Amish Jedi: In a City Far, Far Away

Episode 3.2 ~ Bella

"How did the audition go dear?" Betty asks Megs as she cuts into the lasagna with a spatula, scoops up a perfect square and slides it onto Frank's plate. "Get some bread and butter," she tells him before returning her attention to Megs. "What was the name of the play again?"

"Vampire Detective," Megs holds her plate out to her grandmother. "I got the part."

"Are they paying you well?" Betty serves Martin.

Megs uses the side of her fork to cut into the lasagna, shoves a piece in her mouth, and then drops her fork. "Hot," she says waving her hand over her half-open mouth where the piece of lasagna is still balanced on her tongue.

I hand her my napkin.

She grabs her glass of water, douses the fire in her mouth, and swallows the piece of lasagna whole.

"Plate," Betty extends her spatula to me, balancing a slightly burnt corner slice. "A glass of milk?" she asks Megs, sliding the lasagna onto my plate.

I opt to start with a sliver of garlic bread sans butter as my mother's warning about English dairy surfaces.

Betty bustles off to the kitchen and back again cradling a glass of milk and hands it off to Megs.

"How're your parents?" Frank asks me.

"Good." I don't know what else to say because I don't know what Betty's told him about them.

"I always liked them—"

"My sister is quite likable," Betty interrupts. "I suppose Miriam will be out of school soon."

I nod and suddenly understand why Megs shoved piping hot lasagna in her mouth. I blow on mine a bit before doing the same. I doubt Betty would rush off to get me a glass of milk. Let me burn, more like it.

"She should continue on anyway. Fewer and fewer Amish are going to be able to make an income on farm life," Betty says. 

I take a gulp of water so I don't say something I'll regret later like, How would you know?

"What's been going on with you, Martin?" she asks. "Will you be joining us at Megs's play?"

Martin's already done with his square and is serving himself salad. "Sure."

Megs stabs her lasagna a bit too forcefully. I seem to be the only one who notices.

"Have you had your dad's strawberry cream cheese?" Frank asks me.

"He lets us try all the flavors."

"Naturally, naturally," Frank nods. "I've never tasted anything nearly as good as that strawberry flavor, though."

"When is the opening night scheduled for?" Betty cuts across Frank, redirecting the attention to Megs.

"October second." Megs continues to eat and drink intermittently, keeping her mouth occupied. "Teddy's birthday."

"Have they had any luck on the bagel recipe?" Betty asks, cutting her food into symmetrical fork-sized bites.

Megs clears her throat and takes her time sipping on milk, dabbing her mouth clean, and laying her napkin back in her lap before answering, "Zia helped a bit."

Betty's glare darts to me. "How did you help?"

Suddenly I feel very much like Harry Potter on trial, only Umbridge is my judge rather than Fudge. "I, um, taught him a few things about, um, flavor inventing."

"The Cohen's are not Amish, Zia. You can't go pushing your baking style on them."

"They asked for help—"