that needs better fittings.” She laughed then, really laughed, and the sound loosened something in Roger that had been clenched since Friday night. She took a careful sip of the beer, and set it between them on the bench.

“We go slow,” she said. Roger nodded. “As slow as you want.”

“And no more disappearing into your house to eat frozen dinners over the sink like some raccoon.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And don’t ma’am me if you intend to kiss me again.”

Roger smiled. “Yes, dear.”

This time Samantha reached for him. The kiss was still gentle, but it was no longer a question. It was an answer neither of them had expected to say out loud, sitting on her porch with melting ice, unopened pretzels, and the roses scratching softly against the dark.

Samantha stood, held out her hand, and Roger took it. Together they rolled the cooler into her house, leaving the bag of pretzels on the porch bench unopened, exactly as Roger had hoped.