Short Stories, To Read

Writers Club

The prompt was “Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner”

The prompt was perhaps suggested by Juneteenth and the actor Sidney Poitier’s recent death. The prompts are set by the group at the beginning of the year. The actor died on January 6, 2022. Of course, many people think of the movie “Guess who’s coming to dinner”* went they think of the late great actor. So that is how the prompt became just that, “Guess who’s coming to dinner”

I do not always write on the topic as we say. Lately, I have and this prompt reminded me of an incident from waaaaaay back in my youth. While there are elements of truth in this story,( as there are in every story I write} the names and events have been altered significantly and bear little resemblance to reality. Yet I remembered a thing and it became this story. That’s how my brain works.

The story included here is my original work and is copyrighted. Also if you click on a link, I may earn small commission from anything you buy.

Enjoy the story.

He had invited her to dinner at his mother’s request. She was stunned. His mother definitely did not like Wendy. Well, she had not said that or anything, but the last time she saw his mother was when his parents had come home early from a trip. Wendy had stayed the weekend with him at the house. She had brought her daughter with her and they had set up a nursery of sorts in the living room. Early Sunday morning while they were still laying in the bed of comforters they had made on the floor of the living room, his parents arrived. What followed was a flurry of clothes stuffed into her bag, a portable crib folding, picking up the child quickly putting everything into her car. All under the disapproving glare of his mother. His father thought it was great. He laughed and congratulated the boy on his great taste in women.

Yet here He was inviting her to a dinner at his parent’s place. Wendy had half a mind to decline. She was still slightly embarrassed and a little uncomfortable. His mother had made her feel very much like trailer trash. That dark stare down the nose still made Wendy feel slightly dirty. She may not have much and definitely lived on the other side of the tracks, but Wendy was no whore nor was she dirty.

She had met the Boy while traipsing around the mountains looking for her purpose in life. She had very little in life and wasn’t sure how she could change her lot. So the mountains offered some solace and a lot of parties. He was building a house, by hand, in an old-fashioned way. Or so he said. Wendy suspected he built it with modern tools and nails. Either way, he said it was a hobby. A bored rich man’s hobby. Wendy had never met anyone who built houses as a hobby. It was strange to her and piqued her interest. It didn’t hurt that he was drop-dead gorgeous and very easy to look at.

That meeting began an on-again-off-again relationship. For her part, it was only slightly love. He was a good lover and took her to fun places. They had gone to the theater to see a play. Something she would have never been able to do herself. The play was dark and depressing, but she loved it anyway. She loved all the things they did, fancy french dinners, going to watch polo matches, drives in the sports car along the coast. She loved their lovemaking. But she really did not love him. She suspected He loved her.

So now she had been invited to his parents for dinner. What the hell she thought. She would go and be very nice to his disapproving mother. As usual, she had nothing to wear. Her money was spent on rent, baby food, and diapers. There was no extra money for things like new clothes for herself. She would go in her regular jeans and a t-shirt. He had bought her a dress for the theater, but even then she refused the dress and wore jeans. His money assured no one looked twice at her outfit. Although she suspected the other woman certainly talked about it.

Wearing her cleanest jeans and a t-shirt that proclaimed she loved shoes, Wendy drove up to his house in the hills of San Francisco. Her push of the doorbell button was greeted by the Boy. He was looking ravishing in new designer jeans and a black shirt. Wendy had half a mind to drag him out the door and into her car for a little hello before the dinner. Now that would be funny. He grabbed her and whisper into her ear. “My mom doesn’t know you are coming. I want her to get to know you like I do”

Wendy stepped back and looked at him. “Are you kidding me?” she whispered back.

She pulled her hand from his and turned to walk out.

“Nope,” He said and grabbed her hand again.

He was dragged into the kitchen where his mom was directing the staff in the preparation of the dinner. His mother looked at her and dropped the dish she was holding. The Boy looked at his mom and said,

“Guess whose coming for dinner?”

The story included here is my original work and is copyrighted.

*This post contains affiliate links. If you click on a link, I may earn a small commission from anything you buy.