Page 50 of A Lesson for Laurel

“I’m sure you worked too,” she said.

“Not the same thing,” he said. “I was sitting at a desk.”

“I spent most of my time there on the phone,” she said. “Trying to get people to come in.”

“No one likes to come in on a day off. Least of all on the weekend.”

“It was more they didn’t want to say yes to who they thought was calling.”

“Who they thought?” he asked.

“The supervisor that was on call isn’t very well-liked. Denise and I have butted heads a few times, but I keep it professional. Once someone realized who was calling, they came in. When Denise finally called me hours later, I was already there working. I told her she didn’t have to come in.”

He laughed. “Was she surprised?”

“Yes, but then I nicely said she could owe me. I know that will drive her insane more.”

“It normally does,” he said. He dropped the rest of the vegetables in that needed less time to cook, then added some more stock.

“Can I tell you how impressed I am that you know to cook those vegetables in stages rather than dump them all in at once?”

He turned from checking on the pasta. “When Aunt Carrie taught us how to cook, we had to make meals. Abe and I each, once a week. She didn’t care what we made, but it couldn’t be something we’d already had that week. I tried to do this and dumped them in all together. You know, making it fast and easy.”

“And you got mushy veggies, didn’t you?”

“I did,” he said. “My uncle was the only one who made a comment and my aunt defended me and said at least I tried. My uncle laughed and didn’t say another word and ate everything.”

“So your aunt was the head of the house?” she asked. “Kind of like mine.”

“She was. My uncle was tough, but he was jelly around her. Anyway, Aunt Carrie reminded me that some things take longer to cook than others. I’ve perfected this meal now and just mix up the meats or the vegetables.”

“It looks like it’s going to make a ton,” she said.

“I’m used to doing that too,” he said. “Good and easy leftovers.”

He’d made lots of versions of this with Rachelle and she’d pick the vegetables or the meat out and not touch the pasta. Said the carbs didn’t agree with her.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t eat them; she said they made her bloated or fat. He never saw it and stopped arguing. If he was cooking, he made what he wanted. If she was cooking, he never said a word about it and picked things out too.

When the pasta was done cooking, he drained it, added the chicken back to the vegetables, and then the pasta, a little more broth, and a bunch of grated Parmesan cheese with some seasoning and mixed it until everything was blended together well.

“It looks great,” she said, getting up to check on it.

“Why don’t you grab some bowls,” he said. “I cut everything small enough to eat with spoons.”

She laughed. “I like how efficient you are. It’d be messy and hard with a fork and spaghetti with those small vegetables.”

“I learned that the hard way too,” he said.

Laurel pulled down two bowls and got the spoons out and they filled up, then took their drinks to the kitchen table she’d been sitting at.

“I’ve got some French bread if you want it. I didn’t think of that, but I picked it up yesterday.”

“I always have bread with it but didn’t want to go too carb-heavy on you.”

She laughed at him. True laughter. “Ah, you had one of them as an ex.”

“Guilty,” he said.

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