Stir Me Up. Sabrina Elkins
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Название: Stir Me Up
Автор: Sabrina Elkins
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Детская проза
isbn: 9781472071064
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Julian turns his back on both of us and heads for the door. “Good.”
Chapter Eight
The one night a week we have dinner as a family at home is always Tuesday, because on Tuesdays the restaurant is closed. Now, Estella is a lovely person in many ways. I’m pretty much glad Dad married her. He seems very happy with her. But the woman can’t cook. And living with a French chef husband and his chef-trainee daughter, this can make for some pretty amusing meals.
Me, I’m cool with eating just about anything. I mean, I like good food but I’m not a picky eater. I’m fine with normal stuff. Dad, though, is extremely picky. Like, if there’s a grill mark that’s a bit too dark on the meat he won’t touch it. If the crust is cut off the sandwich but a tiny bit remains, he’ll have to cut that bit off as well or he won’t eat it. And Dad is not only ridiculously selective about food, he’s also snooty about it. He only buys and brings home the freshest and best ingredients. Estella, on the other hand, is fine with bottled salad dressing and mayonnaise from a jar, for example. She thinks it’s kind of silly to bother making things like that from scratch.
Oh yeah, one last thing noteworthy about all this: Dad’s an utter power monger and it takes an unparalleled degree of restraint for him not to “help” Estella with dinner. When he does, he takes over. And Estella insists she can do it herself. So, sorry, this is mean of me, but when she pulls her tuna casserole out and I notice it has a topping of crunched-up potato chips on it, I have to bite my lips to keep from laughing. Not at the food—damn, it’s probably the best-looking thing I’ve seen her make. No, I’m laughing because Dad hasn’t come downstairs and seen this yet.
Estella’s made tuna casserole, I text Taryn. Dad will DIE.
IF HE PASSES OUT, she texts back, I VOLUNTEER TO GIVE MOUTH-TO-MOUTH.
Yes, she thinks Dad’s hot. She thinks everyone’s hot.
Gag! I text back. Ugh. Major gag.
WHERE’S HOT WAR VET?
Here he comes now. Should I tell him you say hi?
THAT DEPENDS. IS HE COMING OR IS HE...coming?
I force myself not to imagine this. Then I text back:
Hmm... I’ll ask ;)
WHY? CAN’T YOU TELL?? she replies.
I blush and fight not to smile.
Julian wheels in while I’m still bright-faced. He’s in a Semper Fi T-shirt and cutoff sweats. “What’s wrong with you?” he asks.
I hide the phone. “Nothing, just happened to see your face there.”
“Ha, ha. So amusing.”
Estella’s made a salad—a bagged salad with iceberg lettuce, the kind Dad has repeatedly told her he dislikes. “Are you and Dad having a fight?”
“No,” she says, plunking down ranch dressing—in a bottle—which he also can’t stand and has kind of an irrational campaign against. “Why?”
I look at Julian. This is our first Tuesday dinner together, so he has no idea what my problem is. Sorry, but this is too funny.
The thing that’s not funny at all is Estella must know where this is headed. Is it a test? Maybe I should warn Dad before he comes down. I mean, if they’re in a fight, I’m supposed to be on Dad’s team, aren’t I?
Suddenly the doorbell rings. “Are we expecting company?” I ask with a frown.
“Yes, it’s Brandon.” Estella hurries to answer it.
Brandon has his mother’s dark hair and eyes, but he’s a big guy, like maybe six foot two, and he’s built like a linebacker. He’s also super-cool.
“Hi, Bran!” I say.
“Hi, kiddo. Where’s Jules?”
Estella moves out of her son’s line of vision. “Here he is.”
“Hey, you rebel.” Brandon gives Julian a light shoulder punch. “So you broke out and left early?”
“Yeah.”
“Fuck them, eh?”
“Something like that. Where’s your wife?” Julian asks, clearly wanting a subject change.
“Had to work late. What’s cooking, Ma?”
They head into the kitchen.
“Tuna casserole,” Estella tells them. “You two used to love it.”
“What do you mean, used to?” says Brandon. “Get me a fork.”
“Let me serve it first.”
“I’ll just check it.”
“Wait ’til it’s cooled off at least,” she chides.
Okay, the dish is a family favorite. Yeah, I have to forewarn Dad not to be too snooty about it. “Excuse me a minute,” I say. I run into him halfway up the stairs.
“What’s your hurry?”
“Dad,” I whisper.
“Hmm?”
“Brandon’s here.”
“Yes, I know.”
“And Estella’s made tuna casserole.”
He wrinkles his nose. “Tuna what?”
“Casserole. It’s Brandon and Julian’s favorite dinner from when they were little. They think the recipe’s perfect and doesn’t need fixing or improving.”
“Right,” he says with a slight wince.
We head back down together, and I see Estella serving up a huge square of casserole and plating it. I think it’s going to be for Brandon or Julian—but she passes the plate to Dad. Dad’s eyes get wide for a fraction of a second. “Wow. Looks good.”
“Thanks.” She serves even bigger squares to her son and nephew, and a pretty big one to me.
Actually, I can see why Brandon and Julian like this. She uses cream of mushroom soup, and the good tuna and frozen peas and chopped mushrooms. The potato chip crust is pretty damned fine. Better than breadcrumbs would be. This dish is fun.
“This is good, Estella,” I say.
“Yeah, delicious as usual, Ma.”
“Yeah, thanks,” says Julian softly.
“Sure, thank you for thanking me.” She seems happy. Then she spots Dad. Who, unfortunately, is picking СКАЧАТЬ