His mom pretended not to notice my red face. “No, he’s not big on coffee. Milk, on the other hand…”
“He drinks milk while eating Chinese.” I shuddered. “It’s so gross.”
She laughed as she handed me the coffee. “He get’s that from his father. Teresa is the same way. Speaking of which, you will be meeting her within the next couple of hours.”
Knots formed in my stomach. Meeting his sister made me anxious.
“Have you made stuffing before?” she asked, moving over to the island.
“No.” I joined her on the other side, eyeing the loaves of bread, onions, milk, and eggs.
“My daughter usually helps me in the morning,” she said, placing the dishtowel on the counter. “It’s not difficult at all, so you’re more than welcome to help or keep me company.”
“I can help. What can I do.”
Mrs. Hamilton’s smile was wide. “If you could start with the bread, that would be perfect. All you need to do is break them up in this bowl.” She pointed to a large blue one. “When you’ve finished the loaf, we’ll move on to the next step.”
“Okay.” I pulled my hair up into a ponytail and rolled up my sleeves, then washed my hands quickly.
“That’s a pretty bracelet,” she commented as she started chopping the onion into small chunks.
“Thank you.” I tore apart the bread, probably a little harder than necessary. “Cam told me that his sister was at a dance recital?”
“In Pittsburg,” she said, pride pouring into her voice. “It was an invitation only recital. Richard and I would’ve gone, but we wanted to be home for Cameron. Teresa understands though. We rarely miss any of her dances.”
I finished the loaf. “What’s next?”
“Onions, butter, milk, and seasoning. You get to mush it all with your hands.”
I waited for her to dump in the ingredients. As she did so, she told me how much she thought should go in and then I sunk my hands into the gooey mess. Grinning, I laughed. “Okay, this feels kind of weird.”
“It does. At least you’re not eating it.”
“Raw?”
“Yep, Cameron and Teresa both would try to eat it raw.”
I made a face as I smushed everything together so that the milk and butter would evenly distributed through the bread. After wiping my hands clean, I moved onto the second loaf of bread. “I used to dance,” I admitted.
“Cameron mentioned that.”
My hands stilled around the bread. He’d told his parents that? I wasn’t sure what to make of it.
“I would’ve known if he hadn’t said anything,” she commented as she dropped some of the onions in my bowl. “You still move like a dancer.” She smiled. “I danced and watching Teresa over the years, you come to be able to recognize that in others.”
“It’s nice to hear that. I mean, I don’t feel like I still do.”
“You do.”
I was back to the mushing part again and I decided that was my favorite. I was weird.
“You never made stuffing with your mom?” Cam’s mother asked.
It was an innocent question, but it caused a deep ache to slice across my chest. My mom and I hadn’t been the closest two people in the world before the incident, but afterward, our relationship was nonexistent. “I don’t think my mom knows how to cook,” I said finally.
“You don’t think?”
I shook my head. “My parents aren’t into cooking dinners.”
There was a pause. “Cameron said they travel a lot during the holidays?”
“Yeah, and they kind of like doing their own thing, you know, daughter free.” I forced out a laugh, shrugging it off. “I mean, I’m okay with that. I can’t ski to save my life and being stuck on a ship in the middle of an ocean isn’t something I’m into.”
Mrs. Hamilton was silent as we added the last of the ingredients and I dug my fingers into it, liking the way it slid through my fingers. “So what do you normally do when you’re home?” she asked.
I shrugged. “I wouldn’t be by myself the whole time. They have a maid that usually cooks dinner for me before she goes home. It’s really nice of her because she’s not required to work during the holidays.”
“What about Christmas?”
“The same,” I admitted, surprising myself. I glanced up and found her watching me. “It’s not really a big deal. My family isn’t very close and so it’s probably better this way.” After saying that, I figured it probably wasn’t the best thing to say. “Anyway, I’m done. What’s the next step?”
“It goes in the turkey.” She smiled, but it seemed a little off. “Want to do the honors?”
“Sure.” I waited for her to turn the bird around and then I completed the somewhat gross task of getting all in the turkey’s personal space.
When I was done, I headed over to the double sink while she wrapped the turkey in foil and placed it in a roaster.
“Thank you for helping me, Avery.”