The Cabin

by Alice Ward

  We were going to have fun tonight. Despite everything, Gran and I didn’t live in a mental health facility. We had our own home and we could throw down a mean dinner party together.

  “This should be exciting,” he said with a note of trepidation.

  “Wow, you really do have a problem,” I teased.

  “Not that kind of exciting.” He winced a little as he looked at me. “I’ve never actually been grocery shopping at a proper grocery store to buy food for a dinner that I intended to make, cook, and eat.”

  My jaw sagged. “You have to be kidding.” Surely, he was kidding.

  He chucked me softly under the chin. “Nope, not kidding.” I loved when he was playful.

  “Never? How the hell does one get away with that?”

  “I’m KP, remember,” he said and beat his chest. “Me famous movie producer.”

  I laughed at his Tarzan impersonation. “You mean the lame-o who’s never been inside of a grocery store?”

  He gave me a mock insulted look. “I’ve been in one, just never bought anything I intended on cooking,” he corrected.

  I rubbed my hands together. “Oh, this will be exciting.”

  We arrived at the grocery store, and as an amusing joke, I decided to cook breaded catfish for dinner, almost the same meal KP had when he first propositioned me. He didn’t say anything, but I could tell he saw the irony there. I decided that we should have corn on the cob, and if Gran was up to it, her famous apple pie à la mode. I was getting excited just thinking of the meal. In order to satisfy KP’s gourmet palate, I picked up some fancy hors d’oeuvres like caviar, crackers, and expensive stinky cheese. I let him pick the wine, as I really was way out of my league there.

  The whole shopping experience was comical. I was feeling a little bold so I typed out a shopping list on my new iPhone and handed it to him.

  “You have a new hunt.” I waggled my brow at him. “I’ll stay by your side for moral support, but you have to get all the items on this list. Shall we make this a timed exercise?”

  Sensing the challenge, KP agreed to collect the items on the list in under twenty minutes. “Shall there be a reward if I succeed?” God, the man was walking seduction.

  “Yes, there shall,” I mentioned in a regal tone.

  He perked up.

  “What shall it be?” he asked with a deep sultry voice.

  This man must have just been hardwired for sex.

  “Dinner,” I announced in my best school head mistress voice. “Ready, set…”

  “Wait, I’m not ready,” he freaked.

  I rolled my eyes. “What do you need to get ready?” He was such a domestic wuss.

  “I have to look at the aisle markers, plan my strategy.”

  That deserved an even bigger eye roll. “Okay, Martha, do what you must.”

  He looked up at the headings over each aisle and then back to the phone. He highlighted a few items. After a few minutes, he loosened up his shoulders and put his game face on.

  “I’m ready.” He leaned in like a prizefighter.

  “Then go.”

  And go he went.

  I was quite impressed with his strategy; he was finding a lot of what we needed. He just grabbed things that were the most expensive most of the time.

  I quipped as we went along, “God forbid if you were on a budget.”

  He whirled on me. “You said nothing about a budget.”

  I held up a placating hand. “Okay, as you were soldier, you still have nine minutes and half a list to go. Focus.”

  I lied. He had eleven. Just wanted to put a little fear of God in him.

  KP in full panic mode was hilarious. “What?”

  Yes, this was fun.

  He did great all the way up until the last items — the wine he was tasked with choosing — and then it all threatened to go to shit. Somebody recognized him back in the produce aisle and was trailing us. He caught on much faster than I did. KP seemed to get more tense as they continued their pursuit. Finally, in the wine aisle, there was a confrontation.

  “I’m sorry to bother you,” the interloper interjected.

  “Then don’t.” I winced at how rude he sounded.

  “No need to get testy,” the fan snapped.

  KP took a deep breath and I could see him changing course. “Can I help you with something?”

  “My wife and I loved ‘From Adam to Eve,’ and I just wanted you to sign my back.” He produced a sharpie pen, gave it to KP, turned around, and bent over.

  KP shot me a this happens all the time look and signed a scrawling signature on the back of his shirt. The dude seemed satisfied, and I thought he was going to leave us in peace.

  Before he came back.

  “Actually, we loved the movie, it was much better than the book, but well, my wife wanted to know why you hired a Latina actress to play the lead?” Wow, that was bold. “We always envisioned her as being…you know, American.”

  KP’s face immediately darkened two shades and had a glowing red color. Oh shit.

  It wasn’t just his dick that reacted to stuff.

  “You mean Maricela Cruz? The Oscar-winning actress from Boston?” He was very carefully measuring his words.

  “Yeah. Did you never think of Charlize Theron?” Was this guy serious?

  “That would be the Charlize Theron from South Africa you’re referring to?”

  KP was keeping his cool, but I suspected it wouldn’t last long.

  “Yeah, she’s fucking hot.” The guy was almost panting.

  KP’s jaw was clenched together so tight, I thought he might break his teeth. “No. Now, please let me finish my shopping, we’re in a bit of a hurry.”

  “Yeah, sure, just one more th—”

  I couldn’t take it anymore. “Listen weirdo…” probably shouldn’t have said that, “the man said to fuck off. You’ve got your t-shirt thing, so scram.”

  Holy shit. I was all up in this guy’s face. What was I doing?

  He glared at me, but I didn’t back down. With a huff, he stomped away, shouting, “Bitch!”

  KP laughed heartily. “You know you’ve probably made the evening news.”

  I slapped a hand over my face. “Oh my god. Get the wine and let’s get out of here. You win. No wonder you never go out and do normal people things.”

  Did he have to put up with this kind of intrusion every day?

  “I can’t believe you used ‘scram’ in a sentence,” he teased. “That’s so 1940s.”

  “Well… scram is still a totally viable substitute for ‘get the fuck out of here, you fucking creep.’”

  He grinned and continued to prod. “Because you already used ‘fuck’ in a sentence?”

  I ignored that and changed the subject. “Do you have to deal with that all the time?”

  “It’s worse in New York, trust me. That guy really bothered you, didn’t he?”

  I puffed out a breath. “It’s just what he said, it was so racist and rude. And you were just doing your own thing, he doesn’t own you.” I was really fired up.

  “He buys my movies…” He shot me a look. “He used to buy my movies, so I have to try and play nice.” He heaved a heavy sigh. “I’m known for being a shithead, so I’m surprised he approached me. He’s probably a big game hunter or something, otherwise he never would have dared to approach me.”

  I laughed. “Wait, people are scared to death of you?”

  He showed me a muscle, but the grin was back. “I’m quite powerful, you must know by now.”

  Here we go. “Can you fly?”

  “No.”

  I batted my lashes at him. “Shout stuff out of the palms of your hands?”

  “Nope.”

  “Be invisible, see through walls, or crush things with your teeth?”

  “No, can’t, ouch,” he answered to all three.

  “Then you’re just a regular guy… yawn.” I took a long time stretching to prove my point.

  He narrowed his eyes. “Turning
over a new leaf is really hard stuff because there’s these harsh critics, like you, the feisty one, and Bubbas with casting preferences in the wine aisle who need shirt design ASAP. Maybe I should stick to assholism because you scare me a little.”

  I just growled.

  We went home, and Gran was in great spirits. Tammy and she had spent most of the day talking and reminiscing, and Tam got a chance to read to Gram. Gram wanted to hear Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone and they also went for a walk with Gran in her wheelchair around the neighborhood. Tammy enthusiastically told me how Gran remembered her cheerleading tryouts and the day Stacy Ingram got the last cheerleading spot.

  “I cried for days,” Tammy shared.

  “And I told her to go to the principal and ask him to let her be an alternate since she was next in line for the team.”

  I remembered that day.

  “And then, like magic there was a spot for me.”

  “And then like magic you won national all-stars… all by yourself,” Gran added.

  “Damn right I did,” Tammy boasted.

  “We went right by the Elks Lodge that hosted her reception,” Gran said enthusiastically.

  “At least you had one kid who liked cheerleading.” I smiled a big, wide fake smile.

  I hated cheerleading.

  “At least you came to the games,” Tammy said, batting her lashes at me.

  “That’s cause I threatened to kill her,” Gran remarked, straight-faced.

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “Yeah, it’s cause she threatened me… crazy old lady.”

  “As she should have. Any respectable woman would. Also…” Tammy jutted her hip and batted her eyes, “I got all the recipes… yep.”

  I stared at Gran. “Seriously?”

  “Oh, come on. You don’t cook,” Gran defended Tammy.

  “You don’t?” KP was astonished and his eyebrows raised a few inches.

  I blew him a kiss. “Um, one detail I may have left out.”

  He had been silent for most of our conversation. Gran and Tammy sat on the couch while KP and I were in the arm chairs flanking either side. I think he was just absorbing the banter of strong women. I wasn’t sure what he was used to as far as women were concerned, but we were quite a force of nature.

  We chatted for an hour or so, and then Tammy got a few texts. She ignored the first couple, but finally answered them when a few came in quick succession.

  She gave Gran a long, hard look. “That’s Jamal. He’s waiting for me at the restaurant, so I guess I should go meet him,” Tammy announced to the group.

  I didn’t think she really thought it would be her last time seeing Gran, but she was getting prepared for that moment whenever it came. She stood up, and Gran tried to stand too, but Tammy wasn’t having it.

  “Oh, you sit down and rest up,” she said as she leaned in for a hug.

  Gran hugged Tammy as best as she could, being as weak as she was. “You have fun.”

  “I’m gonna hang with him over the weekend. Since I’m pretty sure I’m going to marry him, we need to spend time together, just so I can be sure. I’ll be back on Monday night, okay?”

  Gran patted her cheek. “You’re always welcome.”

  “You know I’d move in permanently, but Cat’s taste in decor sucks. I’d have to completely redo the room.”

  “My interior design skills are flawless. What are you on about, woman?” Seriously.

  “Black and blue? The room is a bruise,” Tammy scoffed.

  “What do you want? Hello Kitty Princess Bubblegum?” I challenged.

  “A little femininity wouldn’t kill ya, Cat.”

  “Whatever. Blah.” I gave her a big hug and a kiss on the cheek.

  She then gave a second extra-long hug to Gran. When she was done, she was passing KP where he stood waiting, offering his hand for a handshake.

  “What is this bullshit,” she protested, then leaned in and hugged him too.

  “Right, hug time,” KP said nervously and did a little pat on her back.

  When she let him go, Tammy looked up at him. “I hope you know Caitlyn is the best person you’ll ever meet.”

  KP looked at me for a beat then addressed Tammy. “I hope you know, I know that.”

  He looked dead serious. Seemingly satisfied, Tammy waved her goodbyes. Everyone had their way of dealing with life’s losses and gains. That was hers, quick and simple.

  Since we’d bought the makings for a breaded catfish dinner, it was time to dive into cooking. The only problem was, Gran had the family recipe and she was the only one in the house who knew how to make it. It hit me that when she was gone, all of our family favorites would be with Tammy. I hoped Tammy was ready to hold up that part of the legacy.

  “So, we bought catfish, but do you mind telling us how to cook it? You can stay on the couch and be an armchair chef.” I was pretty sure she’d want to cook the meal herself, but I knew she wasn’t physically able. However, she got up off the couch and headed to the kitchen unassisted.

  “Gran, seriously, we can do this.” I tried to wrangle her back over to the couch, without manhandling her.

  Gran waved her hand at me and made a gruff snorting noise. “I can’t make catfish with you bothering me,” she complained as she started to rummage through the grocery bag.

  A look of panic crossed my face and KP jumped in to rescue me. He gently took Gran by the hand and escorted her to the kitchen table, made sure she was comfortably seated, and kneeled down to make eye contact with her.

  “Why don’t you sit down just for a moment?” I swear that man could lead a polar bear to the desert, he was so damn sexy and alluring. “I’m embarrassed to say this, but I’ve never cooked a thing in my entire life. It would be such a great honor if you could instruct us tonight. Maybe then I’ll have something I can make should Caitlyn ever decide to visit me in New York.”

  God, why did I want to jump his bones?

  “Well, I suppose Caitlyn could use the practice as well,” she said, glaring at me.

  “Hey, I can make toast. Back off, lady.”

  Gran rolled her eyes. “You’ll need the catfish, breading, eggs… um… just get that recipe box from the counter there and look up beer-battered catfish, and bring me some of that wine y’all bought. That’s the good stuff, I can tell.”

  “Gran, are you sure wine is a good idea?”

  She grinned big. “You only live once.”

  KP opened the wine and poured us three glasses. I got the recipe, and from there, the entire night turned to pure comedy. First, KP dropped most of the egg shells into the batter. Watching him try to fish them out with his perfectly manicured nails was a treat. He hated the texture and tried to be brave, but he gagged a lot.

  Then, most of the breading ended up on the floor. He opened the bag of cornmeal and it exploded all over the place because he just ripped it open like a monkey. While frying the fish, we nearly burned the house down. All the time, Gran sat there and watched, telling us not to let one side cook too long, or not to use too much oil, or one of the other eight million steps that went into cooking a damn fish.

  “Our family has been making catfish for years, and the buck will probably end with the two of you.” She shook her head and brushed cornmeal off her pajamas. “You two are a mess in the kitchen.”

  Deflect. Deflect. “Wasn’t it your grandma from Louisiana who started the tradition?” I asked.

  “Yep, Grandma Kate. You’re kind of named after her, only she was a Katheryn and you are a Caitlyn. Anyway, she always said that catfish were ornery things. One minute they were eating up the bait, the next minute they were attacking it. The catfish as a spirit animal is always a duality. They are both kind and defensive, focused and forgetful. A catfish is always at war with themselves until they listen to their inner voice and let it guide them. A catfish will settle down if they listen to their soul.” Gran seemed to be rambling and yet her words were like some sort of mythical road map to a better understandi
ng of ourselves.

  Both KP and I were like a catfish — hot and cold, fearful and trusting. As she imparted wisdom in the guise of mythology, we were both mesmerized until she shouted at us, “Don’t let it burn now! And when you’re done, put those in the oven and fire up the BBQ out back so you can roast the corn.” She was a harsh taskmaster.

  We put the catfish in the oven to keep it warm while we went outside and helped ease Gran onto the chaise so she could supervise our efforts. KP about burned himself to a crisp when he doused the charcoal with too much lighter fluid. Once that emergency was over, I tried my hand at it. Better. I was winning at this cooking thing.

  “Yes!” I gloated. “I’m the cook master!”

  To my surprise, he placed a sweet kiss on my forehead, but the look in his eyes could have competed with the fire. “I’m having fun.”

  It took everything inside me not to pull his head down and press my lips to his.

  “Get the good china out of the cupboard!” Gran ordered.

  We smiled at each other, and he went back to the corn while I put out our fanciest plates.

  We’d opted for a store-bought pie because I figured it would be too much for Gran to bake one, and I didn’t want to push my luck at the oven.

  By the time we had put out the hors d’oeuvres and were ready to eat, Gran was looking weak and feeling tired, so we took the heirloom china plates and sat on the couch together and ate.

  “You kids did a fine job on this meal and these little fish baby things are amazing,” Gran said as she took spoonfuls of caviar and shoveled them in her mouth. “Can’t taste much these days, but these little buggers are delicious.”

  She almost ate an entire dipping sauce bowl full of three-hundred-dollar an ounce caviar.

  “Glad you’re enjoying them,” KP said, grinning, as I looked on horrified.

  After we ate and KP poured us a few more glasses of wine, we cleared the plates and spent some quiet time with Gran, as she seemed to be wearing down. But she was still smiling.

  “Gran, what movie do you want to watch tonight?” I asked. “KP’s going to hang out with us for a little while, if you don’t mind.”

  “He can stay forever if he wants.” She pulled the blanket up to her chin and cuddled in. “How about we see E.T. That’s one of my favorites.”