Nicole went to her mashed potatoes and glanced at them. “These are hardening. They’re going to be gross.”
“You’re getting caught up in your head,” he said, having a long drink from his beer.
She glanced up from her soon-to-be fossilized potatoes. “Must be nice to just hang out and drink a beer while your fiancé does all the work.”
“It’s not as easy as it looks to be this laid back,” he said with a smirk.
“At least at the house Chef Roland could have helped me deal with this disaster.”
“That would be great, having your folks eat food made by a personal chef in a multi-million dollar mansion.” Red laughed. “Afterwards we could have gotten a helicopter to fly us around the Statue of Liberty.”
“It probably would have been better than this,” Nicole said. She opened the oven again, shook her head. “I need to put some tinfoil on this to keep it warm and keep the moisture in.”
“Where’s the tinfoil again?” Red asked, starting to open cabinets.
“Thanks for at least trying to help,” she replied, opening the third drawer of the cabinet beside the sink. She took out the aluminum foil and pulled out a long strip to overlay the chicken.
“Everything’s going to be fine,” he said, for the millionth time. “Nothing ever goes as badly as you think it’s going to.”
Nicole thought to herself that those sounded like famous last words.
About an hour later, her mother and father finally arrived at the apartment, and they were in absolutely terrible moods. It was obvious they’d been at each other’s throats, even though they tried to hide it initially.
“We’re so, so sorry,” her mother said as she entered the apartment. “That was the worst traffic I’ve been stuck in since I don’t know when.”
“If we’d taken the Brooklyn Bridge instead, like I said,” her father began and her mother snapped at him.
“The Brooklyn Bridge would have made us even later. Would you like to have gotten here at ten o’clock at night instead?”
“That bridge would have been clear all the way.”
“No it would not. Don’t be foolish.”
Her father shook his head and mumbled something.
Nicole’s mother made a face. “This is what I’ve been dealing with all night.”
Red was right there to greet them, shaking her father’s hand and hugging her mother. Her mother embraced him with about as much enthusiasm as if she’d been told to hug a deranged serial killer.
“Let me take your coat,” Red said, and he took her mom and dad’s coats and hung them on the coatrack beside the door.
“I’m going to put dinner on the table right away,” Nicole said. “I can’t let it sit any longer.”
“Let me help you, honey,” her mother replied, and the two of them went into the kitchen together.
“Can I get you a beer, Mr. Masters?” Red asked.
“Call me Bud, and heck yes,” he laughed.
“Great, now he’s going to be drunk on top of everything else,” her mother said, shaking her head in annoyance.
Red opened the fridge and grabbed a beer, exchanging a look with Nicole.
“Sorry you and Dad had such a tough drive here,” Nicole said as she opened the oven and pulled out the chicken.
“Oh, it’s fine. Just happy to spend time with both of you,” her mom replied, without even the hint of a smile. “Now what can I do to help?”
“Well, I need to add some milk and butter to those potatoes.”
Her mother took the cover off the mashed potatoes and looked inside, sniffing. Then she grabbed a spoon from the counter and dipped it in, tasting them. “Maybe a little more salt and pepper, too.”
Nicole shrugged. “Okay, then. Whatever you’d like to add.”
She could hear her father and Red speaking in muted tones so as not to disturb the womenfolk.
In a way, it gave her some comfort to know that at least her dad would likely be friendly tonight.
With her mom assisting in her own, inimitable way (which meant lots of comments about what to do better next time), they were finally able to get dinner on the table.
Everyone settled down to eat at the tiny table where Nicole and Danielle usually just left their mail and did their nails from time to time. Nicole couldn’t even remember the last time she’d actually eaten a meal at this table with other people.
“It smells wonderful,” Red told her, as she served him a plate of chicken, gravy, mashed potatoes and corn.
“It sure does,” her father agreed, seemingly content now that he had his beer and was about to fill his belly.
Suddenly her mother’s cell was ringing. She looked at it and without even apologizing, answered in a loud, obnoxious voice. “HELLO?” Pause. “Oh, yes. Yes, I meant to send that to you, I just didn’t get a chance yet. I’ll put it in the mail tomorrow afternoon when I get home…Well, we’re having dinner in Brooklyn with Nicole and Red.”