Page 55 of Vicious Arrangement
He means no duck, sausage or involved steps. His is so good, though, after this, it goes in the oven to slow cook, and then the stew, stripped back to carrot, onions, garlic beans, celery and tomatoes, along with white wine and the white beans and lamb, is served with tiny potatoes, crisp salad greens, and lots of parsley.
I’ve had the traditional version with duck, pork and sausages along with the lamb, but this is better in my humble opinion.
“Delicious,” I say, hugging him. “I even love your non trad version with green beans, shiitake and no meat.”
He laughs, hugging me back and adjusting the flame under the Dutch oven. “I take it you’re hungry.” Then Gramps steps back, pulls me into the light streaming in through his kitchen window to look at me. “You look tired.”
“I’m a nurse.”
He makes a sound.
“I’ve been working long hours.” Which I have.
“If you say so.” Then he turns, picks up the calvados and adds, “and you come bearing gifts.”
“The guy said it was a good vintage…”
“It’s apple brandy, it’s good.” He waves me to a seat, but I ignore him and go get the things from the dining table bringing them in. “You are a good granddaughter!”
His wrinkled, strong hands touch the smoked salt, his favorite brand that brings depth to even simple crusty bread and butter, and some staples he forgot to buy, spices and herbs. Then he eyes the plant with a gleam.
“You’ve been talking about getting it, but you always seem to forget.”
A tiny shadow passes his face. “I’ve been busy with work.”
And that’s all I need to know I’ve gone and done the right thing for him. I’ll make this marriage work, build a friendship,a partnership, whatever Noah needs to eventually do the right thing by Gramps.
I know right now that’s not destroying his business, but if it’s a boost or investment he needs to hold off other, faceless sharks, the monolith companies that circle and eat small ones, spitting out homogenized machines out of home grown businesses that care about the community, then it’s worth it.
A pang hits me as I realize I’ve missed a couple of weeks of our weekend tradition, finding a time anywhere from Friday to Monday to just relax and catch up and be family together.
It’s Gramps, so I’ve had flying visits, a coffee or a quick lunch at his desk, but nothing beats this.
Gramps sits, the oven already preheating for the moment he’ll slide the Dutch oven in and the magic of melding flavors into something special begins.
“I wish I could cook like you,” I say.
He shrugs, toying with his glass as I take a sip. “If you tried you could. You don’t sit still and have the patience for it, which is odd, because I know how good you are with patients, my dear.”
I groan as he laughs at his own joke.
“Gramps.”
“So,” he says, “out with it. I’ve been waiting to hear every single time we’ve spoken or had a couple of minutes together, but all I’ve gotten is an okay, or good from you, Aria. Tell me the truth. Use your words. How are things going with Noah?”
“Gramps!”
But my mock shock doesn’t work on him.
“I’m part of this, you did this for me, and I want to know my girl, my beloved girl’s happy. Are you?”
“That’s… complicated.”
A flash of pain crosses his face. Is Gramps some kind of closet case hopeless romantic? I didn’t know Gram, or rather, I did, but I don’t really remember her, as she died not long after my parents. But… maybe he is.
He never remarried. Oh, years later, I’m sure there were girlfriends—which is as far as I’m allowing myself to even think about—but never someone that seemed to capture his heart. Maybe he still loves Gram. And maybe…
God…
