Our waitress Ruby looks at me with a face of skepticism as I peer down at the menu before ordering. “Molly, what would you like?” she asks me.
“I’ll have the –”As I begin to speak she joins me.
“Southwest Chicken Salad with no tomatoes.” I smile. Ruby laughs.
As the only child still living at home, my parents have always shown a great interest in taking advantage of our time together. They frequently remind me that “these years will flash before your eyes – you’ll blink and you will be leaving home.” I never actually believed this, but I would nod to acknowledge their wisdom. In accordance with their anticipation of me graduating, we have begun family dinners every Sunday.
While we, the three of us, eat together often throughout the week, we associate Sundays as our family dinner because it’s the one consistent day of the week that we go out for dinner. Our destination is the Houston Racquet Club, conveniently located near our house. This dinner is a time for us to reset for the new week ahead, spend quality time with each other, and give my mother a break from cooking.
Every week, I order the same exact thing: the Southwest Chicken Salad (with no tomatoes). My parents make fun of me every time I say what I’m going to order. “Really, Molly? I never would have guessed!”
The salad is a masterpiece. Romaine lettuce, black beans, corn, avocado, cheese, tortilla chips get lightly coated in a delicious chipotle ranch dressing. The menu item also includes tomatoes, however, I find that they take away from its beauty.
Ruby, who waits on us every Sunday, has my order memorized. Right as we sit down she brings me a lemonade – I don’t think I’ve actually had to ask for one in months! With all the people she sees, knows, and helps throughout the week, it makes me feel so grateful and known when she remembers my go-to and beloved meal.
Going to the Racquet Club every Sunday brings a certain aspect of consistency to my life.
I choose to plan my Sunday around this dinner. Because of my procrastination problems, the routine brings some much needed peace and comfort into my homework-packed day.
No salad tastes as good or satisfies me as much as this one. My parents, the ones who came up with our Racquet Club dinners, marvel at the fact that I could eat this meal every day of the week (except Monday, of course, since they are closed). When someone mentions getting a salad for a meal, my mind immediately goes to the Southwest Chicken Salad.
Every day in our home, there is a missing presence. With both of my brothers in college we are rarely a complete family. There is nothing quite like the joy (or the fighting) that comes with my full family being home together. But when they’re gone, which is most of the year, the kitchen table feels empty and the rooms feel quiet. Even though we’ve had two years of this now, it seems like we’ll never get used to it. Sunday dinners are the one day of the week where the void of their absence goes away.
This dinner has only ever been a thing with the three of us. And while, yes, when my brothers are home we will sometimes eat at the Racquet Club, it’s not quite the same. For starters they require looking at the menu for several minutes before ordering and they don’t quite understand the passion I have for this meal. For an hour every week, I am allowed to forget about the loneliness that comes with being the youngest sibling.
I am lucky to say I am close with my parents. I have never been one to spend all of my days upstairs accompanied just by a book or a show. Downstairs, near both of my parents, is where I spend most of my down time. They take time out of their very busy schedules to spend time with me. They make me feel like the most important girl in the world. I’m going to miss the comfort they bring, the laughter they produce, the support they stand with, and the unnecessary concerns they approach me with.
As the baby of the family and a second-semester-senior, I know this will be a harder goodbye for my parents. They will officially have all kids out of the house, and part of me feels guilty for that. It was sophomore year when these dinners began, and my parents were right – these years did flash before my eyes. Our time at our weekly dinner is limited. In fact, all of our time is limited. I can’t or I don’t want to have to imagine my life without our Sunday dinner.
I know many children don’t feel this way, but I seriously enjoy this time I have with my parents. As much as I love the Southwest Chicken Salad – it’s not all about that. I am grateful to have such great parents who make being with them so special. I don’t feel as much guilt as I do my own sadness. I keep reminding myself that I have several more months at home, but I also know August is just around the corner, and I can’t hide from it.
Next year it will be hard to miss my favorite time of the week, but I will definitely make trips home just for it. I didn’t choose to go to college only two and a half hours from home coincidentally! I am excited for this new, rising chapter in my life, I’m just scared to close this one.
Ruby arrives at our table, interrupting my thoughts. “I have a Southwest Chicken Salad,” she announces, looking down at me.
“With no tomatoes!” I grin widely. She gently places it right in front of me. Per usual, the salad hit the spot.