Chapter Six AvaIt’s a wonder my mother lets me help in the kitchen anymore. Her off-script cooking style and my dedicated loyalty to the recipe mix about as well as oil and vinegar—our evening of cookie baking made that clear yet again. With Dad, her usual sous chef, napping off his long morning of doctors’ appointments, she’s stuck with me and my slow but methodical process of slicing peppers in perfectly even slices.
“It’s all getting mixed up in a salad anyway,” she reminds me. “It doesn’t matter if they’re even or not.”
I accept the reminder with a smile but keep at my slow, precise work. After all, if I focus all my energy on this, maybe I won’t completely lose my mind over the master chef to my immediate left.
Barrett, playing the part of the perfect house guest, dices and chops v
