In A Jam by Megan Sparks

Author:Megan Sparks [Sparks, Megan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Curious Fox
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

“When I was growing up, we had a tradition of having as many pies as we had people over for Thanksgiving. I’ve got an apple-peach and a pumpkin cheesecake. What should the third one be?” Dad asked as he rolled out the dough.

The kitchen was filled with dirty pots and utensils, but the smells engulfing it were tantalizing. Roasting turkey and fresh cranberry sauce, spices blending with the sliced fruit. Annie had deliberately eaten only a slice of toast for breakfast, just so she could enjoy the feast. Any minute now her stomach would start moaning.

Annie looked up from the potatoes she was peeling. “Mum likes lemon meringue.”

Her parents had barely spoken since the bout last night, and when they did, it was in stiff, formal tones. No longer were they “Pippa” and “Davy”; the warmth from the first day was long gone.

“Good plan.” Dad placed half of the dough in the bottom of the pie pan and dusted it with flour and brown sugar. “I’ll put the egg yolks in the cheesecake. Where is your mum anyway?”

Annie sighed. “In her room. Working.”

“Ah, of course.” A sad smile crossed Dad’s face and Annie knew how he felt. Even several thousands of miles away from her office, Mum couldn’t stop working, despite being on holiday. But when challenged, she always said that someone had to support the family. Another constant argument between her parents.

“I can ask her to come and help,” Annie said.

“Don’t bother. It’s a small kitchen. And I can do it all. I am the master Thanksgiving chef extraordinaire, muah hahahaha!” Dad puffed out his chest and gave an evil laugh that was cut short by the cranberry sauce boiling over. He quickly rushed over to turn the gas off and gave the sauce a stir. Bringing the wooden spoon to his lips, he blew on it until it was cool enough to taste. He sighed blissfully. “I do love any holiday that involves loads of food.”

Annie threw the potatoes in the pot of boiling water, sprinkled in some salt and placed the lid slightly askew to let out the steam. “How come we never celebrated Thanksgiving in London?”

“I kept it up for a while, when you were really little. But it’s not a holiday over there. You had school and your mum had work... Things just got complicated.” Dad didn’t look at her as he went back to weaving the dough strips in a lattice over the apple-peach filling.

“There was that one year, remember? We went to Mum’s American colleague’s house for Thanksgiving?” Annie began separating the eggs for the meringue, a task she’d always enjoyed since Dad first showed her how to do it.

Dad gave a melodramatic whimper of despair. “Oh, don’t remind me. Dry turkey. Mashed potatoes and stuffing from boxes. Cranberry sauce. From a can! Pre-made pumpkin pie mix. I almost needed therapy after that trauma.”

“Well this year, the food’s going to be gorgeous.” Noticing that Dad was distracted as he remembered the disastrous dinner, Annie sneaked a slice of sugar and cinnamon spiced apple from the pie filling.

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