Chapter Forty-two Bianca
Chapter Forty-two
Bianca
The smell of sweet potato pies and fresh collard greens drifted in the air.
Bill Withers’s “Lovely Day” floated from the speakers; its feel-good groove filled the house.
In the oven, Abuelita’s Cuban stuffing baked slowly—the sweet plantains, chicharrónes, Cuban mojo, and day-old Cuban bread coming together nicely in the dish.
Bianca had hunted for every ingredient, scouring several markets, but managed to find them all.
Remi’s Creole macaroni and cheese—Grandma Lorraine’s recipe—rested on the countertop, the top of it a perfect golden brown. Its spices filled the kitchen. Grandma Lorraine’s recipe was unwritten but etched in Remi’s memory. She’d helped make that rich and soulful dish plenty of times in Louisiana.
Crema de vie—the Cuban version of eggnog made with sweetened condensed milk, cinnamon, and good rum—chilled in the refrigerator. Those little glasses of tradition would be sipped on throughout the day.
The kitchen was alive, not just with food but with history.
With the roots of two families coming together—Bianca’s and Remi’s.
All filled with love passed down from generation to generation.
They sang the words to “Lovely Day,” loudly, while Mila wrestled with the bird, flipping it over on the cutting board with a grunt, her sleeves already dusted with flour and other seasonings.
She rubbed it down with butter, pressing it into every crevice and sprinkling it with Cajun herbs.
It was her first Butterball turkey and she was determined to get it right.
She removed the stuffing from the oven, set it on top of the stove, and popped in the bird. She smiled to herself, wiped her hands on a towel, and took a step back, proud of her work.
Leo and Harry sat in the living room, beers in hand, eyes locked on the television. They shouted at every key play, groaning at fumbles, cursing penalties, and high-fiving each other after every touchdown. They laughed and talked like old friends, like they hadn’t just met that very day.
When the doorbell rang Zoe hopped down from the kitchen stool, her curls bouncing as she moved. “I’ll get it!” she called, already halfway to the door.
She swung it open to find Paloma on the doorstep, smiling and holding a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc in the air.
“I brought the wine,” she announced.
Behind her stood Bas, wearing an Oakland Raiders jersey, denim shorts, and black slides. He hugged Zoe tightly, flashing an easy smile before stepping inside.
“Hello, everyone,” Paloma said as they entered, her voice bright. “It smells amazing in here.”
Everyone greeted them as they passed through the house, laughter and music filling Bianca’s home. Bas immediately made a beeline for the living room. He quickly settled in with the other men. Paloma drifted toward the kitchen, slipping the wine bottle into Bianca’s hand.
“For the lady of the house.”
“Thank you.” Bianca embraced Paloma. “Make yourself at home. Can I get you something to drink?”
“What is it that you all are drinking?” Paloma asked.
Bianca smiled. “We were all about to have some crema de vie. It’s a Cuban eggnog. Would you like some?”
“I would love some,” Paloma said, taking a seat at the kitchen table next to Remi.
“Glad you made it.” Remi squeezed Paloma’s hand.
“I got it, Aunt B,” Zoe said, grabbing glasses from the shelf and pouring crema de vie into each one.
Bianca called to the living room, “Would you like something to drink, Bas?”
“Nothing, thanks.”
“This is really a beautiful home, Bianca,” Paloma said. “I don’t get up to Bodega Bay much, but I really love the area. And your view is absolutely amazing.”
“Thank you. I love it here.”
The ladies sipped their drinks, gathered in the kitchen, laughing and talking while collards simmered on the stove and the turkey browned in the oven. Dinner would be ready soon, but no one was in a rush. They were all enjoying the moment.
Later, Mila removed the turkey from the oven. It was a beautiful bird—perfectly golden brown. She smiled with pride. “I think we’re ready now,” she said. “Just need someone to carve it.”
“I think your father should do the honors,” Bianca told Mila with a smile.
Bianca remembered the holidays when she and Harry were still married.
Thanksgiving had been festive, family gathered around Abuelita’s table.
Harry would carve the turkey, sleeves rolled up, grinning as he played host. Everyone would tease him about how long it took him, because he was so intent on doing it well, carving each piece with such precision, like a surgeon.
Those times had given her so much joy.
Harry stepped into the kitchen, grinning like he always had, ready to perform surgery on the turkey. Mila handed him the carving knife and fork.
“Here you go, Daddy,” Mila said, then teased, “and remember, we’d like to eat tonight, if possible.”
Laughter filled the kitchen.
“Oh, you got jokes.” He kissed Mila’s forehead. “Watch and learn, baby girl. Watch and learn.”
Mila hadn’t stopped smiling since she learned her parents were on the verge of reconciling. Bianca noticed the quiet joy that her daughter undoubtedly felt. She felt it too.
After Harry carved the turkey the women instinctively worked together to transfer food into serving dishes and place them on the kitchen island.
Everyone gathered in the kitchen, shoulder to shoulder.
Remi slid her hand into Leo’s, their fingers intertwined.
Bas stood between his mother and Zoe, arms resting casually around their shoulders.
Harry wrapped one arm around Mila’s shoulders and held tightly to Bianca’s hand with the other.
Then Remi bowed her head. She prayed.
“Lord,” she began, her voice strong but tender, “we thank you for this food … for this gathering of family. Not family in the biological sense, but family nonetheless. We thank you for everything we’ve been through—all the trials, the healing, the growing—it all made us stronger.
And we thank you for where you’re taking us next.
Bless this food, and all the hands that prepared it. Amen.”
“Amen,” echoed around the room.
Plates were soon piled high, overlapping with music and laughter as people settled into chairs, nooks, and corners of the intimate space.
Bianca stood near the wall, plate in hand, waiting her turn at the island.
She looked around the room, at the people in every corner of the room in her home.
At the love that radiated throughout. She smiled to herself.
Her heart was full. She’d been through so much in a short time, but somehow life had handed her a second chance.
Not that she deserved it, but because grace had shown up unexpectedly. And this time she wouldn’t mess it up.
She reached over and turned up the stereo. Frankie Beverly & Maze’s “Happy Feelin’” rang out, filling the house with soul. The timeless tune completely echoed her mood.
She glanced over at Remi, who gave her a wide smile—a warm one.
Bianca allowed the music to fill her soul, the music resonating deep within her. Her body responded before her mind could catch up.
And she danced, as if it might be her last time. She didn’t know if it would be, but she wasn’t taking any chances.
Life was too short not to.