On Tuesday I decided that I was going to make dinner for Brady. I don’t ever cook, but I thought it would be a nice gesture. I found a recipe for homemade ravioli on Pinterest that didn’t seem too complicated and made a grocery list for after work.

$170 later, I headed home with all the ingredients I needed (including a pastry wheel, a rolling pin, and a bottle of wine). I started with the pasta dough which seemed fairly easy – pour the flour on a flat surface, make a “well” for the egg yolks, oil and milk, mix.

Well, it didn’t work out like that. I didn’t want to touch the raw eggs with my bare hands so I tried to use a spoon. That obviously didn’t work. My dough came out super runny. I added more flour but it ended up crumbling into pieces. I tried again and decided that I would follow the recipe exactly by using my hands. I sucked it up and mixed the dough with my hands, but again it came out runny (later found out that I read the recipe wrong and should’ve added more flour, of course).

At this point, I was annoyed and decided I would start on the filling then come back to the dough. I was making a spinach and mozzarella filling and the first step was to wilt the spinach down with olive oil and garlic. Easy enough. I added the garlic and olive oil and then dumped the entire bag of spinach in the pan. My mom called and I excitedly told her about the meal I was making. I knew she would be proud.

She started telling me about how one of my favorite teachers from high school is under investigation for having sex with one of his students. I was shocked and realized that could have so easily been me. I flirted with him endlessly my junior and senior years because he was hot plus math was really hard. He never really budged or showed any interest (except buying a ton of cookie dough from me during our fundraiser for new uniforms). Maybe I just wasn’t hot enough for him to hook up with.

I was so engrossed in the conversation with my mom that I forgot all about the spinach on the stove until I smelled burning garlic. The pan was smoking so I told my mom I had to call her back. The majority of the spinach was black and burned with the garlic. How does that even happen?

By then, Brady was due in thirty minutes and my ravioli was nowhere near being done. What a fail. I knew that I had to cook something so I decided to stick with what a know how to make: grilled cheese. Plus that was all I really had time for. I had fresh mozzarella left from my ravioli disaster so I used it to make two sandwiches. I plated them with vintage Hermès plates with a basil leaf garnish. Chicest grilled cheese ever.

I buzzed Brady in and the first thing he said was, “Did you burn something?”

Ugh. Definitely should’ve opened a window.

“Are you ready to eat?” I asked, ignoring his question.

“Mmm, yes. What did you make?” Brady said.

I led him to my tiny table and chairs. “Gourmet grilled cheese!” I squealed.

“Looks great.” Brady went to sit down, but I yelled for him to stop.

“I need to take a picture for Instagram,” I explained.

He waited patiently while I uploaded the photo of our food and wine (and my fabulously decorated table) with the caption “Made dinner for bae.” I immediately got several likes.

After we ate, we were still hungry so we made pizza rolls. I poured us more wine and we took it along with our pizza rolls and Oreos to the couch. We started watching some baseball game and stayed up talking until 1:00 AM. 

On Wednesday, I hung out with Preston and Dillon. We went to this natural tea place Preston has been dying to try and all their drinks are named stuff like “Happiness” and “Purity.” I got “Tranquility” because obviously that’s what I need in my life.

We sat outside and I told them about my latest bout of craziness with Brady. Preston obviously laughed for several minutes then gave Dillon a brief overview of my relationship with Brady.

“Poor guy. He has no idea what he’s gotten himself into,” Preston said, wiping his laughter tears away.

“I’ve decided that I’m going to let myself be vulnerable though. I think I’ve been so crazy with him because I have a guard up,” I said.

“Good for you,” Preston said and his face turned serious. “I don’t think he has any intention to hurt you, love bug. And if he does, just know that you have amazing friends who will help you slash his tires and hack into his Facebook.”

I laughed because that was true. You don’t even want to know what kind of trouble my friends and I got into in college.

Dillon spent the rest of the evening telling me his life story which would have been really annoying if it wasn’t completely entertaining. He said he’s 19 and moved here from San Diego. His house burned down two years ago and apparently his family’s insurance didn’t cover all the losses so they had to dip into his college fund and now he has no money to go to school. So tragic. He’s hoping to break into acting and dance and has been an extra in those awful Step Up movies. He moved to Chicago because of the theater opportunities and was homeless for his first few months here. Luckily he met a kind person who not only helped him pay for school, but also gave him a place to live. What a wonderful story.

I texted Brady while I was out and asked if he wanted to come over. He said he was working late so I invited Preston and Dillon over. I couldn’t help checking Jessica’s Facebook to see if she checked in anywhere or tagged Brady in anything. She didn’t. Is it unhealthy that I do that? I’ve been checking her page obsessively the last few days and all I see are pictures of her and her friends. I thought about deleting her, but then I won’t catch it if she does tag Brady in something.