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Men were often scarce in their family when it came time for chores like doing the dishes or setting the table, but whip out a power tool like a leaf blower or deep fryer, and they fought to take over.
“Maureen, your coffee tastes like shite!” Aunt Col grimaced as she chewed on the sooty brew in her cup.
“How the hell would you know? You likely burned your tastebuds clean off with the amount of whiskey you dumped in your cup,” Gran snapped, always defensive whenever anyone criticized something that came out of her kitchen.
“It’s bitter and gritty. Tastes like it’s old. I’ll need to floss when I’m done.”
“The only thing old and bitter in my kitchen, is you. Drink it and shut the hell up.”
“I’ll make a fresh pot,” Skylar offered, accepting Aunt Col’s mug and dumping its contents down the drain of the old farm sink. Her lashes fluttered as the fumes of alcohol hit her eyes.
“You shouldn’t be drinkin’ coffee this time of day, anyway,” Aunt Rosemarie chimed in. “It’s not good for your blood pressure. Didn’t the doctor warn you about having too much caffeine, Colleen?”
“I’m sure my blood pressure would go down if you got off my arse about it,” Aunt Col grumbled.
Skylar set the filter full of grounds under the drip and started a fresh pot to brew. Her aunts’ incessant bickering was more of a love language than any sort of irritation. Skylar had grown up around it and hardly noticed anymore. Just as Gran argued with her sisters, her mom quarreled with Aunt Sheilagh and all her other siblings. Big families meant big mouths.
Drying Aunt Col’s mug with one of her grandmother’s worn tea towels, Skylar drifted closer to the door to get a peek at the huddle of uncles. A wall of broad, flannel clad backs blocked her view of the deep fryer. She chuckled at the lower level of boys, dressed just like their daddies in denim and plaid, standing hip high and trying to shoulder their way into the cluster.
They huddled around a tall metal pot, discussing cutlery, sipping beer, and arguing which type of oil would fry the turkey best.
“Peanut oil has the highest flash point,” Uncle Braydon argued, earning a confused scowl from Uncle Kelly.
“How the hell do you know that?” Uncle Kelly didn’t know much about grilling or other carnivore kinds of cooking on account of his wife being a vegetarian.
Braydon shrugged. “I heard it somewhere?”
“Where?”
Uncle Finn smirked, using his beer can to point at his brother. “Bray’s been watching the cooking network!”
“So?” Braydon shrugged defensively. “They have good stuff on there.”
Kelly slung an arm around his brother’s shoulders. “What’s the matter, Bray? Is Becca’s cooking not doing it for you?”
“I heard that!” Aunt Becca snapped from behind Skylar in the kitchen. “My cooking’s fine, Kelly.”
Skylar returned to the sink to grab another dish to dry. It was no secret that all the McCullough women, including Kate, Skylar’s mother, strove to reach the domestic rank of her grandmother’s culinary skills.
The subtle decline of Gran’s kitchen space spoke of age wearing her down more than anything else. To outsiders, Maureen McCullough could give the Energizer Bunny a run for its money. But to those closest to her, the changes in her energy were clear.
As the eldest granddaughter, Skylar always felt a special connection with Gran. She liked to think Gran felt it, too. It was no chore to spend Sundays together, helping her prep meals for their enormous family, especially since she’d been doing it since the days when she needed a step stool to simply reach the sink.
“Skylar, be a dear and get the big serving bowl out from the lower cabinet for me. My knees aren’t what they once were. I don’t have time to get stuck on the floor today.”
“Sure, Gran.”
When Skylar passed the backdoor again, the men were arguing over how to field dress a deer. They had been drinking since eleven a.m., on account of it being Sunday, a religious day. Her family worshipped four deities—Jesus, football, food, and beer. Missing mass was a mortal sin, only second to missing Gran’s Sunday dinner.
“Where’s Uncle Colin?” she asked, passing Gran the bowl she requested.
“Oh, he stayed after church to collect for the food pantry. Thanksgiving’s one of their biggest drives of the year.”
“I forgot he was doing that.” Skylar had big news she wanted to share and she didn’t want Colin to miss her announcement. “Will he be here for dinner?”
“He better be.”
She smirked. Even Uncle Colin, who had nearly become a priest before marrying her Aunt Samantha, and dedicated most of his free time to helping others, didn’t have a pass to miss a Sunday dinner.
Steam billowed from a collection of pots on the stove and the house smelled divine. With almost everyone present, the heat indoors climbed to sweltering, despite the autumn chill. Aunt Rosemarie, who had been in a perpetual hot flash since last century, opened all the windows in the kitchen to let some air in, along with the shouting male voices outside.
