romancewithsass.com

©Margie Church

Chapter 1

Olivia plunked the heavy Good Housekeeping cookbook on her granite-topped kitchen counter. She perched on a high wooden stool and started thumbing through the thick cooking Bible. Thanksgiving was a week away and she wanted to surprise Collin with a real Thanksgiving dinner. She and her British husband always celebrated the holiday dinner with one of Olivia’s sisters, but Liv felt it was time for her to start some traditions of her own. Frankly, her lack of culinary skills was renowned in the family and Liv wasn’t sure she’d be able to change their opinion or whether she should even try on an important holiday such as this. Her stomach filled with butterflies every time she thought about it.

Thumbing through the index, she found an entire Thanksgiving meal and flipped to page 435.

“For beginners,” she read to her empty kitchen. “That would be me.”

Olivia scanned through the prepared grocery list and didn’t see anything too strange on it. Certainly if I can learn to appreciate Bubble and Squeak, and bangers and mash, then green bean casserole and cranberry sauce can't be so bad.

Using her index finger to keep her place, Olivia read the meal planner and directions. The preparations began days in advance. She thrust her lips out and tapped them with her forefinger. Olivia walked to the cupboard and took out a tumbler. Ice clinked in the heavy glass and she swirled it around as she went to the liquor cabinet.

“Ah yes, just what the doctor ordered,” she said and began mixing Scotch and amaretto.

“It’s a bit early to be drinking, isn’t it darling?” Collin said.

Olivia almost splashed the entire drink in her face. “Yikes! I hate it when you sneak up on me.”

Collin sauntered over to Olivia and kissed her nape. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“What question?”

Collin took a sip of her Godfather. “Gaw! That’s a terrible way to treat good scotch!”

Olivia retrieved her drink and took another sip. “Are the kids still napping?”

“Stop changing the subject and answer my question. Why are you drinking in the middle of the afternoon?”

“I have a bit of a headache. Maggie kept me up half the night and Ethan and Tyler were in prime form this morning. Unless you wanted to find me hanging from the ceiling fan by dinnertime, I figured I’d better calm my nerves.”

Collin gazed at the cover of the fat book and raised an eyebrow. “By reading recipes and drinking?”

“There’s nothing confrontational about recipes. I thought it would be relaxing reading material. And I’ll probably have to bake cookies and stuff when the kids go to school.”

Collin's eyes widened in surprise. “Darling, confrontational describes your cooking. Perhaps you should get on friendly terms with the local baker.”

“That’s not a very nice thing to say.”

“Well, I’m all for giving it, as you Yanks say, ‘the college try’ but I’d say you’ve lost your scholarship.” Collin's lips formed a perfect smirk. “Perhaps I should give you a white flag for Christmas. We can post it on the kitchen door.”

Olivia warmed up to the verbal sparring match. “And perhaps we should put one on the bedroom door, too? Seems to me you’re pretty easy to conquer in there.” She curled her lips in a self-satisfied, toothy grin.

“You think? Hum. Could it be that after one of your home cooked meals I feel particularly weak and you like to take advantage of the unwell?”

Olivia frowned while cupping her right hand behind her ear. “What’s that I hear?” she asked in utter seriousness.

Collin cocked an ear toward the door and shook his head. “I don’t hear anything.”

“I think it is the first strains of that old song, how does it go? Oh yes, ‘my heart bleeds for you and my backside just aches’.” She painted a victorious smile on her face.

Rubbing his hands together, Colin wiggled his eyebrows and smoothly suggested an alternative. “I’ll make your wishes come true, Olivia. I think a spanking would be a lot of fun, darling.”

She pressed her hand against his chest to keep him at arm’s length. “Later beasty boy. Right now I’d like to take advantage of the peace and quiet, so if you don’t mind.” She shooed him away with a flick of her wrist.

“You’re no bloody fun. I’ll be barking mad by bedtime.” Collin pulled Olivia into his arms and planted soft kisses below her ear. “Sure you won’t change your mind? I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Diaper duty ‘til Christmas?”

“You were on page 435.”

~*~

Olivia couldn't keep Collin in the dark about her upcoming holiday dinner plans so after dinner that evening, she spilled the beans.

Collin’s fork clanked when it dropped to his plate. His face was dusky. “You’re what?”

Olivia cleared her throat. “I’m going to cook a real Thanksgiving dinner. I thought it would be nice to start our own holiday traditions.”

“A nap on a Sunday afternoon is nice. A brisk walk on a fall evening is nice. A Shandy is nice….”

“Collin….” she warned with a crook of her eyebrow.

“All I’m saying is that you cooking a big holiday dinner is something I’ve never thought about.” Collin's expression remained wary. “Restaurants are open on Thanksgiving just in case, aren’t they?”

Liv let out an exasperated huff. “Hey, I resent that. I’m trying to improve myself and do something nice for our family and you’re giving me a boatload of grief about it. Thanks a heap.”

“Well, do you remember the time you tried to reheat the leftover dinner rolls?”

Olivia had placed the day-old rolls in a damp paper sack. As the bag dried in a low temperature oven, the evaporating moisture freshened the rolls. “Yeah, what about it?”

He'd smelled something burning and opened the oven door. Flames shot out. “Let me remind you that I nearly had to call the fire department.”

“Like you never made a mistake or got distracted? How about the time you tried duck ala orange and it went right from the stove to the trash? It was still so hot it even melted the garbage bag. The whole garbage can went right out the door. The rice was so sticky I threw away the pot afterwards, too. Even the neighbor’s dog, which will eat anything, wouldn’t come near it.” Olivia sat back in her chair, certain she’d struck a nerve.

He crossed his arms on his chest and continued with his smug battle. “You’ve never had to scrape black cinder off your teeth or plate when I grill chops. No sir. Nice and moist—perfectly done.”

Olivia rubbed her lower teeth against her upper lip as the unhappy memory returned. Another cooking disaster came to mind and she raised her index finger, signaling the battle raged. “But you never found a worm in your broccoli when I cooked it.” Smiling, she leaned forward on the table. “Ah ha! I win.”

“This is not a contest, darling. It’s survival. My gastrointestinal health is at stake. If nothing else, think of our babies!”

“Your heart is going to be at stake if you don’t, as you Brits say,’ ‘shut your gob,’ while you still have the chance.”

“No need to be nasty. ‘Shut your gob’ is not a very ladylike thing to say.”

She smirked. “And I’ve invited my dad, too. I’m sure he’ll enjoy a day off from his own cooking.”

 “No doubt. And he knows the Heimlich and CPR. It’ll be a great family day. I can hardly wait.” He folded his hands neatly in front of himself and smiled like he had a toothache.

Olivia’s dirty cloth napkin sailed across the table and hit him square in the face. Then she stomped out of the kitchen leaving him with the dishes.

 

Chapter 2

 The plans for their first Thanksgiving dinner were coming along splendidly in Olivia’s opinion. The cookbook’s grocery list was complete and two days prior to the big event, she got started.

First on her list was baking a pumpkin pie. Olivia flipped the premade crust into a pie tin, pressed it in carefully all around the bottom and edges and smacked her hands together in happy success. She turned on the oven and then began mixing the filling.

“What is so difficult about this?” she said, as she cracked the eggs into the food processor and picked out most of the shells. “I should have tried this ages ago.”

Olivia measured the prescribed amount of sugar and pie spice and dumped them into the mix. “Viola! Now, we just press blend and…” Shrieks filled the kitchen as Olivia scrambled to get the cover tightly shut on the food processor. It wouldn’t go on and orange pulpy goop spattered her face, hair, and blouse, not to mention half the kitchen, before she unplugged the darn thing.

Mad but undaunted, Olivia dabbed the pie filling with a dish towel. Orange blotches covered her lime green blouse and it took another half hour to wipe up the splattered mess on the floor, stainless steel fridge, and counters.

Liv made another batch of filling and this time, made sure the food processor cover was secure before she turned on the machine. She scraped the last of the mixture into the pie shell with a metal spoon just as the phone rang.

“Collin would you get that?" She slid the pie into the preheated oven and then shut the door. "Nobody has to know what happened and I’m not telling a soul.”

Olivia cleaned the kitchen while the pie baked. She was astounded at how far pumpkin pulp could fly with just a little encouragement.  The kitchen smelled heavenly when the spicy pie emerged from the oven, golden brown around the edges and looking just as perfect as the cookbook picture.

She set the pie on a rack to cool and noticed a piece of paper lying on the floor. She stooped to pick it up. “Hmmm, what’s this?” She turned it over and read:  Baker’s Square Pies 768-555-4369. A smiley face was drawn next to the number and then the initial C. Olivia’s lips formed a grim line. “That man is living on borrowed time.”

 

Chapter 3

 

The day before Thanksgiving would be the most challenging with the from-scratch side dishes to prepare. Cranberry sauce and green bean casserole would be assembled and refrigerated. The yams and white potatoes needed to be pealed and left to soak. The moist bread stuffing sounded so atrocious Olivia decided to skip it.

Olivia talked to herself as she stirred the cranberry and sugar mix cooking on her stove. “This cranberry sauce is Simple Simon.” When her hand got tired from stirring, she switched hands. She looked down. One of her French manicure nails was missing. “Oh my gosh, where did my fingernail go?”

She tapped her cheek and retraced her actions, then looked into the cranberry mixture with apprehension. “It must have scraped off as I was grating the orange zest.” She blanched. “Now what? I’m not sure it’s in there.” She swished her spoon around the pot hoping the nail tip might surface. No luck. “Well, I’m not throwing this out.” Olivia set the boiling mix aside to cool and decided to deal with the consequences later. Maybe.

The green bean casserole went together easily, too, but the result was a rather soupy mess. She reviewed the recipe. “Drain beans. Oh, for crying out loud.” Olivia went to the pantry and got out the potato flakes. She sprinkled about a half cup into the goopy mix, stirred it, and called it good. She covered the green and gray mixture and put it in the fridge.

Peeling and cutting potatoes wasn’t so challenging although her efforts cost her two more nails. At least this time, she saw them fling into the air. She filled her glass with Boodles gin and tonic and took a healthy swig. Then she rinsed the vegetables with cold water, covered them, and put them in the fridge until tomorrow. 

“Now all I have to do is clean up this mess,” she announced to her kitchen, which looked like a cyclone went through it. 

The garbage disposal barked its displeasure over having too many peelings crammed down its gullet at once. Water shot out of the drain and drenched her. She screeched at the uncooperative disposal. “You’re about as handy as a chocolate tea pot!”

“Trouble my dear?”

Olivia whirled around to find her husband waiting near the kitchen door. “Shut your gob!”

“I gather things aren’t right as rain?”

“Are we going to have a British slang contest?”

Collin picked up Olivia’s half finished drink and took a sniff. “Are you bladdered?"

Olivia grabbed her glass from Collin. “I think I’m going to be barking mad by Friday. Booze is taking the edge off.”

He gave her an anemic smile. “Bloody hell, you don’t say? It’s going that well, is it?”

“I suggest you cane it out of here before you become my next victim.”

“Sorry to dash, but I rather value my life.”  Collin laughed over their rapid-fire exchange. “I didn’t think you paid much attention to my nonsensical phrases. You’re quite good.” He kissed Olivia's forehead. “I’m sure dinner will be marvelous. I’m proud of you.”

Olivia gave Collin the death stare and took another long swig of her drink. “Mahvelous…my ass.”

 

Chapter 4

 

Olivia got knocked up at 7:00 a.m. Thanksgiving morning. Collin was in charge of the children and keeping everyone out of the kitchen until dinnertime.

She walked into the kitchen, stretched her arms above her head, and cricked her neck a few times like Rocky Balboa before his first big fight. Then she opened up the Good Housekeeping Bible.

Time to wash the big bird. She flopped the uncooperative fifteen-pounder slid into the sink with a thud. Wincing, she dug into the bird’s body cavity and produced the giblet bag. She looked inside to see what else was hiding there and puffed out her cheeks in dismay. She turned the water sprayer on full blast and shot it inside the bird. The spray spurted out the neck cavity in twenty different directions since she hadn’t removed the neck. Bits of turkey guts and bloody water splattered the kitchen window, counter, and sink.

“Oh my days!” she hollered and let go of the spray nozzle. “Oh my days! How the hell does this keep happening to me?” Olivia leaned against the kitchen sink, braced on her hands, and shook her head. “I’m doomed.”

She dried her hands on a paper towel and made herself a Bloody Mary. “Easy on the Bloody part,” she said as she poured a healthier dose of Stolli in the glass and just a whiff of ice.

Collin peeked in the door. “Everything okay in here? I thought I heard a scream.”

“It’s fine, just fine,” Olivia said without looking at him. “Just go play with the kids.”

The kitchen door shut and Olivia guzzled her drink.

Back to the bird. She placed the bird in the roasting pan, breast side up, and gave it a stare-down. “I’m really sorry to have to touch you this way. What the hell am I saying?” On went the prescribed seasoning.

When she opened the door, Olivia realized she’d forgotten to preheat the oven. “No harm, we’ll just fire it up with the bird inside.” She fiddled with the controls and heard the oven start.

The worst of her work was over.  Figuring she had at least two hours to relax before she needed to start the potatoes and reheat the side dishes, Liv went upstairs to shower.

When she returned, the heavenly smell of roasting turkey already filled the kitchen. She pulled the oven door to check the bird’s progress and it didn’t open. She tugged it harder. It still didn’t open.

“What the heck?” She jiggled the door several more times. Her eyes widened in horror when she looked at the oven controls. The word CLEAN was spelled out on the control face. Olivia stood in front of the oven, whimpering.

“Collin! Collin! Come quick!”

 

Certain the kitchen was on fire for real this time, Collin wasted no time coming to his wife’s rescue. His first inclination was to break into gales of laughter over her blunder but knowing how hard Olivia had worked to create this wonderful family meal made him swallow his mirth before he was swallowing his teeth.

Together they searched the kitchen for the stove’s operator’s manual and figured out how to disarm the cleaning cycle.

Collin patted Olivia on the shoulder. “I’m sure it’s going to be just fine. It’ll just be done early, that’s all. Perhaps you ought to get the other dishes started.”

"There's no turning back now. Luckily we have two ovens."

~*~

As soon as the oven would unlock, Olivia set the temperature down to 350 degrees and resumed roasting the bird. Since it had already been zapped by about six hundred degrees, it wouldn’t take long to incinerate the poor thing.

She decided to microwave the green been casserole, which now looked suspiciously thick. She threw a good measure of milk on the top of it, added a generous helping of French fried onion bits to cover her sins and pressed NUKE.

The white potatoes were boiling over. That problem was easily solved. Let them.

She drained the yams, sprinkled them with butter, brown sugar, maple syrup, cinnamon, crushed pineapple, and dotted the whole mess with toasted pecans. Into the oven it flew for a warm-up. Olivia praised herself for remembering to check the temperature properly.

Clear juices and a deep brown skin signaled the turkey was cooked in record time. The roasting pan slammed on the countertop with a thunk. “Whew, that sucker is heavy,” Liv said, removing her oven mitts.  She squinted at a strange blob of white and red plastered to the breast of the bird. The melted thermometer.She shoots, she scores! She picked it off and whipped it toward the sink. It landed with a metal sounding clink.

She just finished her scoring happy dance when Collin stuck his head in the door to tell her that her father, had arrived.

“He brought a lovely bouquet of flowers for the table.”

Convinced eating dinner would be worse than cooking it, she said, “Put them on the table and leave or I’ll be putting them on your grave.”

“For what it’s worth, it smells really good in here. I’m sure if it tastes half as good we’ll be in for a real treat.”

His manufactured compliment didn't impress her. “You’ve been watching too much TV.”  Glancing at her watch, she said, “We should be ready to eat in a half hour.”

He gave a mock salute.“I’ll prepare the will, I mean the troops.”

She gave him an acerbic stare. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Love you sweetheart. See you at the table in thirty.”

The door swung shut with Collin wisely on the other side.

“White wine with turkey, right?” she mumbled while she fished in the drawer for her corkscrew.

~*~

Making turkey gravy from scratch proved to be Olivia’s undoing, but she was smarter than the average chef. She opened the pantry and took out two jars of perfectly wonderful, turkey gravy. She emptied the jars into the turkey roasting pan for that authentic taste full of those flavorful little bits of incinerated turkey in it.

“What a crock of...” she cleared her throat and corrected her derailed train of thought. “I’m certain my family is going to be thankful for this meal.” She took an unladylike slug of wine, rolled her eyes, and stirred the baby poo-colored goop just to boiling.

Olivia barked orders to Collin and her father to deliver the various dishes and food to the formal dining table. Her father’s beautiful fall arrangement added a lovely accent to the striped fall-colored napkins and tablecloth.

Offering her cheek to her father to kiss, she said, “Thanks for the flowers, Daddy, and thanks for coming.”

Steve’s blue eyes sparkled as he smiled. “I’m happy to be here, so far.”

“Dad.”

“Well, I for one am starved and if we don’t feed these children soon, there’s going to be chaos,” Collin said.

Collin did the carving, which bordered on butchering since his culinary experience dealt more with cutting the food on his plate than with carving a turkey.

Olivia chose to ignore the mess he was making since none of the bird was black or smelled burned.

Steve dug into the green bean casserole with zest. “This is one of my favorites, Olivia. Thanks for making it.” He frowned as the serving spoon seemed to get stuck. “It seems a little thick.” Father gazed at daughter. His squinty gaze slid from daughter to spoon and back again. “Does it seem a little thick to you?”

Olivia raised her eyebrows and shrugged. “It was an old cookbook, Dad. Maybe the recipe has been updated since the book was printed.”

Steve plopped a serving onto his plate, raised it to eye level, and studied it. “Hum, looks okay. What did you put in it?”

“Let’s just be thankful it’s here and so are we,” said Collin changing the subject.

“May I offer you some, Collin?” Steve asked.

Collin's Adam's apple bobbed. “Certainly.” He offered his plate toward his father in-law to receive the dollop Steve had shoveled onto the large serving spoon. “Looks…good.”

“How about a second scoop, then?” Steve asked, as serious as a heart attack.

Olivia observed the verbal ping pong between her father and husband.

Collin huffed out his cheeks while Steve reloaded the spoon. “Sure, but just a little scoop this time. I’m saving room for pie.”

Olivia sat back and smiled proudly as her father plopped another healthy pile of green bean mashed potato casserole onto Collin’s already heaping plate.

“Let’s pray before we eat,” Olivia said.

Collin nodded vigorously. “Splendid idea. Are we saying last rites on the turkey or for us?” he asked with a mischievous grin.

Olivia couldn’t resist giggling. “We’ll pray for us and for those who are fortunate not to be eating my cooking today.”

Collin’s head bobbed in agreement. “Yes, the meal you skip here today is the life you save!”

Olivia kicked him under the table.

“What was that for?” he asked while reaching down to rub his shin.

“Let’s go around the table and name one thing we are thankful for,” Olivia suggested. 

Collin was thankful for his beautiful wife and children, and his medically-trained father in-law’s presence.

Steve was thankful for his daughter and her family’s generous offer for dinner and a standing reservation at the Pub afterwards.

Olivia was thankful for no witnesses to the murders she was about to commit, and for her children who smiled adoringly at her while making a dreadful mess playing with their mashed potatoes and gravy. It was hard to believe two children could wear so many yams.

Truth be told, most of the dinner was pretty tasty. The turkey was a little over-done but lots of gravy helped it slide down if it was cut in small pieces. Steve found a strange-looking white thing in his cranberry sauce that Olivia decided must be a berry stem.

Liv excused herself to get dessert. The lovely, spice-scented pie with perfectly browned edges, and just the right little crack near the middle waited to be sliced.

“You sure you didn’t get this at Baker’s Square?” Collin asked in a suspicious tone.

Olivia beamed with pride. “I made it myself and I’m sure it’s going to be delicious. Would you like a slice, Collin? Dad?” she asked as she slid her pie knife into the crust.

“You bet,” Steve said. “Extra whipping cream, too.”

“Can’t wait,” Collin said with enthusiasm.

Half way across the pie, her knife hit something hard. The smile slid from Olivia’s face. She wiggled her knife out of the filling and gently probed the pie with it.

Eyebrows raised, Collin asked, “Is something wrong, darling?”

Olivia kept up her little stabbing motions and then stuck her finger in the pie to produce her mixing spoon. She closed her eyes and her chest shook with silent laughter. She licked the spoon clean and dropped it with a clatter onto one of the dinner plates.

Collin and Steve stared wide-eyed at each other and wisely said nothing. Each held their plate forward for their slice and a generous splotch of whipping cream flavored with just a touch of almond.

“Was that a new baking technique?” Collin asked after he pronounced the pumpkin pie delicious.

“Very funny. You get to do the dishes for that crack. It’s been long in coming,” Olivia said and then laughed. “Actually the phone rang and I guess I got distracted trying to decide whether to wipe my hands and answer it or not. Oh well, no harm done but I doubt Martha Stewart wants to invite me on to share my new secret.”

It was still, in Olivia’s opinion, a perfectly wonderful Thanksgiving dinner. Especially because nobody went to the ER.

 

Happy Thanksgiving!

Margie