Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
It’s always a good time when the Archers get together for my mom’s southern cooking. As much as we grew up enjoying foods from my dad’s Polish side, my maternal grandmother’s influence, we ate chicken and dumplings, collards and corn bread. Our Sunday meal has been going on for as long as I can remember. With my parents’ busy lives, between their careers and raising five kids, Sundays seem to be the only day we can all have quality time together.
I made a late-morning run to the gym and then stopped by the grocery store for my mom on the way home for ice cream to go with the peach cobbler she’s making for dessert.
Tim’s and Brian’s cars are already in the long driveway that curves around the back of the house to the detached garage. Brian followed in my mom’s footsteps and became an engineer. While he has a close relationship with his mother, Brian always seemed to gel with mine just a little more. I think it’s because their brains are similarly wired. Tim went to college to become a landscape architect and works with Dad in the landscaping business. With Tim’s skills and degree, they’ve expanded into more high-end residential homes and he’s the heir apparent… the one who will take over when Dad hangs up his Weed Eater.
Of course, who knows what the younger boys, Landon and Mason, will be, but at twelve and fourteen, they really just want to be boys and play video games and sports.
I park behind Tim’s Ford Bronco and nab the grocery bag as well as my gym bag out of the back. Given the very good money I make, along with having my housing needs covered, I save almost everything I earn, but I do splurge on my gym membership. I showered after my workout, so my mop of auburn curls is still slightly damp.
With everyone home, including Tim’s and Brian’s wives, plus Leo who will be joining us, it’s a bit crowded. Lucky for us, my father built an incredible outdoor living space which is where I’m sure we’ll be eating, around his handmade oak table that seats fourteen.
When I enter the front door, I’m not surprised to find Mason and Landon on the couch playing Gran Turismo on their PlayStation. They don’t even cut me a glance, so intent on their race. Mason’s tongue sticks out of the side of his mouth telling me he’s in full concentration mode. The more competitive of the two boys, he’ll get upset if he loses. Landon, on the other hand, is grinning like a fool as he maneuvers his digitized sports car around the track. The boys sit side by side, nudging each other with their elbows and swaying left and right as their cars bank along the curves.
Grinning, I duck low so as not to obstruct their view of the TV and head into the kitchen where I find the rest of the crew. Mom is at the stove, working small batches of her southern fried chicken. My mouth waters at the heavenly smell of the seasonings and oil. Tim and his wife, Mandy, are at the kitchen island. Mandy is a fitness instructor and I actually go to the same gym where she teaches, although she does group classes and that’s not my jam. Brian and Dad are at the nook table, each kicked back with a beer and laughing about something. Brian’s wife, Susan, comes out of the half bath, nearly running into me.
“Mazzy,” she exclaims, tossing her arms around my shoulders for a quick hug.
“Hey, sis,” I reply, unable to return the embrace because I’m holding a bag in each hand. I lean into her all the same. Susan is a dental hygienist and has the straightest, whitest, most perfect teeth I’ve ever seen. Her smile is wide, like Julia Roberts, and it lights up the room when she turns it on full wattage.
Pulling away, I drop my gym bag at the foot of the staircase that leads up to the bedrooms, intent on carrying it up later. I move to the freezer and deposit the vanilla ice cream, then stuff the plastic bag in the recycling bin.
I take a moment to dole out hugs to Brian, Tim, and Mandy, receive a wink from my dad, and then move to my mom’s side at the stove. I watch silently as she carefully turns the chicken with a pair of tongs. I’ve watched her cook this dozens of times over my life and I have the recipe card, which will pass down to me and the boys at some point, but I’ve never attempted to make this meal. It’s so freaking good and I’m just afraid I’ll never do it justice. Plus, I feel a bit like a fraud since I don’t have pure southern blood the way Mom does.