A few of us exchange glances. We all know it’s ramen, but this is more entertaining. Also, for whatever reason my dad has always pronounced it “ray-men” instead of “rah-men,” and it’s something we’ll never forgive him for.
“What are you talking about?” Hailey asks.
More boxes and cans get pushed around on the shelves. “They used to sell ’em for like a dime apiece . . .”
“Is it a new thing? Maybe we haven’t had it before?” Kelly asks.
“No! Yes! Everybody has eaten this.”
“I don’t think I’ve had it,” Kelly adds, winking at me. She fits in so effortlessly with my family.
“It comes in an orange packet. They have flavors!”
Alexis scrunches her face up. “Flavors?”
Dad groans. “Yeah, like beef, shrimp, chicken, Oriental?—”
“Whoa, whoa!” we all shout in unison.
“Dad, you can’t say that!” Hailey whispers loudly.
I shake my head at him while working the sharpening stone across the blade of my knife.
“No! It’s not—it’s aflavor! It’s on the package!”
“The package of what?” Jordan asks.
Kelly hides her face in her hands to keep from laughing.
“The—the thing! I can’t remember the fucking name!”
“Language,” Camden reminds him, which gives an added layer of humor because he’s usually the one Mom chews out for swearing.
I wash the knife in the sink before gliding it through the fresh mozzarella, dividing the white log into round discs. When we arrived, I noticed a bowl of fresh tomatoes Mom picked from her garden, and a basil plant in the window. Everybody likes caprese, and it’s easy to throw together.
Dad’s face looks like a tomato the more frustrated he becomes.
Camden leans back in his chair, threading his fingers behind his head. “Not ringing any bells, Bruce.”
Dad sticks his head out of the walk-in pantry and mutters, “I know you little shits are messing with me.”
Mom walks into the room. “What is happening?”
“Linda.” He stands in front of her and cups her face in his hands, his eyes pleading. The man is desperate at this point. “What is that stuff we put on top of the salad with the oranges?”
“Ramen?” Linda asks.
“Raymen!” he shouts, raising his hands toward the heavens, as if he just won nine hundred bucks at bingo.
“Way to ruin Christmas,” Alexis whines.
“I can’t find the ramen,” he says. Sure enough, Mom goes into the pantry and exits with it less than a second later.
The smell of summer fills my nostrils as I cut into the plump red and orange tomatoes. I stack them onto the mozzarella rounds and arrange them on a platter, then sprinkle chopped basil and drizzle balsamic vinegar over top.
Everybody swipes up the snacks, and I get started on a new plate of them. They’ll be gone by the time I’m finished, and then I’ll begin on the Mediterranean pasta for dinner.
Kelly comes around to my side of the island and reaches across to steal a tomato, but I snatch up her wrist and pull her into me, then wipe my palms on the towel draped over my shoulder and slide a clean hand up her spine to squeeze the back of her neck a few times. She rises on her tiptoes like she’s about to whisper something to me and I kiss her. In front of everybody, not giving a single fuck.
