Page 8 of A Recipe Called Home

“Sure, let’s do it. On one condition, though. I don’t want an overly pushy sous chef in the kitchen with me,” Jules agreed, winking at her grandma.

“Pff, sous chef, my ass! I haven’t been a sous chef since the early 1950s when I started working at my dad’s restaurant in Chicago.” Grandma Rosa laughed, tossing her hand over her shoulder. They stayed huddled together on the couch until the movie finished and their eyes were heavy with sleep.

The next morning, as they were drinking their coffee, Grandma Rosa told Jules where to find the recipe box. It was hidden in the back of the cupboard pantry, behind cans of tomato sauce and olives that might have been older than her. The shoe-box-sized tin was rusty at the hinges with a 1970s orange and green floral pattern around the outside. Inside, dozens of yellowing index cards containing recipes written in her grandma’s handwriting were stacked together. Jules wondered when she started saving these. She’d never seen or heard of this box before last night, but it had clearly been around long before she was born.

Dusting off the box, Jules sat it on the table between them.

“When did you start collecting recipes? They look ancient,” she asked, flipping through the cards.

“Around the time that your mom went to grade school. I had a lot more time on my hands then, so I started experimenting in the kitchen. Some recipes were better than others, but your grandpa Lou loved it. He got to try different dishes almost every night for five years straight,” she told Jules with a half chuckle.

Jules didn’t realize that the recipes in the tin were originals and not recipes she copied down from other places. She was impressed. She knew her grandma loved to cook, but never considered Rosa might have been a woman with a serious passion, not just a housewife who knew her way around the kitchen.

“Why did you stop?” she asked.

“It wasn’t just one thing, I guess. Life got harder. Your mom grew into an angsty teenager who needed more attention. For a long time, it reminded me of a dream that never came true, so I stopped. Sometimes what you love can also make you deeply unhappy with yourself.”

Jules knew that feeling. Lately, writing made her unhappy. In college, she felt drawn to it because it allowed her to create within a structured system. The rules of language made her feel grounded and in control. Not like she was floating in an abyss of possibilities that she’d never find her way through, like many other creative endeavors she never mastered. But now, she often felt too boxed in by it. Maybe she wasn’t good enough or didn’t have enough passion for writing to fill an entire career.

“So why now? Why do you want to revisit them?” Jules asked, referencing the recipes in the box.

“A lot of time has passed since then and I can’t quite remember the woman I was when I made them. I’d like to revisit her again."

Chapter 4

BeforeJulescouldcookanother thing in this kitchen, the sink would have to be fixed. It would drive her crazy knowing it was still leaking if she spent any more time in here than she already had.

Determined to do it herself, she climbed underneath, armed with YouTube, and tinkered around with the tools she bought yesterday.

It only took a few minutes to realize she might be in over her head. After tightening and loosening various nobs and screw-y looking parts on the pipe, she took a quick break to wipe off the beads of sweat forming on her forehead and to see if she’d made it any better. Turning the faucet back on, Jules held her breath. To her horror, water spurted out of the pipe in all directions. She’d made it worse. A lot worse.

“Fuck,” she shouted. Jules always had a bit of a potty mouth on her. She rushed to turn it off and clean up the mess before grabbing the car keys to head back to the hardware store. Maybe this time, they could recommend a good plumber.

As she turned into the parking lot in front of Nicholson’s, Jules was forced to maneuver her car around a large white pickup truck, annoyed that someone thought they were special enough to take up two prime parking spaces with their obnoxious vehicle. You’d never see a pickup truck in D.C. unless it was a delivery vehicle. Most people didn’t even own cars, let alone a monstrosity that large.

Shaking her head, she walked past the truck and stepped inside, making the doorbell jingle, which must have been broken yesterday. This time, two employees greeted her wearing colored vests, eager to be saved from the afternoon boredom.

The older of the two men led her back to the plumbing section, determined to help her fix the sink without calling a plumber. Apparently, he had a thing against plumbers and handymen, going on and on about how anyone with more than two brain cells could figure out how to take care of their home. Unfortunately for him, Jules wasn’t one of them; she’d never owned a home. Of all the places she’d lived since high school, they were all rentals, so she always had a landlord for these sorts of issues. Jules regretted her decision to come back instead of admitting defeat and finding a professional online.

Just as they rounded the corner of the paint aisle into plumbing, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stick up. A deep, low voice reverberated through the store, one she’d heard just yesterday and had featured heavily in her dreams last night.

Miles was here, of all places. She knew Riverbend was small, butthissmall? Come on.

Jules slowed her pace behind the Nicholson’s employee to buy some time. Should she leave? Turn around and hop back in her car? Her mind said to run, but her body moved towards his voice.

Sure enough, there he stood, phone up to his ear in the middle of the plumbing aisle.

“Yeah, I’ll come by later tonight,” she heard him say into the phone before hanging up.

“Miles, back so soon? Weren’t you here this morning?” the Nicholson’s employee asked as they walked up.

Jules stood behind the guy, hoping Miles wouldn’t see her, but not trying to look suspicious either.Be casual, she thought to herself.Don’t make this weird.

“Hey, Mike. Renovating this house will be the death of me and my wallet,” he responded, grabbing a package of unrecognizable white plastic parts that hung in front of him. “I need some more O-rings for the bathroom sink installation.”

When he turned around to leave, she caught sight of his face under his battered blue ball cap. He looked tired, yet still as handsome as yesterday. He took a step forward to leave and spotted her, cracking a crooked smile that shot a sharp pang straight to Jules’ heart. The corners of his eyes creased in a way that they hadn’t years ago, and it made him even more attractive.

Why was her body reacting like this? She needed to get herself under control; she wasn’t a lovesick teenager anymore. She was a goddamn grown woman.

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