Chapter 12 Kari
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. Just more.
“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 dark black 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?”
I paused, my hands in mid-roll. “Um, I’m not sure, Mrs.—I mean, Fern,” I stuttered. “We aren’t engaged or anything.” Suddenly, I realized what she probably thought of me. Mrs. Quinn was a traditional southern woman.
I must look like a hussy!
“I know that probably looks bad,” I gushed, “but—”
“Oh, Kari,” she laughed, stirring a pot on the stove.
“I might be old but I understand how things work nowadays. I might not be happy about the order of things,” she said, casting a quick glance at me over her shoulder, “but there could be worse things happening to my children than living with someone they’re crazy about.
This family has experienced some of those things and it puts things in perspective for ya. ”
She laughed. “Marriage is a crazy thing and it’s scary as all get out. When I married John, I didn’t know what I was in for. I thought it would be peachy keen, but it wasn’t. It’s a lot of work and a lot of compromisin’. That’s a fact with my hand up.”
I smiled, watching her work her way through her kitchen.
“There are a lot of men that look real nice on the outside. They’re a dime a dozen.
But,” she said, turning to look at me, “finding one that’s just as nice on the inside is the real trick.
And I might be partial and all, but Max is probably better on the inside than he is on the outside.
I say that knowin’ just how handsome he is. ”
I couldn’t help but return her smile. “I know. Max is the best man I’ve ever met.”
“He better be or I’ll kick his behind,” she said, narrowing her eyes for effect. She shook her head and turned back to the stove. “Look at me tryin’ to sell my son to you. I’ve turned into the old woman mettlin’ in my son’s business.”
“What are ya mettlin’ in?”
I turned to see Max walking in the room, John right behind him, chairs in hand.
John Quinn was gorgeous for an older man.
He had an olive complexion like Max and dark, shiny hair.
His eyes were a whiskey color, his face lined in the way a man’s face would be from years of work, laughs, and maybe a cigar or two.
His voice was deep, his southern twang the most pronounced out of all the Quinn’s.
He was easygoing and kind and we got along from the start.
“Where do you want these?” John asked, holding the chairs out to his side.
“Over there,” Fern pointed towards the fireplace with a wooden spoon.
I unrolled the strips like I’d seen Fern do before. Max came up behind me and kissed the top of my head. “I like seein’ you in the kitchen making noodles,” he whispered in my ear. “It turns me on.”
I swatted at his leg, leaving a floured handprint on his jeans.
“Maxwell Jacob, where’s my kiss?” Fern asked, pointing at her cheek. Max let go of me and walked to his mother. He kissed her on the cheek and she pulled him into a hug. “Good to see you, son. You okay?”
“Yeah,” he said, pulling back and smiling at his mother. “Things are good.”
“Good. Get yourself a glass of tea and sit over there with your lady while we finish up.”
Max opened the refrigerator and poured two glasses of tea. He placed one beside me, in a puddle of flour, and sat at an empty seat. Laughter echoed off the walls of the house, followed by the sound of the front door shutting.
“Sounds like trouble,” John muttered, sitting at the table and winking at me. I tried to smile, but it was probably more of a grimace.
I broke a few more eggs in the bowl and began to beat them. As I recognized the voices, I whisked harder.
“Hey, Ma!” Brielle bounced in the kitchen.
“Hi, Mama Fern!”
I didn’t even look up. I halfway expected Samantha to show up; she attended the Quinn family dinners regularly. But there was a part of me that hoped she wouldn’t. I didn’t really know why, but I just wanted some space from her. Now that Max was working with her, I just felt territorial in a way.
I tossed a handful of flour in the bowl and stirred.
“Hi, Maxie,” Brielle said cheerfully, her long black hair curled into beautiful waves.
“Hey, Bri,” he said, pulling out a chair next to me. “Hi, Sam.”
“Hey, Max.” Her voice was softer than I cared to acknowledge. I looked up to Max and his eyes were on me. He gave me a wink reminiscent of the one his father had just given me.
“Hi, Kari. Good to see you,” Sam said sweetly.
“You, too, Samantha.” I gave myself a pat on the back for not sounding as bitchy as I felt.
I knew feeling that way wasn’t warranted, but I couldn’t help it.
Deep down, I knew I should feel sorry for her after all the things she’d gone through.
I should understand and appreciate Max’s compassion for her.
But I’m only human.
“Girls, wash your hands and start peeling the potatoes, please,” Fern ordered from across the room.
I tossed the dough on the counter and began rolling it out. I turned the ball into a flat sheet and added some flour to the top and started rolling it into a log. Brielle and Sam both walked past and kissed John on the cheek.
“You girls better get to peelin’ the potatoes. I’m starving,” he joked, opening a newspaper.
Sam swatted his shoulder and made her way into the kitchen. “Need a glass of tea, John?”
“No, I’m good, thanks.”
“Max?” she asked, that tone back in her voice. “Need some tea?”
“Nah, I just got a glass for me and one for Kari,” he said.
I looked up and Max was watching me, amused. I knew he was thinking I was acting jealous and I was. I also knew he was thinking it was ridiculous for me to act that way and it was.
The fact that he knew what I was thinking embarrassed me, causing my cheeks to flush. I looked away and heard him chuckle.
“You really want Sam peeling potatoes?” Brielle asked. “You know she takes half the potato with the peel. That’s why you usually have her make the noodles.”
“I’m teaching Kari how to make them. She’s gonna be a Quinn, so she has to learn sometime,” Fern said, stirring the big pot on the stove.
“What?” Brielle shrieked, causing me to look up at her. She looked from me, to Max, and back to me again. Her eyes narrowed. “You’re engaged?”
“Not yet,” Max said, his voice rough as he peered across the room at his sister.
Brielle clutched a hand across her chest. “Thank God,” she muttered.
“Brielle Amanda, where are your manners?” Fern said, sitting the spoon down and putting a hand on her hip. She glared at her daughter. “Don’t you come into this house and act like you’ve been raised in a barn!”
My cheeks flushed a brighter shade of red and I looked down at the table, not sure what was going on.
“Oh, Mama. I’m sorry. It’s just...”
“Don’t apologize to me, young lady. Apologize to—” Fern began, but Max cut her off.
“Pardon the interruption.” He turned his gaze slowly to his sister. “If you have something you wanna say to me, we can have that conversation privately. But you won’t disrespect Kari in front of me. Do ya understand?”
The room went quiet and I wanted to disappear. If there was some button to hit to make a big hole open in the floor and let me drop through, I would’ve pushed it. Hard.
“You should apologize, Bri,” Sam said smoothly.
“You’re kidding me,” Bri uttered, sending a stern look at her friend.
Sam just watched her. Bri seemed to get the message loud and clear.
With a long sigh, she sat down the potato she was holding.
“Max, I’m sorry. Kari,” she paused, taking a deep breath, “please forgive me. I didn’t mean that to come out the way it did.
I didn’t mean to cause you any disrespect.
Max has just never been that serious about anyone before. I was caught off guard.”
I looked up at Max. His jaw was working overtime, his eyes blazing.
I knew he wasn’t happy and that he would probably be calling Brielle over this later.
I knew she didn’t love me, that wasn’t a surprise.
Yes, I was caught a little off-guard at her outburst, but at the end of the day, she was right. Max shouldn’t be marrying me.
“No worries, Brielle,” I said, my eyes never leaving Max’s. He didn’t respond to his sister. The room stayed quiet for a minute until John cleared his throat.
“Now that is over, how close are we to eatin’?”
“We’ll get the potatoes boiling as soon as the girls get them peeled and diced. Then we’ll put the noodles in the broth.” Fern walked towards me. “How ya doing on them, Kari?”
“Good, I think.”
She rested her hand on my shoulder. “Those look perfect, hon. You’re a natural.” She squeezed my shoulder before letting it go. “You picked a good one, Maxwell. She’s got all the trademarks for a good wife. She’s beautiful, has a natural cooking ability, and she’s loyal. I can see it in her eyes.”
Max grinned at me, trying not to laugh. I rolled my eyes.
“She’ll be a good mama to my grandbabies.”
My breath hitched in my throat and I could feel my eyes go wide.
“Don’t be rushing things now,” Max said, his eyes still on me. I knew the look he was giving me was his way of trying to calm me down, but it wasn’t really working. “You’re gonna scare her off.”
“It’s a natural way for a woman of my age to think. My arms need a grandbaby in them and you’re my oldest and clearly in love with that young lady. What do you want me to think?”
I looked up to see Brielle shooting daggers at me. She turned her attention back to the potatoes. “Is your date tonight, Sam?”
“Yeah,” she said.
“Where are you meeting him?”
“He’s taking me to Bobe’s. It should be fun. I’m excited.”
“A new man?” Fern asked, putting the cubed potatoes into a colander and rinsing them off. “Where did you meet him?”
Sam laughed. “I met him at a bar, actually.”
Fern blanched, causing Sam to laugh even harder. “Don’t worry, Mama Fern. He’s really nice and really cute.”
“Make sure you tell someone where you’re going and when you leave.” She dumped the potatoes into the boiling water on the stove. “It’s not like the old days when you met someone at a reputable place.”
“It’s a bar, not an AA meeting!” Sam exclaimed.
“Just be careful,” Fern said, shaking her head. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Sam looked over her shoulder at Max and then back to Brielle. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”