Starry Night by Macomber Debbie

Author:Macomber, Debbie [Macomber, Debbie]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780345528896
Amazon: 0345528891
Barnesnoble: 0345528891
Publisher: Ballantine Books
Published: 2013-01-01T07:00:00+00:00

31

That night Dad had a work dinner so it was only Dinah, Oliver, Mom, and me who sat at the kitchen table and plowed through leftover Viking stew almost in silence. Viking stew is lentil and sausage stew that my mother makes copiously once the weather turns cold. In order to get Oliver and me to eat it as children (Dinah would try anything in that high chair of hers) she told us it was so good for you and hearty that the Vikings ate it before going into battle. That sold Oliver, and as long as she crumbled the sausage instead of sliced it, and used the little black lentils instead of the big green mushy ones, I would eat it too. Dinah stole the dish for the “Winter Comfort Food” episode in her first season on Bravo.

“Isn’t a two-part show on Thanksgiving slightly bor-ing?” Dinah said, breaking the silence as she ground more black pepper into her bowl. As far as I know, she is the only person under twenty-five who seasons her food with ground pepper.

“What did Wendy say?” asked my mother as she took the pepper grinder from Dinah and started going at it into her own bowl. Wendy is one of the producers on Dining with Dinah.

“She said Thanksgiving has the biggest ratings in all of food television and we have to make hay while the sun shines.”

Mom’s face contorted at the making-hay comment. She’s not so crazy about Dinah talking about making money at age ten (I think she thinks it’s crass). But she swallowed it.

“Fair enough.” She poured herself a splash more of red wine.

“Turkey, turkey, turkey.” Dinah rolled her eyes and looked around the table for a reaction.

“Do like three stuffings, that’s the best part anyway.” This offering was the first thing to come out of Oliver’s mouth since he got home. I gave him a meaningful look—about everything that didn’t have to do with stuffing, like Nolan and Reagan.

“What?” Oliver said defensively. “Stuffing is the best part.” I didn’t respond. Before dinner, Mom had told me that tonight I should just be quiet and think about my actions. I did think two things: one, that Oliver is right about stuffing being the best part of Thanksgiving, but two, that had I given Nolan a meaningful look, he would get it and not just think about ripped-up, seasoned bread.

“Wren, are you finished?” Mom asked. “Because I think there is plenty of homework you could be doing upstairs.” I hadn’t said a word and she was annoyed at me just for existing.

“Yeah, I’ll get on it.” I took a piece of bread from the basket in the middle of the table and placed it in the bottom of my bowl to soak up the last of my Viking stew.

“Oliver, help me clean up supper, okay? I want to talk to you.” My mother was totally going to talk to Oliver about Nolan, and I would have to be three flights away wrestling with math.

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