Page 4 of When She's Stuffed
"There's a process," she tells me cheerfully. "First, we have to get the giblets."
Giblet? I am not familiar with this term. I watch as she spread's the thing's naked legs. Before I realize what she is doing, Pamela shoves her entire fist into the thing's arse.
A horrified shout escapes me.
CHAPTER
FOUR
PAMELA
I am a terrible person.Terrible.
Because I might be manhandling this poor bird just to see Toghar's reaction. He makes an unholy sound when I plumb the internal cavity, looking for the giblets and organs, and his mouth falls open as I pull my hand free. He stares at me with aghast horror, and I can't help it—I burst into giggles. "Oh god, you should see your face."
He chuckles, just a little. "For a moment, you had me going. I thought you really were going to do something with that...thing's innards."
Oh dear. I pause, putting the dripping bits into a bowl. "Now's the time I should probably tell you that I'm going to make a gravy out of them."
He makes a horrified sound again, then clears his throat. "I, uh, I am certain it will be quite delicious in your hands."
"You're sweet." Maybe I'll wait a bit to explain to him where the stuffing goes.
"Tell me what I can do to help you." He puts on a brave face, but I can tell he's getting nauseated by the sight of the poorturkey. Well, not really a turkey. I'm not sure what kind of bird it is, just that it's one that isn't intelligent enough to be anything but someone's dinner.
I knew Toghar was vegetarian, but I had no idea he would be so distracted by some dead quasi-turkey on the counter. "How do you feel about pie?"
"I feel very, very good about pie."
TOGHAR
Pamela has a kind heart. It's why she sets me to making the pies instead of whatever she's doing to that poor carcass. I try not to watch, keeping my focus on the dough I'm pressing into the pie tins, using a tined instrument to form a pattern on the edge of the pan. I want to gaze at Pamela as she works and confess all my feelings to her. To tell her that I admire her and want to touch her, not as a friend but as a lover.
But when she shoves her hand in the animal's backside, I get distracted every time. Perhaps food preparation is not the time or place to confess my adoration. Perhaps I need to wait until things are less...busy.
I glance over at her and am horrified to see that she is shoving fistfuls of some crumbly creation into the poor corpse. My thighs tighten and my ass puckers reflexively.
Perhaps I'll wait until later to discuss personal matters.
Hours later, everyone is fed and happy, and I could not be in love with Pamela more. She worked tirelessly all day to craft an enormous meal—the roasted bird overflowing with the breadmash, buttered tubers and other veg, sweet pies, steaming rolls, stuffed eggs, several dishes of something she calls a casserole, and a tart fruit jelly that goes atop all of it. The dining table practically creaks with the weight of the meal, and I can tell by the teary delight on Lady va'Rin's face that this meal of thanks has made her very happy indeed. She hugs Pamela repeatedly, exclaiming her joy. Pamela is equally emotional, wiping at her wet cheeks.
I watch from afar at my post guarding the door, but I can feel their joy in the air, and it pleases me to see Pamela's work so appreciated.
The family eats, and even though there are three children, Lord va'Rin and his lady, they only make a very small dent in the mountain of food. This, it seems, is part of the holiday, because they are quite elated about leftovers as well. A bone from the bird's carcass is dug out and snapped in half by the children, which seems a rather bloodthirsty sort of ritual, but I long ago accepted that humans have strange customs, and I try not to judge it too much.
Once the family is done eating, the dishes are to be cleared, and I assist with that, simply because I cannot abide standing by the door and doing nothing while Pamela works so hard. She fusses at me but lets me help, and we take cart after cart of delicious, prepared (and barely eaten) food back to the kitchen.
"Are you pleased with your holiday?" I ask as we cover dishes in sheets of plas-film and put them into the refrigeration unit. "Was it everything you wanted?"
"Oh, it's not over yet. Just the family's part is done."
I pause, uncertain of what she means. "There is a second half to this holiday?" Kef, I hope it doesn't involve more bone-breaking and cavity-stuffing. I swallow hard as I heft a heavy pan full of food into the cold storage. "Tell me more."
"I'll just show you. That's easiest." She beams at me, all sweet, flushed cheeks and flour-covered apron. "It'll be ready soon enough. Until then, I should say thank you."
"For?"
Pamela moves to my side and bats at my arm, smiling. "For helping me, of course. You didn't have to, but the extra set of hands was very appreciated."
