AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Okay. Say hi to Dean and Cynthia for me.”
“I will. Bye, Rosie.”
“Bye!”
We hang up and I climb out of the car. Despite the cooler temperatures, the greenery around my childhood home is flourishing thanks to the rain. The lemon tree to the left of the front path is starting to flower, the very beginnings of citrus appearing on the branches.
The front door is unlocked, so I walk right inside, heading toward the kitchen.
My mom is standing at the counter, chopping tomatoes. “Hi, sweetheart.”
“Hey, Mom.” I walk over and kiss her cheek, stealing a slice of red fruit off the cutting board. “Dad said he’ll be home soon.”
“I’m sure he believed that when he said it. Wine?”
“Sure, thanks.”
My mom pulls a bottle of white out of the fridge and pours me a glass.
“Eddie or Rachel coming over?”
“No, Eddie and April are at her parents’ for dinner and Rachel has her book club tonight.”
“Oh, that’s right.”
“She was at a planning session for this summer’s trip when I called her earlier.”
“Is it still between China or Argentina?”
“I think Greece is in the mix now.”
“Wow.” I swirl the wine in my glass, then take a sip. It’s dry, tasting subtly of floral and citrus. “Wine is good.”
“Isn’t it? Susan brought it over with the vegetables. It’s from a vineyard in Napa.”
I nod, then take another sip. “I’m going to New York on Monday. With an agent from the office.”
“Really? That’s nice.” My mom continues chopping, periodically tossing tomatoes into a mixing bowl. I wait. “Do you think you’ll see Oliver?”
I steal another bite from the bowl. “Doubt it. He’s very busy.”
“He wasn’t too busy to fly across the country.”
“Youmademe ask him, Mom. He felt obligated.”
She shakes her head, a small smile appearing. “In my experience, men do nothing they don’t want to do. He came here foryou, Hannah.”
“Can I help chop?”
She judges the topic change with another head shake but goes and grabs a second cutting board and knife. She slides both toward me, along with two cucumbers.
This dish has been a favorite of mine since I was a kid. It’s relatively simple, just tomatoes, cucumbers, and roasted chicken seasoned with olive oil, thyme, salt, pepper, and vinegar, then topped with olives and feta. But no matter how many times I try to make it myself, it never tastes the same as when I eat it here beneath the trellis.
By the time my father gets home, we’ve chopped everything, and the chicken is in the oven. He kisses my mom and then grabs a beer out of the fridge, a domestic display I used to always cringe at.
Partly because they’re my parents, but also because the placid predictability struck me as boring. It’s the complete opposite of the uncertainty of a first kiss. That moment of anticipation when you’re not sure what it will be like. Years of kissing the same person sounded dull and rote. But there’s a comfort in it too, I’m noticing, as my mom hip checks my dad out of the way so she can finish seasoning the vegetables.
“Up for a game?” he asks, turning toward me.
