Momma's Home-Style Cooking

A flash fiction piece.

Warm light from the setting sun shimmers between the closed blinds, basking the kitchen in a golden glow. Dust dances and swirls lazily in the air, never truly finding a spot where it can rest its weary feet. A cold wind berates against the house, the kind that makes you cower near the fireplace for warmth with your hands wrapped around a steaming cup of hot chocolate, with marshmallows of course.

            The holiday is upon us. Everyone can feel its tangles in the air with strands so thick a person would have to hack at it with a machete for an hour just to get to the next room.  It’s always a joyous time; one to be celebrated with family of all shapes and sizes.

 

* * *

            Lift your nose and take a deep breath. Smell that? That’s Momma’s famous Holiday Roast. Nobody can cook like she does. In a short time there will be a feast in the dining room. Tables are set up that stretch across the hall and into the living room to accommodate us all. We’re a big family and we grow with each gathering. There are some people that you should take note of though.

            Grandma Sinclair is a shell of a woman. Grandpapa S passed away recently. You can say that he was her entire world and nothing else existed, so it had been for the past fifty years. Poor thing. If she had the strength she would kill herself. She’s asked everyone in the family to do it for her, but none of us granted her wish; though many of us felt the power over life whenever we held a knife in her presence. One flick, one slit and it would be done. But we don’t treat our family that way. At least, not any more.

            Now if you should come upon a small little boy by the name of Edward during your stay. It’s best not to pay attention to him. A little thief he is. Like Father, like Son. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, they say. It’ll be in your best interest to watch your wallet and valuables while you’re here. He may be cute, he may even sweet talk you, but that little devil is a coy one. If little Edward by chance does come to possession of something that belongs to you, simply hang him out the window by his feet until he complies. Proper parenting means proper discipline, otherwise the child will never learn. People tend to learn quick when they’re dangling a story off the ground held by the person that controls their life at that moment.

            Then there’s Edward’s father, Mason. Now him, you don’t want to cross. He’s the gentleman with a necklace of bones tattooed around his neck and shaved head. You see him, you go to the next room. If you think Edward is bad, his Father is worse. Spends most of his time in and out of prison. He’s got the devil in him. If you feel a cold shiver run down your back, then he’s got you in his sights and that’s where you don’t want to be. Mason was such a sweet boy once, then he became nasty, he liked to stab things. According to the doctors, that’s all cured now. But still, between you and me, he’s our family’s dark secret. Nobody really talks to him nor invites him, but he just generally tends to show up.

            We’re a simple family, with simple values. Yes we have our few black sheep, but I want to know what honest to God family doesn’t. There are things in your life that you just can’t help. Situations happen and outcomes you cannot reverse. We learn from our mistakes and we move on. As all people should.

           

* * *

The timer goes off. The house is silent. Momma’s heels click on the wooden floor. A velvet red dress hugs her skin while a frilly apron is draped around it, protecting it. Momma pulls open the oven and inhales. Her nostrils flair. Her eyelids flutter in aroma ecstasy as her eyes roll to the back of her head. A smile reaches up to her eyes.

            Momma reaches in and pulls the tray out. And there lay Grandpapa S, roasted to perfection. With an effort Momma places the tray upon the counter. Grandpa S is scrunched, like a pig, even with an apple in the mouth. His skin is tan and slick with glaze. The eyes are missing, but Momma’s homemade stuffing is overflowing through the holes.

Now it’s Momma’s time to shine. She’s a blur in the kitchen, gathering the right finishing spices. A pinch of salt. A dash of rosemary. And a sprinkle of cinnamon to sweeten the deal. Her lips smack as she salivates while she works. Momma hoists Grandpapa S onto the serving platter. With a twirl she places the final touch. A leaf of garland to bring color to the dish.

Momma carries the roast into the dining room. All of the family is there, sitting, waiting, and hungry. She smiles and looks at her loved ones. Finally, Grandma Sinclair has broken from her phase. Her hands clutch her knife and fork and a feral look in her eyes.

Momma places the platter on the table and announces:

“Dinner’s ready!”

           

Author's Note

Looking to potentially get this published.