Dinner Guest #17 - The V. Family

We met six years ago on a Sunday morning in the Summerlin hospital emergency room.

While sitting in a white, sterile, partitioned area surrounded by see-thru curtains, we overheard nurses assisting a young girl with a high fever and an ear infection.  Our baby Kate was being treated for flu-induced dehydration.  Several hours later, the lucky little girl two beds over was released to go home.  Kate, unfortunately, was admitted, kept overnight, and plugged full of fluids until she plumped back into a chubby, happy baby. 

Mr. V. introduced himself to Ryan at the hospital.  I remember this tall, dark-haired stranger handing Ryan a piece of paper with his phone number and in his loud, New Yorker voice saying,

“Whatever you need, please do not hesitate to call us.  Seriously.  Whatever.”

Fast forward seven years and the V. family are some of the best friends we have ever had.  We’ve spent many Fourth of Julys together in our backyard swimming and barbecuing, Christmas Eve dinners at The Cheesecake Factory, and several New Year’s Eves watching the New York City ball drop and playing “Scene It.”  They are the kind of friends you can call in an emergency.  The rare kind you know will answer the phone at 2:00 am and respond,

“Whatever you need….”

For dinner I served Heavenly chicken over Brazilian rice, sweet potato casserole, a giant fruit platter of strawberries, raspberries, grapes, and blueberries, sautéed green beans, and parmesan rolls.  Joanne brought her amazing chocolate chip bundt cake.  This cake ought to be the last meal served to inmates on death row.  It’s that good.

The kids quickly ate and ran off to play an annoying game I call “Keep the Boys Out of Kate’s Room.”  The game involves screaming, doors slamming, and ultimately running to me with complaints and requests for mediation.  I stay out of it. 

Now for the bad news:  the V. family is moving to California.

I feel like a toddler suddenly left with a pimply, teenage babysitter on a Saturday night, throwing my arms around my mother’s leg pleading,

“DON’T GO!”

Mr. V. has been commuting between Las Vegas and Los Angeles for five months for his work.  Mrs. V. has been substitute teaching, raising their twin girls, and juggling all the other demands of a home, live-in mother-in-law, soccer season, and supervising the elementary school year book.  Mr. and Mrs. V. are not big complainers and keep their challenges private, however, I imagine they’ve both experienced some serious stress over the last few months.  Moving makes sense.

The V. family will be sorely missed.  We don’t travel to California often, but come June, we will have a new reason for a road trip west.  Especially when we get a craving for chocolate chip bundt cake.