Chapter Twenty-Three: Cooking Family Dinner:

How did this happen?

I stood in the kitchen with the knife in my hand. It all just happened. I just thought of this on a whim. Now, I can’t turn back. That’s not what I am complaining about.

“Why did you invite her over to dinner?” I asked. Mom glanced up at me.

“Is that going to be a problem?” she asked. I slowly shook my head.

“Not really,” I said. “Just…”

“What?” mom asked. I shook my head.

“Nothing,” I muttered. “Nothing.” I started chopping up the lettuce. You know something? Working with a knife can be so relaxing. I didn’t know that until now. I cut keep chopping and picturing that I am cutting up my former principal and my crooked landlord. Chop them all up. I felt myself smiling. Yes.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned my head. Mom shook her head at me. I looked down at the chopped up lettuce on the cutting board. So many little pieces.

“Oh,” I said. “I overdid it, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” she said. Mom took the knife out of my hand.

“I’ll take it from here,” she said. “You just work with the oven and the arrangement.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, brushing her off. Mallory was dubious about me cooking.

“Why would you do that?” she asked. I shrugged at her.

“Because I wanted to,” I said.

“Why?” she asked. I narrowed my eyes at her.

“Don’t ask questions,” I said. To be honest, I needed this. I guess I just wanted to give my hands something to do. Checking my phone was only making things worse. My former students couldn’t stop gossiping about the current situation. I muted their conversation and the messages kept coming in.

My mom is so much better with a knife than I am. Watching her cut up vegetables and meat was like watching a magic trick. I walked over for a closer look. Mom glanced over her shoulder.

“Do you mind?” she asked.

“Oh,” I said. I quickly backed up.

“How is the sauce coming along?” she asked.

“Uh…” I said. I looked over at the pot on the stove. I put on a mitt and picked up the lid. So much red bubbled inside. The spices and tomatoes made my nose twitch.

“Rather nicely,” I said.

“Taste it,” mom said.

“Yes ma’am,” I said. I picked up the wooden spoon and gave it a taste. I stuck up my thumb.

“Good?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said. I turned off the stove and moved the pot off of the burner. Mom turned to me, holding up the knife.

“I’m done on my end too,” she said.

“I will get the noodles into the pan,” I said. I walked over and took the other pot off the stove. The steam hit me in the face as the water drained into the sink. I had to step back from the heat.

“That smells good,” we heard from the doorway. Mom and I turned to see Kim standing in the doorway. She had to swallow back her drain.

“Thank you,” I said.

“When will it be ready?” Kim asked.

“Just a few more minutes,” I said. “Go off and doing something else for now.” I gently pushed my sister out of the doorway.

“Whoa, easy there,” she said, stepping backwards. “I’m leaving. I’m leaving.” She turned and walked out of the doorway.

“Nathan,” mom said. I put up my hands.

“She was in the way,” I said. “We’re still cooking.”

“You didn’t have to do all of that,” she said.

“Well, be glad that it wasn’t Mallory in here trying to see what’s going on,” I said. I placed the paste down into the pan.

“Are the vegetables ready?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Mom said. She dumped them into the pan. I mixed them together with the sauce before topping the casserole with the cheese. I popped the dish into the oven. Mom turned to me.

“What made you come up with this?” she asked.

“I don’t really have any idea,” I said. “Is there anything else we should make for dinner?” Mom shrugged and shook her head.

“Maybe a salad?” she asked.

“Okay,” I said.

I remember the first time I helped my mom cook. It was spaghetti and meatballs that night. I insisted that I had to have it. The girls wanted chicken nuggets, but I won out. Mom insisted that I help her out. Like a typical little kid, I didn’t want to. I folded my arms across my chest and stamped my foot. Mom was having none of it.

“You wanted spaghetti, you will help me cook,” she said. That stern look on her face told me that I better not argue with him. Turned out, I enjoyed being in the kitchen. One of my male colleagues bragged about not being having to cook in the kitchen. His mom and his girlfriend did all of the cooking because “women belonged in the kitchen”.

“Wow, I can’t imagine being that useless of a human not being able to cook for myself,” I said. You should’ve seen the look on his face.

I turned to mom in present day.

“Why did you invite Bridget again?” I asked. She wrinkled her nose.

“Does there have to be a reason?” she asked.

“Well… yeah,” I said. My mom shrugged.

“Just thought it would be nice,” she said.

“But we aren’t that class,” I said. She was about to speak when the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it!” Kim shouted. Mom and I looked at each other. Show time.

“Spoony?” my sister asked. I had a confused look on my face before I ran to the front door.