Page 6 of A Recipe Called Home

“Maybe…” she said with a wink. “I might have heard something about it. I tried to tell you a few months ago, but you cut me off before I could finish.”

“And you didn’t think to warn me before I went to the school today?” she asked them both.

“Honestly, I didn’t think you’d even care,” Winnie said. “You haven’t brought him up in years.”

Rosa only shrugged.

“Well, I’m happy for him,” Jules said in a contrite tone as she gathered the bowls and brought them to the sink to rinse. “I’m glad he didn’t waste his life, after all.”

She was confused, and maybe jealous? Whatever she was feeling, she wanted it to stop. It was hard to pretend that seeing him didn’t rattle her today. For over a decade, she’d worked hard to push that time in her life as far away as possible. She even moved across the country to prove that she could make it on her own, broken heart and all. And now he was back apparently, and all seemed to be forgiven.

Sitting in that cozy kitchen, Jules felt the dormant anger and hurt stir inside. Sure, the rational part of her knew Miles deserved a good life. They were so young when everything happened. But it didn’t change the fact that what he did that night not only ruined his own plans, he’d also destroyed the little trust she had in other people.

“Well, let’s change the subject,” she said. “What’s on the agenda for this week?”

Chapter 3

Withthehousequiet,Winnie gone, and her grandma napping upstairs, Jules sat alone, replaying the night before, the sharp sting of forgetting a recipe she once knew by heart still lingered.

***

“Jules! Let’s whip up some goulash for dinner,” her grandma called up the stairs to where Jules was unpacking her bags.

Jules hadn’t made a fresh meal from scratch in years, and a pang of anxiety flashed through her mind. Her meals mostly consisted of take-out or pasta from a box and a can of tomato sauce. She doubted she’d be able to “whip up” much else.

Jules made her way back to the kitchen but lingered near the table, hoping her grandma would give her a clue to what she needed to make the dish, afraid to admit she couldn’t recall the exact ingredients and steps. Although they’d made it together dozens of times growing up, she wracked her brain to remember. Maybe peppers and some kind of noodle?

Sensing her hesitation, Grandma Rosa told her where to find the ingredients in the pantry and refrigerator.

“I had some groceries delivered before you got here,” she explained. “There’s fresh pasta from John’s Shoppe, too,” her grandma instructed.

John’s Italian Shoppe was a fixture in Riverbend. It had been around since the town first incorporated decades ago. Located in the center of Main Street downtown, it donned an iconic green and white striped awning out front and a few cute wrought-iron tables where people sat to eat fresh gelato in the summer months. Every Saturday morning growing up, her grandma would take Jules there to pick up fresh bread and pasta flour. Boxed pasta just wouldn’t do. Not even on the days when her grandma’s arthritis flared, stiffening her hands.

Jules found the ingredients where Rosa said they’d be, and soon the recipe came back to her in bits and pieces. It had felt good to cook again, especially in the kitchen where she learned how, even if she was a little rusty from being out of practice. Maybe she could teach herself again, dust off her skills while she was home.

In the end, the goulash tasted good, but it wasn’t her grandma’s. Jules swore Grandma Rosa used secret ingredients in her recipes. Nevertheless, they’d both enjoyed the meal. It reminded her of the many hours they used to spend in this kitchen together years ago.

Cooking in this kitchen was home.

***

The previous night’s struggle to make a dish as simple as goulash got under Jules’ skin. Determined to feel useful, she pulled herself back from the memory to the kitchen table where she still sat as the as the afternoon heat seeped in through the cracked windows. She needed to move, to do anything but sit there.

As she stood to rinse out the lunch dishes, she heard a faint drip coming from the sink. Curious, she fiddled with the handle, turning it on and then off again. The dripping didn’t stop. Hoisting herself beneath the sink, Jules found a large bucket catching a steady leak from the seams on the pipes. This would give her something to do, although she had zero idea what the parts were called, or how to fix it, but she wanted to try.How hard could tightening a leaky sink be?

“Damn thing,” Rosa muttered as the front wheel of her walker caught on the kitchen doorway, startling Jules. She hadn’t heard her wake up.

“What are you doing under there?”

“Just looking around,” she said, pushing herself upright and not wanting to elaborate further. Jules knew her grandma would try to talk her out of fixing the sink herself.

“Mm-hmm. Whatever you say,” her grandma murmured as Jules tried to help her to the table only to be waved off. Rosa wasn’t one to admit defeat.

“I’m going to head to the store for some more groceries. Text me if you want anything,” Jules said, grabbing her bag and keys to the Subaru before kissing her grandma and heading out the door.

It was a short drive downtown, one she could maneuver blindfolded. But this time, Jules slowed down as she turned onto Main Street. A lot had changed since she’d last been there.

The Piggly Wiggly was now a Jewel-Osco, the old sandwich joint had turned into a coffee shop boasting planter boxes of colorful flowers, and the Post Office had moved to another shopping center altogether. Thankfully, Nicholson’s hardware store was in the same location it always had been, right next to John’s Italian Shoppe.

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