"Mom. I've made this dozens of times when I lived away. It'll be good. I promise." You chuckle. Your mother was the traditional homemaker. She stayed at home, made the food, did the chores, and made sure bills were paid on time while your father was out earning money. While your father was alive, the most adventurous things she did was go to the woods and spend a week in the family cabin that was passed down to your father and his siblings by your late grandparents. Every since his passing, however, the most she ever did was go out to do grocery shopping once a week. You pour the soup into a bowl and grab a spoon and fork. "This is hotpot." You say somewhat anticlimactically. "Normally, you eat straight from the bowl and with chopsticks but I only have one pair of them and I don't want to burn the table." Your mother gingerly takes the bowl and spoon. You pour yourself a bowl and grab your sticks.

Sitting next to your mom, she cautiously takes a spoonful of broth. Her cheeks flush red, and for a moment you see the old version of your mom before everything happened. "Oh my. This is a bit spicier than it looks." She says giddily.

"It's the best way to keep the cold away." You say as you take a mouthful and feel your own face flush as well. Perhaps you might have added a bit too much spice to it. You spent the next few minutes naming the various ingredients your mom didn't recognize and chatting idly. After a short while, your mom empties her bowl and grabs a napkin to wipe the sweat from her brow.

>What do you do?
>Let your mom know about the potluck. Ask if she wants to go.
>Offer another bowl. The mood is nice right now. No need to be extra adventurous with mentions of potlucks. Talk about another topic. (What do you want to talk about?)
>Finish up your meal and clean up before logging on to the game. The meal was nice but it's getting late. You can talk more tomorrow.
>Write in.