“Just give it time. They’re on their best behavior because you caught them off guard.”
She continued smiling as she shook her head like she didn’t believe me.
I turned the griddle back on as she moved to stir thebatter she had made and get ready for more pancakes. No one had ever been in this kitchen with me who wasn’t related to me, but somehow it felt natural, comfortable cooking breakfast with her.
Ten minutes later, we had enough pancakes to start serving. I had a large dining room table that had come with the cabin when I moved in. It seated six, but we had seven people, so we grabbed one of my patio chairs from outside and added it to the table to make room for everyone.
Iris and I were the last to sit—by design, so I could avoid my obnoxious family as long as possible.
Don’t get me wrong…I loved my family. I knew they had my back when I needed them, and I would do the same for them, but boundaries were just not something they understood.
“This is delicious,” my mother said. “Where did you learn to cook, Iris?”
“My fairy godmother…Martha Stewart,” Iris responded, and several people chuckled at her joke, including me.
“What was that weird noise that just came out of your mouth?” Rita asked me, looking puzzled. “Did you just attempt to laugh?”
I rolled my eyes at her as I continued to eat my pancakes.
“It’s been a while since I’ve heard you laugh,mijo,” my mom said to me and then turned to Iris. “You’re good for him.”
Jesus, I did not need these two making this more awkward and scaring Iris away.
“I’m glad you like them,” Iris said to them. “Hector didn’t have much in his cupboards, but he did have an oddly large supply of canned pumpkin, so I decided to wing it and go with pumpkin spice pancakes.”
“Hector stocks up on those cans in the fall and keeps them around, hoping my mom will take the hint and make him pumpkin pie year-round since it’s his favorite,” Rita said.
Iris turned to me, a weird look on her face. “You like pumpkin pie?”
“It’s my favorite,” I told her.
Her face transformed into a small smile. “It’s my favorite too,” she said quietly.
Damn. The more I got to know this woman, the more I liked. And my mother was right—these pancakes were incredible.
A small knock on the table came from Dani, obviously trying to get our attention. She looked straight at Iris and signed,“You’ve never made these pancakes before today?”
I relayed the question to Iris and then signed back to Dani when Iris responded, “No, I will follow a recipe for a lot of things, but not usually for stuff like pancakes, soups, and omelets.”
Clearly Dani—who loved to cook—was thoroughly impressed at Iris’s ability to confidently create amazing tasting meals.
“They aren’t always amazing,” Iris shared. “I’ve hadsome really bad ones before. I made a sriracha key lime pie that not only tasted awful, but ended up looking like soup.”
There were several more chuckles from the table, along with other horror stories of things people had made or tasted over the years.
“Does anyone want any more?” Iris asked. “Otherwise, I’ll wrap them up and save the rest.”
“Go ahead, dear. We still have chilaquiles and birthday cake to eat,” my mother replied.
I started to get up from the table to help Iris when my mom stopped me.
“Why don’t you go help your father carry in the rest of the stuff from the car while I help Iris in the kitchen?”
I was about to tell her no because I knew she would just use that as an opportunity to corner Iris, but my sister interrupted.
“Oh, Dani and I can help in the kitchen too,” Rita said and signed, prompting Dani to nod in response. “And JT can help you get the stuff out of the trunk.”
“Let’s go before it gets too hot outside,” my dad said, getting up from the table.
