by Rebecca Main
A wistful sigh slips past my lips even as a pang of sadness hits my heart. I avert my gaze back towards the plant wall near the dining nook. All that greenery spilling forth from the wall… it’s like a hidden valley or distant meadow has chosen to grace the kitchen with its presence. A hidden valley I can use for fresh ingredients, I think greedily. “Love it,” I say once more under my breath, coming to sit by them. “So, tell me more about what has and hasn’t changed.
– Chapter 2 –
The Inquisition
August is ending, and I’m feeling… flustered—and that is the nice way of putting it. Job hunting is fruitless so far, my brightest prospect, a barista. And even that has tight competition. I knew finding a job would be difficult after college, but I had hoped for something a little more promising than a barista. Until a job came through, I turned my concentration to unpacking. Somehow, the task was even more daunting than the former.
My eyes scan the mess I’ve made, critically sweeping the open boxes. Where had I put my books? Pushing off my knees with a sigh of frustration, I lap the room. My confusion grows as the cookbooks I search for remain out of sight.
I enjoy the silence of the house as I wander downstairs to continue my pursuits. It’s nice to have the house to myself for a change. It’s proven difficult to find a moment alone, when everyone in town is determined to drop by to say hello. The constant flow of people doesn’t bother me as much as the abrupt ending of conversations whenever I enter a room. Or the knowing looks my dear new aunties gave me. It’s weird. Really weird. And unsettling. Very unsettling. I make my way into my haven, the kitchen. I’ve fallen in love with its wood burning oven and large cooking range, the stashes of fresh herbs, and the insane amount of tea hoarded in one of the tall cupboards. It’s perfect.
“Zoe! How lovely to see you! I’m just running through—got to grab a few things!”
“Hi, Aunt Mo.” She zips through the kitchen toward the tea cupboard. A woman on a mission. “What are you looking for? It wouldn’t happen to be my box of cookbooks, would it?”
“Oh no, sweetheart, I’m looking for some tea.” She studies its contents, leaning back and forth with her glasses pitched halfway down her nose as she decidedly scoops out almost half its contents into the folds of her dress. “As for your books,” she says with a pointed, sidelong glance. “I believe they’re in the study.”
Of course. “Thanks. I’ll be sure to check in there.”
“Good.” She twirls around the room in her exaggerated way, smiling serenely at me as she goes for her mortar and pestle, spilling various containers of tea leaves onto the island as she does so.
“What are you up to?” I ask, roped in by her smile and wild eyes.
“I’m creating,” she says with a flourish of her wrist. Her bangles and bracelets jingle merrily.
“Creating what?”
“Magic,” she says with a laugh. “I know just the remedy to get Mrs. Clark’s daughter to sleep through the night, allergies or not.”
“Magic?” I ask with a laugh.
“Oh yes, I dare say even you can cook up a little magic in the kitchen,” she says, reaching over to pat my hand.
“It’s nice that everyone here seems to be so… friendly,” I offer.
“Oh yes, we're all quite close around these parts. We like to support one another, and we make it our business to see this town thrives. It's how all communities should be. I don’t know what your old neighborhood was like, but around here, we like to keep our noses in each other’s business, if you know what I mean.” She gives me a sly grin. “That way we can offer our help, even if you don't want it. It’s just what we do.”
“I see,” I say, watching as she grinds down on the dried leaves. “It must be nice living in a town like this, then, with everyone so cozy with one another.”
“It’s certainly something, although it wasn’t always like this. Oh no, in fact, it was just around the time that you and your grandmother left that things around here got a little, turned upside down.”
“Oh?”
“Mmhm,” she says pouring her medley into a few pouches. “When you two left, a new family had just come to town. Wasn't too long after their arrival that a whole lot of their friends and family started to crop up and make themselves at home here too. And I mean a lot. Mind you, that wasn't too troubling. What stirred things up was them trying to get their people on the town council and police force.”
“Wait,” I say, as she bustles around me to put things away. “Are you trying to tell me they were trying to take over the town?”
“They were trying to do something,” she says. Her keen gaze sinks into mine, and I fight the urge to squirm under her intense regard. “But we have a lot of strong-willed people in this town, who weren't about to stand for their antics. We weren’t about to let some stray dogs"—she snorts, shaking her head—“come wandering into our town and piss all over it.”
“Right,” I say slowly, accentuating my vowel. “So, did you get them to leave? Are they still here? Have I met them?” My questions come out like bullets, one after another. Curiosity fully peaked. I play with my necklace, leaning more fully onto the kitchen island as I watch Aunt Mo finish her clean up. The small piece of jade is cool and reassuring between my fingers. I don’t wear much jewelry, but this necklace… I never take it off if I can help it.
“No, we didn’t.” Her words ride on an exaggerated sigh. "Though many would have liked it to be that way. There’s a large subdivision up north, near where the forest begins to encroach on the town. Almost all the newcomers live round there.”
“Woof,” I say. My reaction is better received than anticipated. Aunt Mo laughs for a full two minutes before we can continue.
“Oh my, you are a treat, Zoe. Hmm, now, where was I? Oh yes. They still live here, but I doubt you’ve met any of them. We ended up coming up with a truce of sorts. We keep to ourselves. They keep to themselves.”
“I don’t suppose any of them are hiring?” I ask.
“Ha! Don’t go wasting your talents on them. They wouldn’t know gourmet food from dog food.”
“All right, all right! I can take a hint.”
“Good,” she says, letting her glasses tip downward again, giving me her signature look. “I’ll see you later, sweetheart.” With that, she departs, leaving me to mull over the only interesting piece of gossip about this town.
+++
Ben is here for dinner tonight. He’s meeting the aunts.
It’s the first time he’s been to the house, our other rendezvous occurring in middle ground towns. I didn’t realize until the day before his arrival that I’m nervous about the meeting. Ben meeting the aunts is important to me and I desperately want their approval. They have quickly become family over the past few weeks. Almost seamlessly winding themselves into Gran and I’s daily life.
My entire body feels flush, as if I’m running a fever, and my eyes dart anxiously to the dining room. Ben’s face turns a deeper shade of red every time I cast a glance their way. My anxiety grows as I take in the aunts’ somber façade and Ben’s none-to-subtle glance for help. I let my shoulders sag in response. He’ll need to protect himself until I finish dinner. I grimace and turn my attention back to my task.
“Oh, honey,” Gran says with a snort, “if he can’t hold up to them, then…” She sips her wine—her third—and gives a not so discreet glance toward them before turning her knowing gaze on me.
“I thought you liked Ben.”
“I do, I’m only saying—”
“Well, you don’t need to say anymore,” I tell her, squeezing my eyes tightly shut. “Let’s just eat. Will you take the potatoes in?” When I open my eyes, Gran is halfway to the table with the potatoes, and I take one last moment to collect myself.
The lamb with its salt crust removed lies on the silver serving plate with juices seeping delightfully from it.
The homemade dressing drips artfully over the salad.
The second w
ine bottle sits empty upon the table, begging for its replacement.
I’m as prepared as I can be, but Ben isn’t. I should have prepped him more on Mo’s eccentric behavior and Lydia’s dry humor. I should have prepared him for the worst possible scenarios. Yet Ben laughed off my concerns, assuring me it would all be fine.
Except it isn’t.
Ben is clearly flustered and so am I. My cocoa skin radiates heat from head to toe, whether from the heat of the kitchen or secondhand embarrassment I’m not sure. I know deep down it isn’t just the aunts’ approval I want, it’s validation of this relationship. My eyes slip closed again with a plaintive sigh. Tonight will go well, it will, I reassure myself. The dinner is cooked to perfection and the third bottle of wine will alleviate whatever tension has built up.
“Here you are, honey.” Gran gives me a long, slow pour of the Bordeaux as I walk into the dining room. I set the salad between the olive oil potatoes and the hearty lamb.
“It looks wonderful,” Ben says. “You look wonderful.”
The wine runs down my throat smoothly as I melt back into my seat, shooting Ben a sincere smile once I finish my lengthy sip. “Thank you.”
“Who’ll be cutting the meat, then?” Aunt Lydia asks, taking the carving knife and serving fork in her hands.
“Why Ben will, of course,” replies Aunt Mo.
“That’s all right, I can do it,” I try to insist, but Aunt Lydia has already pressed the utensils firmly into Ben’s hand.
“He’s a big boy, darling, and after all that hard work you did in the kitchen, it’s the least he can do,” she adds with a laugh. Ben gives me a small shrug and a smile, standing and pulling the plate of lamb nearer to him.
My faces bears my chagrin, forehead crinkling as my lips gently purse. The knife she holds isn’t the best for cutting the lamb, but it’s clear I’m the only one who knows.
“Actually,” I say, cringing as Ben stabs the lamb with the fork, “it should be cut with an electric knife. And thinly! I’ll just take it back into the kitchen.” I stand as well, much more hastily than Ben and jerk the plate backward. Ben almost topples forward, staring at me aghast. “Why don’t you help me in the kitchen, Ben?”
“You should have just kept it in here to carve it in the first place,” he tells me once we are safely in the kitchen. I search the cabinets until I come up gold with the electric knife kit.
“I didn’t want to keep you in there any longer than necessary. Also, have I told you they can basically smell fear?” A nervous laugh rattles from my throat over the soft buzz of the electric knife. “Just remember the basics. No talking about politics and religion, and you should be fine. Oh no.” My hand stops its sawing motion as my eyes dart to Ben’s. “You didn’t try telling your accounting jokes, did you?”
Ben’s guilty look draws a pained whine from my lips. His frantic look in response doing little to ease my worry.
“It’s fine. Save the jokes and answer every question politely, okay? Maureen can be a little much, and Lydia comes off a tad severe, but they’re just putting you through the ringer, you know? They want to make sure you’re going to treat me with respect.” Ben nods and I continue my dissection of the meat. The lamb holds a delicious pink all throughout its center and I let pleased smile curl my lips. Until Ben snatches a piece, letting out an exaggerated moan as he chews and swallows. “Ben,” I hiss as he goes for another bite, “I am going to cut off your fingers if you do not stop this instant.”
He quirks a grin in my direction. “That’s nothing compared to the threats your aunts have been making.”
“What?” I gasp, nearly digging the knife into the delicate meat.
“Well, not threats, but—”
“They really do mean well,” I say with a cringe. “I think. I don’t know. I didn’t expect them to act like this. They’re usually much better behaved.”
“Sure,” he says sarcastically, though not cruelly, and swipes another piece of meat. He moans more softly this time.
“They just have this thing about outsiders—not that you are. You are not an outsider because you are my boyfriend and you love me, and they can’t just ignore that. Right?” I can feel Ben’s heavy gaze on me, my words continuing after a quick breath. “It’s just there are these people who moved to the town not long ago and left an awful impression on them, so now their trust is all sorts of compromised and—”
“Zoey, it’s fine. I can handle being put through the ringer. You’re worth it.” I stop cutting and grasp his face gently, pulling him into a sweet kiss.
“You are so wonderful, Ben, much more so than I deserve.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see his fingers inch toward the lamb. “But if you try to steal another piece of this meat, I will tell them the most embarrassing stories about you, and you will not make it through this dinner in one piece.”
He folds his hands quickly behind him, his grin turning impish as he maneuvers around the island. When I finish, he takes the plate and walks back to the table with me, presenting the lamb with a flourish. Gran is the only one to crack a smile, though she does so behind her glass of wine.
“Zoe, this meal is just perfect,” Lydia comments after everyone has covered their plates with the fine food and taken their first bites. I smile in thanks, chewing happily on the potatoes, enjoying their savory quality.
“Every meal Zoey makes is perfect,” Ben adds enthusiastically, taking a large bite of lamb. “I don’t know how I lived without her or her cooking.”
Aunt Lydia casts Aunt Mo a sly glance, to which Aunt Mo whispers something under her breath in return before fetching another bottle of wine. When she returns she fills Ben’s glass and the room returns to its silence.
“Do you often cook, Ben?” Aunt Mo finally asks.
“Hardly ever,” he replies oddly truthful. His wide-eyed expression implies his disbelief and shock at his honesty, but he laughs it off good-naturedly. “I could hardly compete with Zoey in the kitchen. Plus, I like to think I’m her best test subject when it comes to trying new dishes.”
Gran nods her head, “I don’t know about that Benjamin. I’ve had my fair share of Zoelle’s crazy ideas.” As she speaks she spoons another helping of salad onto my plate. I roll my eyes at her antics, but I’m pleased with her teasing.
“Surely you can do something of use in the kitchen, so she’s not left with all the work,” Aunt Lydia says once I have a fatty piece of lamb past my lips. I frown and immediately try to catch her eye. Why are the aunts set on conducting an inquisition?
Ben laughs, his neck shading red while he takes a quick sip of wine. “I can make toast,” he offers, looking at me for some kind of help as I try to chew faster. “Zoey is a natural in the kitchen. I’m completely out of my element there, so I find the best practice is just to let her cook and reap the benefits, so to speak.”
“Did your mother cook your meals growing up?” Aunt Mo asks.
“Uh, why, yes. She did.”
“And Zoe cooks all of your meals now?” Aunt Lydia asks.
“Well, not all of my meals.”
Aunt Mo shares another pointed look with Aunt Lydia, “A natural in the kitchen, he said Lydia. Tell me, Ben, is that where you think women are most comfortable. Where it’s natural to find a woman… in the kitchen?”
“Aunt Mo,” I scold behind my hand as I force the meat down my throat.
“Maureen.” A warning settles firmly in Gran’s tone. “Settle down now.”
“I—” Ben’s face has turned splotchy, a painful mixture of white and red. “I don’t think that is a natural place to find a woman.” He pleads. “I think Zoey’s natural place is in the kitchen.” He elaborates to both his horror and mine.
