TWELVE
KARI
Fern Quinn’s kitchen was large, decorated in roosters, and always smelled of something cooking.
I wonder if this is the way mom’s kitchens are supposed to smell?
I took in a deep breath, the scents of spices, warmth, and grease wrapping around my senses and making me feel relaxed. It was just comforting, inviting, and I loved it...even if coming to Max’s parents’ house made me a nervous wreck.
I’d been to the Quinn’s home a few times. They were always welcoming and kind and considerate, but it wasn’t something I was used to. Everything there was amplified—louder, happier, hungrier, warmer. Justmore.
“Max, can you help your daddy out in the garage? He’s trying to bring in some extra chairs for my Bible Study tomorrow night,” Fern asked as soon as we walked in the door. She had a warm voice, her drawl much heavier than Max’s. Her tone was very motherly, soothing, but there was an undercurrent to it. No one in the house argued with Mama Fern.
“Sure, Mama.” Max walked out of the room, leaving me alone with his mother. She was a pretty lady, late 50’s, maybe. She had darkblack hair like Max and the same kind, green eyes. I’d never seen Fern sit down, even to eat. She was always darting around, refilling drinks, wiping counters, or sweeping the floor. She was the ultimate caretaker, the proverbial mother.
“You wanna help me make noodles?” she asked, wiping her hands on the front of her rooster apron once we were alone.
“I have no idea how to do that, Mrs. Quinn,” I said nervously.
“It’s Fern. Mrs. Quinn was my mother-in-law, God rest her soul. Now get over here and I’ll show you. Any woman gonna marry Max needs to be able to make noodles.”
My heart skipped a beat.
Marry Max? What?
I walked to the table where Fern had a bowl, a dozen eggs, a bag of flour, and a rolling pin set up. She took a handful of flour and tossed it on the table. “Wash your hands first,” she said, nodding to the sink while she arranged the ingredients.
I washed and dried my hands, my gaze falling on an elementary school picture of Max on the window ledge above the sink. I’d seen it a few times and it never failed to make me smile. He had on a yellow button-up shirt, his hair needing a trim. His smile was wide and toothless and he looked to be laughing. He was adorable. I wanted to tickle him, tousle his hair, hear his little laugh.
My stomach cramped, my heart sinking.
I returned to the table with Fern, my mood tempered by my wayward thoughts.
“All you have to do is break some eggs in the bowl. Beat them a bit and then throw in some flour. Mix it ‘til you can pick it up and it sticks together but not to your hands,” she instructed me. “Sit down here.”
I took a seat. “You make it sound so easy,” I said, my voice shaking a bit. Food was serious business to the Quinn’s and noodles were sort of the Holy Grail. A quick way to the bad side of Max’s parents would be messing up their noodles. “Are you sure you don’t wanna do this?”
“Kari,” she said with a warm smile. “You can do this. I know you don’t cook a lot, but I’m gonna teach you everything you need to know. Now crack some eggs. Start with three.”
I cracked three eggs in the bowl and beat them with the fork. I added some flour and mixed it up. “Like this?”
“Mm hmm,” she said. “Add a bit more. Ya don’t want it sticky.”
I tossed in some more and looked up. She was watching me closely. “You’re doin’ great, hon.”
I stuck the fork in to mix it up and a spray of flour dusted everything around me. “I’m sorry,” I said, waving my hand in front of my face. “I’m just a little nervous.”
Fern chuckled and sat in a chair, crossing her arms in front of her. “There’s nothing to be nervous about.” She watched me blend the flour in. “Now pick that up and sit it in the middle of the flour I have on the table.” After I did that, she said, “Add some flour to the top of it and then roll it out.”
I did as I was told.
“Max said that you moved in with him.” It was more of a statement than a question. Fern was quiet for a moment, the look in her eyes telling me she was thinking of something else. She started to get up. “You make him happy. That makes me happy.”
I blushed, looking away. “He makes me happy, Mrs. Quinn.”
“It’s Fern, Kari.” She stood up. “Roll that up, jelly-roll style. Then slice it into 1/8” strips or so.”
She walked towards the stove. “When do you think y’all will get married?”
