Page 24 of You Were Invited
What I’d give for a fresh bell pepper or an onion, but beggars can’t be choosers.
Annie had become the cook after her mother had left, whether or not her father was sober enough to sit down at the dinner table to eat with her. And at the end of a long school day, she’d often worked on her homework with cooking shows playing in the background.
Her father hadn’t seemed to care what she watched, but occasionally he’d wander through the living room and sit down in his favorite chair to see a recipe through to the end. He’d utter an “Ugh,” or a “Huh...” as he watched, sipping on his beers.
If she never had to eat boxed mac n cheese or hamburger helper again, she’d be thrilled. Even the chili she was cooking would have been too complex for her dad.
However, when he’d disappeared to go drink at Lickety Splits, she’d taken the opportunity to experiment with recipes she’d copied down, just to have something different to eat. When she’d gotten older, she’d picked up ingredients from the store herself, paid for with babysitting money. She’d even considered going to cooking school.
But,oof, the cost.
Way too daunting.
Plus, cooking on her father’s part-time, one-income salary made her worry that her homely palate would fall short and attract mockery in a high-class culinary setting.
Her true gift for writing was what had—and still would—carry her through.
“Miss Annie, now that all that deadweight is gone, why not just go to cooking school?” Serene Hallowbrew piped up, smiling. She reached out to pet Airen the crow. “Nobody’s in your way now.”
Annie sighed.I wouldn’t consider Dad or Chris ‘dead weight,’she thought back at the imaginary fae.I’m finally getting ahead with my writing. “Finally,” she muttered under her breath.And I do need a change, but the last thing I need is a new school loan and hours of unpaid homework. God, the last thing I want is to be in debt up to my eyeballs... Dad didn’t pay a cent. And Mom barely knows what I have a degree in…“It’s not practical,” she muttered out loud.
Serene shrugged. “It’s your life.”
The soup simmered for an hour, filling the cabin with the savory aroma of tomatoes and spices. Annie frequently checked on it, nervous for the soup to turn out perfect. When the cooking timer beeped, she rushed over and dipped her spoon into the red brew, gently blowing on it. Steam fogged her glasses. Her eyes widened in surprise. The flavors were comforting and warm. But there was something… missing. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
What remained of the paprika— and anything else remotely spicy– had been used up. She frantically dug around, shuffling the tins and jars. Just when she was about to give up hope, her hand brushed aside a jar to reveal the powdered garlic that was tucked away in the back corner of the cabinet. She let out a triumphant, “Yes!”
Adding plenty of garlic to the pot, she let the soup simmer a bit longer before she scooped some into her bowl with some crackers. She also lit a few candles around the room, just as Molly had suggested. The warm lights shimmered on the surface of her meal. Taking her first bite, she couldn’t help but close her eyes in bliss.
Aside from the pie from No Wait Diner, it was truly the best thing she'd tasted in weeks.
ten
Bright morning sunlight stirred Julian from his easy chair. Normally grateful for such a greeting, today the light exacerbated the jackhammer-of-a-migraine pulsing away behind his right eye. It reminded him of past mornings, that in old age, dementia thankfully would rob from his mind– like a thief in the night taking off with a grungy, old curbside couch.
He checked his notifications and saw that the skis had sold. The seller had forgotten to remove the listing. Sighing, he pressed a jelly ice pack to his forehead, climbed the stairs to his bedroom, and fell into bed.
It was early afternoon when he awoke to a knock at his door. He listened with one eye open. Two more sets of raps echoed downstairs; he hadn’t dreamed up his visitor.
At the door stood Annie, a smile on her face.
“Hi.”
“What’s up?” He coughed to clear the grogginess from his throat. The morning sunlight had given way to stormy skies.
Her smile faded a little. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” She turned to leave. “I’ll come back later.”
“No, you’re not bothering me.” Even if he hadn’t been so lucky to sleep off his headache, he wouldn’t pass up the chance to visit with a pretty girl. He raised a brow. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah… I was wondering… Is your offer for firewood still good?”
“Twenty-four-seven, three-sixty-five.. Sometimes three-sixty-six.”
She giggled. “Well… My friends– they’d like to Venmo you whatever you think is appropriate for a cord of wood.”
“Right on.” When was the last time he’d used Venmo? He scratched his head. “I got plenty of logs split.”
“Good!” Annie clasped her hands. “When should we start? But, really, I’m not bothering you, am I?”
