Page 18 of Wished

That’s the question, isn’t it?

“Well ...” I glance at my mom, then I decide to avoid answering by dropping a large pat of butter into a thick-bottomed pan. I rotate the pan over the blue flame of the stove, watching the butter slide across the metal. The smell of the melting butter mixes with the stock and the onions. It’s buttery sweet and soothing.

My mom and sister are still waiting for my answer.

What should I tell them? The man I fell in love with at first sight three years ago hates me? No. The man whose house I clean thinks I’m a thief? No. Dorene fired me? Yeah. I’ll find a new job, don’t worry, we’ll all be okay? Sure.

“Well, you see?—”

I’m cut off by a loud knock at the front door, then the creak of its opening. We never lock our door at mealtime. Any neighbor who is hungry—be they kid, adult, or grandparent—can drop in for a plate of whatever we’re cooking. Our herby stocks and caramelizing onions are famous for drawing in all sorts of interesting people.

Dorene blows into the kitchen, two bottles of burgundy in her hands. She’s changed into a frilly skirt, a long top, and her long, gray-streaked hair is loose around her shoulders. She swings the bottles and then clinks them together.

“Did you tell them I fired you yet?” she asks.

“Fired!” My mom sends me a stunned look.

In response I drop the fifteen desiccated onions into the sizzling butter. They pop and crack loudly and set off a pungent sweet-onion odor.

“What’s fired?” Emme asks, dipping her paintbrush into the blue paint and swirling it around.

“It means Anna doesn’t work for me anymore. I canned her. Sacked her. Discharged her. Terminated! Axed! Fired!”

“Anna, why didn’t you say anything?” My mom reaches across the sizzling onion pan and squeezes my shoulder. “I had no idea. You should’ve told me.”

“Wine?” Dorene asks, holding out the bottles.

A hot flush works its way across my wet cheeks. “You know, you don’t have to be so cheeky about it.”

Dorene lifts her eyebrows as she takes in my onion-tear-streaked cheeks and red flush. “Well. I thought I’d shuffle us past the embarrassment and resentment phase and move us into the ‘wasn’t that time I sacked you so funny?’ stage.”

“It happened twenty minutes ago. You’d think you’d give me a minute.”

“I did. I gave you twenty.” She holds out the bottles again. “Take the wine.”

“You literally just fired me.”

“Well.” She shrugs. “It had to be done.”

My mom lets out a loud huff and crosses her arms over her chest. Even though she’s short, petite, and soft-faced, she’s always been able to look intimidating.

“Dorene. Why did you fire my daughter?”

I grab a corkscrew from a drawer and sink it into the first bottle. Wine sounds good.

My mom glares at the corkscrew. I have to give it to her, she looks ready to take a meat cleaver to the bottle.

“Well, Janice.” Dorene says, addressing my mom. “That’s what you do when your employee attempts to steal a million-franc necklace from a client.” She lowers her voice to a stage whisper. “Stealing is poor form.”

My mom swings toward me, and I wince as I pull the cork free. The wine opens with a loud pop.

I refuse to look at my mom.

“I already told you,” I say. “I didn’t steal it.”

“Yes. You were just holding it in your pocket for a moment. I understand,” Dorene says.

The silence is a bit too awkward, so I take a moment to splash a large glug of wine into the sizzling onions. They steam and hiss as the wine soaks in. A fragrant cherry and pepper perfume rises in a cloud as I shake the pan.

---