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Parmesan-crusted cauliflower

Glazed baby carrots

Sautéed green beans with almonds

Dauphinoise potatoes

“Looks…ambitious,” he says, picking up the paper to check there’s nothing written on the other side. She scowls and he holds up his hands. “I just meant neither of us are the best chefs.”

“Speak for yourself,” she says primly.

“Ah yes. What was it you tried to make when you nearly burned Priya’s flat down? Crumble? Or was that the lasagna?”

“Just peel the potatoes, Finn,” she snaps, getting out a peeler and stopping short of throwing it at him.

They work at opposite ends of the kitchen counter, Mel chopping mushrooms for the next step of the Wellington, the smell of roasting beef and garlic filling the kitchen. All right, the silence between them is a little awkward, but she figures better awkward silence than awkward small talk. She is thinking that she might be able to get through preparing the whole meal without speaking to him, when she hears Susan’s voice.

“Can I come in? I’ve got my eyes closed!”

Finn immediately lurches to Mel’s side, in a way that would be funny under any other circumstance. He slings an arm around her at the same time as calling, “It’s okay! You won’t be able to figure it out—come in!”

Mel prods him in the ribs, hard. “We are cooking,” she hisses into his ear, quietly enough that Susan, opening the kitchen door, won’t be able to hear. “You do not cook with your arm round someone else.” When he looks down at her, assessing, she prods him harder, deliberately angling the knife she’s holding on the chopping board for emphasis.

He drops his arm away from her shoulder—a little too hesitantly, to her mind—as Susan comes into the kitchen.

“Mmmm! Something smells nice.” Susan smiles at them both. “I promise I’m not peeking, so don’t tell me off like Hattie did. I just need a cuppa. Is that okay?”

“I’ll make it,” Mel says immediately, setting down her knife and moving to put the kettle on to boil.

“Thanks, love. So, let me guess…” She sniffs the air very deliberately. “Something with onions.”

Finn laughs. “Sure. That narrows it down.”

“And…” Susan comes up to the counter, checking out the chopping boards. “Mushroom velouté.”

“Not totally sure I know what that is,” Finn says, “but I’m going to go with no.”

“And here you are, inspiring me with such confidence in the kitchen.” Susan pats his cheek affectionately.

Mel makes the tea how Susan likes it—white with two sugars—and hands it over. Susan gives Mel her signature warm smile. “Well, I’ll leave you to it, then.” She heads back out of the kitchen, blowing on her tea.

“She seems happy,” Finn muses, almost to himself, looking at the door Susan just stepped through.

“Yeah,” Mel says. “She does.” Though she immediately thinks of the supermarket trip, of the way Susan had teared up when they’d gotten back, seeing Hattie with Dylan. Happy sad, though, right?

“You know, when she and Dad first divorced, I was so worried about how she’d get through it. I mean, it’s not like their relationship was perfect, far from it, but it was what everyone was used to, you know?” Mel nods noncommittally. Finn has only talked to her a little about what it was like when his parents broke up, claiming it was all in the past and long forgotten about—and she can’t really imagine it, seeing as how her parents have never been anything other than a united front. “I thought there had to be a reason she’d stayed with him all this time—she must have loved him.”

Mel opens her mouth, thinking of what Susan told her in the supermarket. She stayed for you, she’s about to say. For you and Hattie and Mark. She realizes just in time that maybe Susan wouldn’t want them to know this. She wouldn’t want them feeling guilty, if they don’t already, for being the reason she stayed in an unhappy marriage.

“Anyway, after he left, it’s like she came out of herself more. And I realized he was dampening her. I know she worries about all of us still, but seeing her this holiday—it’s reminded me of how it was for the best that they split. How she’s managed to find happiness on her own.”

Mel feels it like a knife to the gut. She can’t even look at him as she nods. It feels too pointed for him to be discussing this now. Was she dampening him in their relationship—is that what he’s trying to say? And now he’s finding happiness on his own, just like his mum? She chops a mushroom particularly violently so that the knife slams into the chopping board.

Finn glances over at her and she flexes her fingers, moving to get a bowl to dump the mushrooms in while checking the timer on the oven.

“What next?” Finn asks, piling the sliced potatoes at one side of the chopping board.

“Ah…” Mel gets out her phone to check the recipes. “If you simmer the cream and milk with three cloves of garlic, then add the potatoes for, like, three minutes.”