Chapter Eight #2
Nate stepped into the walk-in pantry to assess what Luna and Miley considered food.
Canned soups, tomatoes, and several types of beans.
Dried pasta and jars of tomato-based sauces.
There were several boxes of protein bars and containers of protein powders.
In the refrigerator was a package of chicken breasts, which Nate considered pay dirt.
Several different varieties of greens, from rainbow chard to spinach.
All of which he assumed made it into the blender with the powder and ended up being someone’s meal.
Onions, tomatoes, lemon juice . . . yeah, he was set.
Nate removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.
When Miley walked into the kitchen Nate already had the chicken seasoned and set aside, and he was attempting to cut up the vegetables he needed.
Luna needed new knives. At first, he thought maybe they just needed a good sharpening. With further inspection he noticed the chips and wear on the cheap knives and determined that they were better off in the trash.
“Wow,” Miley said, looking at the countertop.
“I hope you two don’t mind.”
She slid onto a chair next to the island. “Anyone who minds when someone is cooking for them needs to have a brain scan.”
Nate smiled and kept chopping. “What do you do in the medical field?”
“ER nurse.”
“That must be intense.”
“It has its moments.”
Nate looked up. “Do you like it?”
Miley nodded. “I like how it changes every day. Every hour at times. I could do without the hospital bureaucracy.”
“Nobody likes bureaucracy. Especially if the rules that are being made are done by people who don’t do the job.”
“Is that why you left your federal job?” Miley asked.
“Partly.”
Luna stepped into the kitchen fresh from the shower.
The edges of her hair were wet, her face void of makeup. But most of all, she appeared less stressed.
“Feel better?” Nate asked.
She nodded. “I do.”
“Good.” He turned back to the refrigerator and removed the tiny jar of minced garlic.
“When you said you’d make dinner, I didn’t think it would look like this,” Luna said.
Nate kept moving as they talked. “How do you make dinner?”
“We have a four-ingredient cookbook,” Miley offered.
“Please tell me that doesn’t include spices.”
Luna and Miley looked at each other, giving Nate his answer.
“Did your mother teach you to cook?” Miley asked.
Nate nodded and kept moving. “She laid the foundation. I worked my way through college in a kitchen.”
“As a chef?” Luna asked.
“Dishwasher.”
The women laughed.
“Eventually I was promoted to salads. And when there was no one else, the chef barked orders at me.”
“Are we talking Chef Ramsay barking?”
Nate paused long enough to put the chicken in the oven.
“I didn’t get paid enough to put up with that.
I did learn a lot, though. In my senior year, my grandfather had a stroke from what the doctor said was decades filled with a diet of microwave meals and energy bars.
I decided I was better off embracing the kitchen to avoid a nursing home when I’m old. ”
“If it wasn’t for energy bars on the days I work, I wouldn’t eat,” Miley admitted.
“My grandmother lived on martinis and sin.”
Nate glanced at Luna. “The grandmother that owned this house?”
“Yeah.”
“Speaking of alcohol. Anyone want some wine?” Miley was already out of her chair.
“God yes,” Luna said.
“Nate?”
“Sure.” Though he’d keep it to one. Not that he expected any trouble. But overdrinking defeated the purpose of him staying over.
“Your grandmother sounded like a character.”
“You have no idea.”
“Luna’s grandmother was a riot,” Miley said. “Did you ever figure out how many husbands she went through?”
“I don’t even think my mother knows the answer to that. I counted six of them.”
Nate stopped moving, his eyes snagged Luna’s. “Six?”
She nodded. “Harper thinks it’s seven, eight if you count the fact that Nana married her baby daddy twice.”
Nate thought those kinds of statistics only happened in the movies. “How long did her marriages last?”
“I don’t know, most of them happened when I was a kid. Every time we ended up in this house there was a new one.”
Miley sat a glass of red in front of Luna, and another for Nate.
“Thank you.” Red with chicken wasn’t ideal, but he always believed that you should drink what you liked.
Nate turned back to Luna. “What do you mean ‘ended up in this house’?”
Miley snorted. “How much time do you have?”
“All night.”
Luna sighed. “My mom took a page out of Nana’s playbook. Except Mom couldn’t keep her own roof over her head when her marriages or relationships fell apart. And they always fell apart.”
Nate couldn’t tell if that was sadness he heard in her voice, or complacency.
“How many times was she married?” he asked.
“Three . . . well, maybe four. Harper’s dad, my dad, and . . . Paul. I don’t know if she’s married anyone since.” Luna stared into her wine.
“Wait . . . she’s still alive?”
“Yeah.”
Miley watched her friend and stayed quiet.
There was a hell of a lot more to this story. “I assumed since you’re living in this house that she’d passed.”
“No.” Luna sipped her wine. “Nana left the house to us. Harper, Ash, and me. She knew that Mom would lose it. And while Nana had her faults, this house was always a safe haven for us. She wanted to assure that after her death.”
It took everything in him to not pry about Luna’s mother. But there was a darkness in talking about her that Nate wanted to dispel. Luna had had a hard enough day.
“Now I understand why your brother has a room here.”
A small smile lifted the corners of Luna’s mouth. “He doesn’t come around very often. The occasional weekend. Holidays. Harper’s room is now the guest room. She’s married, has her own place.”
The smell of the chicken told him he needed to finish the sides.
“Tell me more about Nana.”
Luna and Miley both smiled and launched into one of many stories.