Page 16 of A Recipe Called Home

Cooking in this kitchen again felt rhythmic and familiar. Like riding a bike again after forgetting it in the garage for a long time. She found herself floating around easily, following her grandma’s instructions but also knowing instinctively what to do next with a sense of control that intoxicated her. Tonight, time seemed to bend and slide by without either of them noticing.

After what felt like only mere minutes, Jules looked up at the kitchen door and was startled to see Miles standing there, calmly watching them cook. Flustered at the reminder he was in the house, Jules burned her wrist on the large pot of boiling gnocchi, cursing loudly.How long had he been standing there?

“You ok?” Miles rushed over to check.

She shooed him away, more concerned with not over cooking her gnocchi, which would explode if they were left in the hot water too long. Without asking, he grabbed plates from the cupboard and started setting the table. He still knew where everything was, as he’d spent countless hours in her grandma’s kitchen as a teenager. It both irked Jules and warmed her heart.

Miles had moved to Riverbend from Chicago at the start of his freshman year. The state had sent him to live with his aunt and her kids since his own mother was in and out of rehab and couldn’t hold down a steady job, let alone afford to house them both.

Although not ideal, it was the best of his two options: move in with his aunt or go into the foster care system. Like Jules, he’d never met his father. At least his aunt had agreed to take him on so he could stay in one place for high school, and Miles was close with his cousin Ricky. But after meeting Jules in their freshman year, he spent most of his time at Jules' grandparents' house, which was just down the road from his aunt’s. It all seemed to work out right up until everything changed on prom night.

At the dining table, the three of them ate in silence for a few moments, enjoying the rustic yet delectable food. Jules knew she’d done well as she watched Miles and her grandma relish the ritual of breaking bread together. She loved that feeling, the way good food could make people pause and forget their day for a few pleasurable minutes at the table while satisfying the need to nourish their bodies. It felt primal and natural.

Forgetting the awkward tension from before, the conversation eventually flowed freely from Miles’ home renovation and the house garden that needed serious attention to the newest true crime podcast Jules was binging. Laughter rose through the kitchen window, punctuating the warm evening for anyone who might walk past. For the first time in a while, Jules could feel her walls coming down, something eroding away the tough exterior she’d built over the past decade.

Jules ventured into more personal territory. “How’s your cousin, Ricky?” she asked. Immediately, the air in the room shifted.

“Oh, you know. He’s Ricky,” replied Miles, avoiding eye contact as he swirled his food around on the plate.

Ricky had been in and out of trouble throughout high school, but Jules had hoped he’d matured within the past decade and gotten his life together. Apparently not. Grandma Rosa, who’d been animated all throughout dinner, was suddenly silent, busying herself with refilling her wine glass.

Weird, Jules thought, but decided to not linger on the subject, quickly pivoting the conversation towards the marching band and their next home game.

After they had washed up and put the leftovers in takeaway containers to take to The Landing, Miles offered to go with her to help carry everything inside. Rosa gave Jules an enthusiastic shake of her head, and Jules accepted his offer.

They loaded the containers into his truck and started the quick ten-minute drive to the retirement home at the edge of town, riding in silence as the city streets and sidewalks gave way to plowed cornfields and long stretches of farmland. The air smelled like summer, sweet and thick but with that hint of manure all Midwest towns had. Normally, Jules didn’t like driving with the windows down because it blew her hair into her eyes, but she’d slicked her hair back into a bun at the nape of her neck while in the kitchen, so the breeze was nice on her face. Her feet ached slightly from all the cooking, but she felt the contentment that came with relaxing after a long day of hard work.

“It’s been a while since you were last back,” Miles said, more as a statement than a question.

Elbow propped in the open window, Jules confirmed, “Not since Grandpa Lou’s funeral two years ago.”

“I’m so sorry, Jules. I meant to say that the other night. He was a good man, and I know you two were close.”

“Thanks. We were.”

“Why haven’t you been back since? Two years is a long time.”

Hesitating, not sure if she should tell Miles the full truth about the visit with Luke, she replied softly, “It was a hard trip for many reasons. I guess I’ve just been trying to forget about it.”

The cab of Mile’s truck fell back into silence for a moment before she added, “My ex-fiancé, Luke, came with me. Seeing him here, around my family, made me realize some things about him and we broke up as soon as we got back to D.C.”

“That sounds rough,” was all Miles said, leaving space for her to continue or change the subject.

Jules hadn’t talked about what really happened to anyone. Just gave the simple explanation that they weren’t right for each other, which was the truth. But it was more than that, and she didn’t know how to put it into words.

“It was, but I’m glad it happened before we actually tied the knot. Saved me many unhappy years and a lot of money.”

“Even so, I’m sure it still hurt.”

“It did, especially when I realized at the funeral I didn’t want him there. It sounds awful, but I had a moment when I looked at him and all I could think was, ‘You don’t belong here.’ It’s hard to explain. I don’t really understand it myself, but I just knew it wasn’t right." She turned towards him, eyes heavy and cast down. “Maybe Grandpa Lou was trying to warn me from the beyond. That’d be just like him to do.”

Miles chuckled and continued driving until they pulled into the circular drive of the retirement home. Grandma Rosa must have called ahead because Val was waiting outside to greet them.

“You don’t know how happy you’re about to make these ladies on their bridge night,” joked Val, looking at the food as Jules and Miles carried it into the clubhouse.

She was right, it was bridge night at The Landing and a full table of women wearing their Sunday best rowdily clapped as they set the food down on a nearby buffet.

“I’ll be back sometime this week with more,” Jules promised Val as she walked them back out.

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