The Perfect Recipe for Love and Friendship

by Shirley Jump

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake, that is not how you greet someone you haven’t seen in a long time, Colleen, nor how you greet your child.” Aunt Mary grabbed Abby by one arm, Colleen by the other, then mushed the three of them into a giant hug. “Life is too short to stay mad. Nothing like almost dying to teach you that lesson.”

  Ma drew back and looked up at her sister. “Almost dying?”

  “Had a little heart trouble.” Mary patted the left side of her chest. “But thanks to Bridget here, I’ve had time to take it easy and rest up. And now I get to spend the evening with all my nieces and my sister. A true family night. The only sourpuss here is you, Colleen, so you better put your smile on and quit keeping a grudge in your fist.”

  Abby arched an amused brow but didn’t say anything.

  “I’m not doing any of that,” Ma said.

  Aunt Mary leaned closer to Colleen. She lowered her voice. “You are and you know it. You’ve always been like that. Madder than a wet hornet at the simplest things. Now, I realize years ago that maybe it was a necessary thing. Easier than dealing with losing a husband when you had a bunch of little girls at home. But I think you’ve been so angry for so long, you’ve forgotten how to be happy.”

  Ma scowled. “I’ve done no such thing.”

  “Then prove it.” Aunt Mary put her hands on her hips. “Make some small talk with your daughter, with me.” Aunt Mary stepped back and waved between Abby and Ma.

  The only sound in the room was the scraping of the metal masher against the stainless steel pot. Magpie stopped tossing the salad, and Bridget left the half-carved chicken on the platter. Abby stared at her mother, her face expectant, hopeful, but wary.

  “This is foolishness,” her mother said. “I’ve already talked to Abby, and I talked to you. I’m not going to stand here and be forced to talk about the weather or the price of beans in India. I need to wash up for dinner.”

  Then she spun on her heel and out of the room. Aunt Mary sighed. Even Pedro sighed and lowered himself onto his paws.

  “She’s never going to change. I don’t know why I even try.” Abby grabbed her car keys off the counter. “Thanks for the invite, Bridge, but I don’t think I can stay.”

  Aunt Mary put a hand on Abby’s. Her kind eyes met her niece’s with the understanding of someone who had known Ma all her life. “Your mother is stubborn and a pain in the ass, but she loves you all. She’s also made her own fair share of mistakes, though admitting that is something she may never do. Give her a little time to warm up. She’s got her porcupine quills up because she’s so afraid of being hurt.”

  “She’s afraid? How about having a mother who barely acknowledges your existence for three years? I’m the hurt one. Not her.”

  “Give her a minute,” Aunt Mary said, and gave Abby’s hand a squeeze. “I know her, better than you think, and in case you forget, I was at that wedding too. There were enough hurtful words tossed around to sink the Titanic, so it’s not surprising you all are facing off like a couple of badgers. Now, let’s all go sit at the table and have some delicious dinner. Without a single cross word. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Abby said. “But if she starts in on me—”

  “You will be polite and kind because, no matter what, she is your mother. And she raised all of you single-handedly, which is a very brave and difficult thing to do. You have no idea how hard your mother’s life was during those years, or what she went through.” Aunt Mary looked at each of the girls in turn. “Now, let’s eat. And remember, not a single cross word.”

  The girls filed into the dining room carrying the carved chicken, the salad, a bowl of mashed potatoes, and the colcannon their mother had brought. Bridget sat at one end of the table with Nora and Abby on one side and Magpie and Aunt Mary on the other. Ma walked into the room and took the only other available seat at the head of the table. She looked around and then back at Bridget. “You didn’t set a place for your husband.”

  Bridget sighed. “Because he’s dead, Ma, and I’m not going to spend the next twenty years of my life mourning him, just because it’s what you did with Dad.”

  Nora nudged her under the table and made a keep-the-peace face. “How about we table the dead spouse talk for now and instead say grace?” she asked. “Ma, would you do the honors?”

  They all bowed their heads and clasped their hands. And waited. After a solid minute of silence, Bridget looked up. “Ma?”

  “I’m sorry. I’m just not up to that.” Her voice was thick. Her face was red, and her hands were trembling. “I didn’t expect to come here and be interrogated by my sister or disrespected by my daughter. I came for a family dinner.”

  Magpie snorted. “Ma, this is family dinner. Since when did we ever have normal meals where everyone got along?”

  Bridget had been hoping for some Hallmark movie moment tonight. Everyone arrived, hugged and cried, and all was well again. She’d forgotten that they were O’Bannons—fiery and complicated and stubborn. And this entire dinner had a very good chance of going south before she even served the chicken.

  “Can we at least pretend to get along?” Bridget said. “Please? It’s the first time we’ve all been together in forever. I kinda miss those family dinners. The ones where we laughed and made faces in our mashed potatoes and talked about boys and school and how much broccoli we had to eat in order to have ice cream for dessert.”

  After a moment, Ma finally spoke, her voice quiet and her gaze on somewhere distant. “We had those kinds of dinners when you girls were little and your father was alive.” Ma’s face softened. “Michael had this way of coaxing a smile out of a lemon.”

  “Dad was fun,” Abby said, her voice low and sad. “A lot of fun. I miss him so much.”

  The air in the room stilled. The food began to cool, vapors of heat wafting off the chicken and mashed potatoes, but no one reached for a spoon or a bowl.

  An eternity seemed to pass until Abby gestured toward the platter. “Can you pass the chicken, please?”

  Ma picked up the dish and passed it to Abby but didn’t let go. “I have been very mad at you for a long time for ruining your sister’s wedding, you know. And for walking out on the bakery.”

  “I know, Ma. And I’m sorry.” Abby sighed. “Can we just have one nice family dinner? Let’s talk about it later. Okay?”

  Another moment passed. Then something in Ma seemed to let go, and the stiff tension in her shoulders eased.

  “All right. But we will talk later.” Ma released the plate. Abby took some chicken, Ma passed the colcannon, and for a moment, everything was normal.

  For a moment.

  Nora was the first to talk, telling them all about her kids and their end-of-school-year activities. Magpie started talking about a trip she’d taken to Haiti and the rundown schools she’d seen there. Aunt Mary chimed in about a similar situation she’d seen in South Africa, while Ma asked questions about their trips and reminded Nora to bring her grandchildren by more often.

  Bridget watched this large group of strong O’Bannon women, all of them determined and stubborn and beautiful, while they dished up their plates and then segued into familiar common ground—food. They debated the use of cream cheese in mashed potatoes, whether basting with orange juice made for a crispier chicken skin, and how the pecans in the salad were especially sweet this year. The scene was as warm as the food in her belly, and she vowed to have more family dinners. Nothing was truly fixed, of course, and she knew the dinner was merely a Band-Aid hiding still raw and open wounds, but it was a start.

  Bridget had the bowl of mashed potatoes in her hand when she heard the front door open. For a weird second, she thought it was Jim, home from work. Then she remembered, and it hurt all over again, although the loss was tempering with time, the pain becoming more manageable.

  Nora glanced at Bridget. “Did you invite anyone else?”

  “Nope. Not unless we have a sister we don’t know about.” Bridget started to get to her feet, leaving the mashed potatoes on the c
orner of the table, when Abby’s fiancée strode into the dining room. Tall and blond and mad as hell.

  “Oh crap,” Bridget said.

  “Shit,” Magpie said.

  Abby just sat there, frozen, mouth agape, eyes wide. She glanced at Ma and then at Bridget, as if saying, Do something.

  Bridget had no idea what to do. Kick Jessie out? Invite her to stay?

  “This is where you are? With the family you told me you don’t talk to?” Jessie waved her hands as she spoke, stopping from time to time to wipe away a tear.

  “It’s complicated, Jessie.” Abby scrambled out of her chair. “What are you doing here and how did you find me?”

  “Like an idiot, I followed you. I saw the text from Bridget about the family dinner, and I was hurt. You…you didn’t even ask me if I wanted to go.” The last word caught on a sob.

  Ma looked at Bridget. Bridget looked away. This wasn’t her thing to explain. “Uh, I can set another place at the table…,” Bridget said. When in doubt, offer food—yet another O’Bannon family motto.

  “There’s no need to. She’s not staying.” Abby pulled Jessie to the side of the room and lowered her voice. “You can’t force my hand. Just give me some time.”

  “Time? That’s all I’ve given you, Abby.” Jessie shook her head, and a tear rolled down her cheek.

  Nora gave Bridget a what-the-hell-is-up look. Aunt Mary sipped at her water and kept silent. Magpie was already out of her seat, rushing over to try to smooth things over, but Abby waved her back.

  Before Bridget could stop her, Ma rose and crossed to Jessie. She put out her hand. Always the polite hostess, even when it wasn’t her home. “Hello, I’m Bridget’s mother. Are you a friend of hers?”

  Jessie leaned forward, extending her hand. “No, Mrs. O’Bannon, I’m—”

  Abby yanked Jessie back and then stepped in front of her, a human wall between them. “She’s my…my…friend, Ma. And I’m sorry, but we’re leaving.”

  Hurt crumpled Jessie’s face. She started to speak, but Abby tugged on her hand and yanked Jessie out of the dining room. As she did, her hip bumped the mashed potatoes. The dish tumbled to the carpet, in a horrible replay of the cake at the wedding, landing with a thick, smushy thud. A second later, the door shut, and Abby and Jessie were gone.

  “I think I’m going to come to family dinners more often, if it means a food fight,” Magpie said. “So…what’s for dessert, Bridge?”

  TWENTY-ONE

  Bridget brought out two more bottles of wine. Magpie and Aunt Mary waved off the alcohol, Nora drained her water glass and replaced it with chardonnay, and Bridget topped off her second glass of the night and set the bottle on the table.

  “You know…I wouldn’t mind a glass,” Ma said.

  The girls exchanged raised brows. Aunt Mary gave her sister a questioning glance.

  “I can have one glass,” Ma said.

  “Sure you can, Ma.” Bridget grabbed a wineglass out of the hutch, filled it with chardonnay, and handed it to her mother. She sank into the seat Abby had vacated. “I’m sorry about what happened there. I had no idea Jessie was going to show up.”

  “And who exactly is this Jessie woman? Because she seemed to be…too angry to be just a friend.”

  Bridget sure as heck wasn’t going to share the truth. For one, her sister had asked her not to, and for another, she already had mashed potatoes ground into her carpet. She didn’t need any other food hitting the floor—or walls. “That is for Abby to tell you, Ma. Not me.”

  Her mother took that in with a nod, sat back in her seat, and took a big gulp of wine. Another, a third. Then she placed the empty glass on the table and got to her feet. “Thank you for a lovely dinner, Bridget, but I’m feeling quite tired and think I’ll go home now.”

  “Ma, let me drive you.” Magpie scrambled to her feet. “You’ve had what, one glass of wine in fifty years? You give lightweight a whole new meaning. Bridge will bring your car to work tomorrow.”

  “I’m perfectly capable—”

  “Maybe you are, Ma, but that won’t stop us from once in a while telling you what to do. Let Magpie chauffeur you.” Bridget gave her mother a hug, but Ma had already withdrawn into that stoic shell she wore so well.

  “Colleen, let your daughter drive you,” Aunt Mary said. “Actually, before you go, I’d like to talk to you, if I could.”

  “I’m fine, Mary. Quit lecturing me. The chicken was wonderful.” Ma placed a hand on Bridget’s cheek. “But I’d baste it with butter next time. The skin was a little…soft.”

  Bridget rolled her eyes. She could have been as good a chef as Emeril Lagasse and her mother still would have found some kind of fault. “Good night, Ma.”

  “And you should have rolls next time. No dinner is complete without a little bread too.”

  “Leave the girl alone, Colleen. She did a wonderful job.” Aunt Mary slid her arm through her sister’s. “Magpie, can you bring the car around? Colleen and I are going to chat out front for a moment.”

  “Sure.” Magpie left in a flurry of hugs and kisses and with a container of black and white cookies that Bridget pressed into her hands. “Thanks for dinner! Love you all!”

  Ma and Aunt Mary went out front, and as soon as the door shut, Nora and Bridget both bounded onto the sofa and peeked through the blinds. “What do you think they’re talking about?” Nora asked.

  “I don’t know. But the last time they talked alone like that, they ended up arguing and not speaking for five years.”

  Aunt Mary and Ma stood about a foot apart on the walkway, half in shadow, half lit by the porch light. Aunt Mary moved her arms when she talked, as expressive as a peacock. Ma stayed still, tucked into herself, her responses back seeming measured, cold.

  “Can you hear anything?” Nora asked.

  “No. And if I open the window, I’m sure they’re going to hear that.”

  Nora glanced at Bridget, and they shared a conspiratorial smile. “It’s like we’re kids again, huh? Spying on the neighbors and making up stories about them.”

  “Remember that time Mrs. Nuzio caught us spying on her and the mailman? I thought she was going to beat us with that spatula.” Bridget laughed. “She told Ma, and Ma told her that if she didn’t want people spying, she shouldn’t do things in secret.”

  “Ma stood right between us and Mrs. Nuzio. For a minute, I thought Ma might deck her.” Nora shook her head, and her features softened. “For all her faults, Ma does stand up for us when it matters most, you know.”

  “Yeah? Tell that to Abby.” Bridget moved away from the window and slid onto the caramel leather sofa. Bridget could still see the sad realization on Abby’s face when she’d introduced Jessie, as if she’d given up on her family ever accepting the truth.

  Nora dropped back onto the sofa, curling one leg underneath her so she could face Bridget. “Was that Abby’s girlfriend? I mean, I kinda figured it out from the way Jessie acted and how Abby rushed her out of here.”

  “Not just her girlfriend,” Bridget said. “Fiancée.”

  “Oh.” Nora thought about that a moment. “Well, that’s good. I mean, if she’s happy enough with Jessie to want to get married, then I’m happy for her.”

  “You need to tell her that.” Nora had accepted Abby with the same nonplussed attitude as the other girls. Now if only Ma could do the same. But maybe, with the support of her sisters, Abby would feel more inclined to be honest. “Abby is convinced that no one in the family will accept her if she comes out.”

  Although Bridget doubted it would be a secret for long either way. Ma wasn’t a stupid woman, and from her questions tonight, her suspicions had been raised. It was only a matter of time before Ma put the pieces together. And once she did, then it would be up to their mother to either accept her daughter or shun her again.

  “How long have you known?”

  “Since my wedding day.”

  Nora’s eyes widened. “Oh my God. Really? That whole crazy thing with the cake and
the fight…that was because Ma kept trying to set her up with Jim’s cousin, wasn’t it? She kept on saying, ‘oh, he’s an orthopedist,’ as if that automatically made him Mr. Right.”

  Bridget nodded. “And Abby quit the bakery, and the family, I think because she didn’t feel like we accepted her.”

  “Because Ma has never been very accepting of anyone who is different. Like Georgi the florist. And that guy at church, and those two women who lived on our block.” Nora shook her head. “She’s cordial, but—”

  “Judgmental.”

  “Yeah. I can see why Abby has avoided that.” Nora sipped at her wine. “But why wouldn’t she tell me?”

  “I don’t know, Nora. I really don’t. Maybe…”

  “What? Say it.”

  Bridget drew her knees up to her chest. “Maybe she was sure you would be like Ma. You’ve always been the good one, the one who never broke any rules, who never—”

  “Took a stand. Or caused an uproar. Or threw a cake at the wall.”

  “Well, yeah.” Bridget gave her sister a lopsided smile. “But it’s okay. That’s who you are. The peacemaker.”

  Nora was silent for a long while. “Ever since Dad died, I didn’t want any of us to split up, you know? We’re all each other has, and that’s what I told Abby at the wedding. I reminded her that she should stop arguing and protect the family.”

  “Not realizing that she was fighting because she felt like her family wasn’t behind her.”

  “Yeah.” Nora sighed. “If I had known, I would have handled that so differently.”

  “You and me both.” Bridget thought of that day in her bedroom, when she was distracted by the wedding dress and the veil and all the details, instead of seeing the true picture. Of her sister Abby, of the man Bridget had chosen to marry. “I had blinders on that day. I had no idea how much Abby was hurting. And to compound all that, I…I never talked to her after that either. Not till last week.”