Chapter 19
As the morning light brightened my bedroom, I lay there, cocooned in the soft sheets, pondering the direction my life had taken.
It’s funny how life can change in a second.
An accident, a well-meaning word spoken, an overheated oven, a computer’s calculation, a social media algorithm—all these can impact the trajectory of someone’s life, without any one person to blame.
The word blame rang in my brain. Did I blame myself?
Why did I feel the need to blame anyone at all?
What if this was all a part of God’s big plans?
Part of how life panned out? In my sixty years of living, I’d seen enough good people suffer to understand that you don’t have to do anything wrong to find yourself struggling.
In school, we taught students that if they worked hard enough, long enough, they would eventually become successful.
The longer I lived, the more I realized this was a lie. Nothing is promised. Eat, drink, and be merry, like the birds chirping outside do. Their tweeting alone brightened a melancholy morning.
My thoughts wandered to Richard’s words about faith as well.
Good days ahead. I decided that, with all the uncertainty, the best I could hope for was a good day right now.
Today. I imagined myself smiling throughout this Saturday, hugging EJ, laughing with Gabriella.
She had the day off, which meant she’d surely be cooking up a storm.
The sound of laughter drifted through the house, pulling me from my introspection. I could hear Elijah and Gabriella chatting in the kitchen, their voices a comforting melody. They were my “eat, drink, and be merry” crew, and I was thankful for them.
The smell of breakfast hadn’t reached me yet. Maybe I could get in there and help with whatever they were cooking. I tossed off my covers, stretched through my normal morning aches and pains, took care of my hygiene, and padded down the hallway to investigate.
“Good morning!” I greeted, surprised to find them both eating cereal—a far cry from Gabriella’s usual culinary magic. “What’s all this?”
“Grandma Joyce, we have an adventure planned for today!” Elijah beamed, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “It’s called the Kitchen Chef Showdown.”
“Yep,” Gabriella chimed in, her grin wide. “I’m entering another cooking contest soon, and—”
“Gabriella, that’s wonderful!” I interrupted with joy. “You need to get back out there, keep trying. And beat Mrs. Maine. She’s your Bobby Flay.”
“Okay, okay, Ms. Joyce. I see you tryna stay current with your analogies,” she sang. “Brownie points for you!”
“We’re making brownies?” Elijah asked eagerly.
“No. It’s an expression. She gets points for knowing about Bobby Flay.
” Gabriella returned her attention to me.
“This contest is one where you have to make an impromptu meal. We’re heading to the farmers market to pick out some random ingredients, and then we’ll have our own little cooking challenge, right here.
Like the Chopped cooking show. We have to make a meal out of the ingredients, no matter what. ”
“Oh, wow.” I played along, clinging desperately to my earned brownie points. Unlike Beat Bobby Flay, I’d never seen Chopped, but I got the gist. “Mind if I join you?”
“Yes!” Elijah said, pumping his fist into the air. “Our challenge is going to be amazing.”
I made myself a quick bite—toast and eggs—and we were off to the farmers market just outside of town.
Leave it to Gabriella to have us hunting for the oddest ingredients in a place that felt like a global marketplace.
The clashing smells, the vendors bellowing for us to taste-test their foods, and somebody’s goat running around with a broken leash. This was quite the experience already.
Once there, I first partnered with Elijah to gather his secret ingredients. I took in the fragrant aroma of ripe peaches as Elijah, eager to get started, grabbed my hand and led me through the stalls.
“Grandma, look at these huge watermelons!” he exclaimed, pointing at a pyramid of massive green-striped fruits. “They’re bigger than my head!”
“That’s pretty big,” I teased, rubbing the crown of his head with my knuckles.
He jerked away. “Anyway!”
We joked and pointed at various spices and foods. Elijah was torn between jackfruit and fennel. “They both look so weird. Jackfruit is like a green porcupine, and fennel is like a deformed onion.”
“Have you tasted them?” I asked.
“No. You?”
“Nope. But I’m sure Gabriella can make something delicious out of one or the other.”
He settled on the fennel, which I hid in my basket underneath a sales flyer. Then it was his turn to shop with Gabriella.
“All right, buddy, time to switch partners,” Gabriella announced, tapping him on the shoulder. “You help me find something now.”
“Okay, Grandma, you’re on your own!” Elijah called over his shoulder as he scampered off with Gabriella, leaving me to navigate the remaining stalls solo.
I already knew Elijah was going to divulge the fennel before we even left the market, so my ingredient had to be off-the-charts challenging if I wanted to adequately prepare Gabriella for the contest.
Just as I was pondering my options at an herb stand, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Turning around, I found myself face-to-face with Richard.
“Joyce! Fancy seeing you here,” he greeted me warmly. “What brings you to the farmers market?”
“Actually, we’re doing this cooking challenge to help Gabriella prepare for her next contest,” I explained, my excitement shining through.
“Elijah, Gabriella, and I are picking out secret ingredients for each other; with Gabriella’s guidance, we’re gonna make a meal out of them.
It’s like that cooking show, Chopped. You ever seen it?
” I asked like I’d seen many an episode.
“Can’t say that I have,” Richard said.
I laughed and admitted, “Neither have I.”
Richard joined in my chortling. “Sounds like fun, though. Mind if I help you pick out something?”
“Sure, I’d appreciate the input,” I replied, grateful for the company. Optimism chased away a fleeting shadow of apprehension.
We wandered the market together, discussing various possibilities. At one point, Richard picked up a bag of dried chilies, a wicked grin spreading across his face.
“How about these?” he suggested. “They’ll definitely add some heat to the challenge.”
“Those look perfect,” I agreed, but then hesitated. “Although we’re working with a limited kitchen setup right now. We don’t have an oven.”
“No? Is there something wrong with your oven?”
Suddenly, I felt my shoulders tense with his words.
He had that move-aside-and-let-me-fix-it tone, one that I recognized well from my ex-husband.
Though Richard’s question didn’t come with the condescending glare that usually accompanied Eric’s solutions, it triggered me nonetheless. “Oh, we’ll be fine.”
“Joyce, are you okay?” Richard said, his brow creasing with concern.
“Really, it’s fine,” I replied quickly, not wanting to delve into my current living situation. “We make do with what we have.”
“All right, if you say so,” Richard relented, still looking worried.
I took the chilies from him and dropped them into my basket.
“I can’t wait to hear how this meal turns out,” he said.
“Thanks, Richard,” I responded, feeling grateful for his support.
All the while, I scolded myself for how quickly I’d shoved my new friend’s concern aside.
What if he knew a master oven-installer?
A reputable electrician who wasn’t flirty or mean?
How long would we stay friends if I kept shoving him away?
“Richard,” I said, struck by a sudden impulse, “why don’t you come over for dinner tonight and taste the results of our challenge?”
He hesitated, looking thoughtful. “I might be able to make it, but I’m not sure. Depends on how the rest of my afternoon goes with my errands.”
“All right, no pressure,” I replied, trying to sound casual despite the fear rising in my throat. Have I hurt his feelings?
We continued walking together toward the checkout line, discussing our respective days. When it was my turn to pay, I made sure to have my mystery item bagged separately in a brown sack to keep it hidden from Gabriella and Elijah until the big reveal later.
“Thanks, Richard,” I said. “I hope we can make something interesting with these ingredients.”
“You’ve got quite the challenge. I’ll let you know if I’m free.”
“Like I said, no pressure either way. Have a good one.”
“You, too, Joyce.”
That evening, Gabriella, Elijah, and I gathered in the kitchen, revealing our chosen ingredients. The countertop was littered with a seemingly mismatched assortment of items: fennel, dried chilies, peaches, and lamb.
“Wow. This is so all so odd,” Elijah declared. “Dried chilies, Grandma? Really?”
“Okay, team,” Gabriella announced, rolling up her sleeves. “Let’s put our heads together and figure out how we can turn this into a meal. Ideas?”
Elijah and I both shook our heads.
He bowed out. “You’re the chef. I’m just the assistant.”
“Ms. Joyce?”
“I’m with Elijah.”
Gabriella nodded. “Okay, I see how it is. But that’s all right. It’s giving me good practice for the competition.”
She held my chilies to her nose. Her chest expanded as she smelled my contribution. “These are amazing.” She inhaled the peaches next. “Yes, yes, and more yes.”
Elijah and I stood still, watching her handle each ingredient, smell it, take it into her whole being. It was magic, really.
“This is gonna be good,” she said. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think the girl was intoxicated from the smells and textures alone.
“Our appetizer will be fennel salad. Main course, peach honey-grilled lamb chops. I’ll throw in some potatoes for good measure.”
My mouth was watering already.
“What about the dried chilies?” Elijah asked.