I wanted to scream and tell her that she needed stability, that I could handle it, and that she was just hurting herself. She was in too much pain to handle what was happening, but telling her all that wouldn’t make a difference. I brought her a spoonful of broth. “Try this.”
She took the spoon and downed the steaming liquid. Her face lit up. “That’s fantastic.” Seeing her smile was a huge relief.
“You don’t think it needs a little more salt?” I asked.
“No, once you serve it the taste will bloom,” she said.
“I think you’re right.” I grabbed the bowl and started spooning the dumplings into the pot. “It won’t be long.”
“Have you spoken to Loren?” she asked.
“Yeah, she should be here any minute.”
“I am hungry,” my mother conceded.
“Did you tell Dad?” I glared at her playfully.
“No, I did exactly what you told me. He has no idea what’s going on.”
“Please,” he said, hobbling into the kitchen. “You really think I haven’t smelled that?”
“I should’ve known.”
He walked over to the stove and looked in the pot. “Did you make biscuits?” he asked.
“Shit.” I ducked down to open the oven and got blasted in the face with steam. I jumped back to get a look. The biscuits were soft but golden, the perfect consistency. “Thank God.” I grabbed a mitt and pulled them out.
My father snatched one right off the pan and sat down to eat it, completely undaunted by the heat. I handed him a plate and a pat of butter. He devoured the whole thing in one bite. “Give me another one of those, would you?”
“Mike,” my mother scolded him.
“I can eat whatever I damn well please.” The doorbell went off.
“That’s Loren.” I handed my dad three biscuits and walked out to answer the door.
“Sexy package delivery.” Loren rushed in and gave me a hug. Her brown hair had been braided into pigtails.
“You just got off, huh?”
“Can you tell?” She wore a pair of tight white shorts and a blue shirt that looked like it was three sizes too small.
“Nah, come on. Dinner’s almost ready.”
When we walked into the kitchen, my father was eating what must’ve been his fifth biscuit with two more sitting next to him, and my mother cupped her forehead in dismay. My father waved and smiled. He had bread sticking out of his mouth.
“How are you guys?” Loren pulled a soda out of the fridge. My dad reached out, and she handed him one.
“We’re alright, I suppose,” my mother said. “How are things with you, Loren?”
“Good, just working.”
“Talk to my daughter,” my mother said. “She can’t be working 16-hour shifts every day. She’s going to get burnt out, and it’s not good for her.”
“Mom,” I said.
“She’s a grown woman.” Loren opened her soda.
“Thank you.” I set the lid on the pot to let the dumplings boil.