Just soupy

My mother makes a huge pot of soup every Saturday. My sister drops by around lunchtime and we three eat and hang out until she leaves a few hours later. Around dusk, my mother goes over to my brother's to drop off a smaller pot of the soup for him and family. Yesterday she asked me to go with her because she doesn't like driving alone at night, and it's getting dark much earlier now. I agreed, but told her I would not get out of the car because I wanted to come right back home. That was on account of a slight headache, a book I wanted to finish reading, and my usual hermit-like tendencies.

So off we went, and my brother came to the gate for his pot.

"Who's that in the car?" I hear him asking my mom.

"It's your sister."

"Tell her to come in. We just put some stuff on the grill."

"I'm coming," I shout, almost before the word "grill" is out of his mouth.

Like most impromptu gatherings, it turned out to be great fun. My mother and I left long after midnight, stuffed to the gills with chicken, fish, chips, and the contents of a bottle of Riccadonna Asti Spumante (just a sip for my mother who, apart from having to drive, cannot hold her liquor). We also left with that relaxed, mellow feeling that comes from the sharing of food, drink, talk and laughter with people we love and trust.

So much for my resolve to not get out of the car.