The butler let me in as it was pouring outside and I was soaked and shivering. I had walked miles on a gravel road and was lucky enough to find this house in such a secluded part of the countryside. He handed me a large towel — that I wrapped around myself — and walked me to the kitchen.
I had never seen a kitchen this big and shiny. Every appliance, every countertop, simply everything screamed expensive. As my eyes were making the rounds, they noticed a big red cooking pot on the over-sized stove. Something was boiling and cooking in it as the fire under it was ferocious and the vapor fleeing it strong.
I got fixated on the red pot. I raised myself to the closest leather stool and started staring at the red pot. From the looks of it, it was a new enameled cast-iron pot. Back home, my grandma used to make delicious stews in an old red cast-iron pot. Red was her favorite color. Everything from her necklace to her apron to kitchenware was red. She raised me from when my parents got divorced. I left her right after high-school as I felt I was a burden on her. That was almost three months ago.
After my body warmed up a bit and my nose thawed, I started picking up the smell coming from the red pot. I could smell onion, garlic, parsley and some other smell my grandma’s stews always had.
I must have drowsed as the next thing I saw was the butler pouring me soup in the bowl in front of me. He was about to put the red pot back on the stove when I courteously and cautiously asked him if he could leave the red pot on the countertop close to me for just a few minutes…
I guess I needed my grandma, in her beautiful red apron, be close to me and watch over me as I ate. I knew that when the red pot was back on the stove and the black clouds separated, I’d be back on the grey gravel road.