“Can you see anything?”
Twelve-year-old Talon shook his head and crawled closer to the kitchen doorway. His hands and knees objected to the hardness of the wood floors, but he kept soldiering on. He had a mission and he wasn’t going to let his dad down.
A loud bang followed by a louder curse made Talon jump back. He looked over his shoulder at his dad whose face mirrored his own feelings.
Fear.
Another loud crash made Talon scramble back to his dad. He quivered as a shrill cry of frustration filled the air. What exactly was happening in there? It sounded like his mom was waging war on the kitchen and losing…badly.
“The situation is worse than I initially thought,” his dad said as they huddled together in the family room. “We need to made an offensive play and fast. We don’t want a repeat of Labor Day.”
They shuddered. Food poising wasn’t pleasant in the best of circumstances, but it was especially bad when one had to wrestle the pastor of the local church for use of the bathroom. Who knew a man of God had such sharp elbows?
“Maybe Aunt Deena will bring extra food.” Usually Thanksgiving was at his aunt’s house, but this year his mother was determined to host the event. Everyone was terrified to come, but no one had the heart to tell her no.
His father gave him a resigned look. “Your mother called and told her specifically not to bring anything.”
“N-Nothing?” Talon stuttered, grabbing his stomach. He tried to think if he had any Peeps stashed in his closet.
“Not even a pie.”
Talon whimpered. He was really looking forward to the pie. “What do we do?”
His father sighed. “I didn’t want it to come to this, but it looks like we have no choice.” Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out several take-out menus. “Circle which ones you want and I’ll place the order.”
“But what about the stuff” —he refused to call it food—“she’s making right now? How will we get rid of it?”
“Remember Valentine’s Day?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard over the loud din of pots and pans clanging.
“Dad,” Talon groaned. “I can’t do that again.” After “accidently” knocking over the food onto the floor, his mom turned into a one-woman waterfall. “I can’t take the tears.”
He put his hand on Talon’s shoulder. “There’s a time in every kid’s life when they have to make a tough decision. This is one of those times. Think of the big picture, Talon. A few tears versus a night in the emergency room.”
“Fine,” Talon pouted, knowing he wasn’t going to win this argument, “but I’m blaming you if she finds out. I’m not running up the stairs again.” The thought made his stomach clench in misery.
His dad shot him a traitorous look. “She’s not going to find out.” The distinct sound of the garbage disposal made him cringe. “Hopefully.”
***
Talon sat on the curb and watched as the firemen surround his house.
“I don’t know what went wrong,” his mother sobbed into her hands. “I did just as the book instructed.”
“I know,” his dad said in a soothing voice. He rubbed her back as she continued to weep, occasionally looking over his shoulder at the house with a mournful expression.
They had been so close. After ordering a bunch of take-out, his dad lured his mom away and Talon snuck in the kitchen. He pulled out a huge bottle of soda from the fridge and shook it up real good. Then he pointed it at the food and let it explode.
When his mother saw the aftermath, he braced himself for crying and finger pointing, but she didn’t do any of that. Instead, she patted him on the head and happily informed him the “real” food was in the oven so his accident didn’t mess anything up.
Dejected, he ran into the living room and had another huddle with his father. As they tried to come up with plan b, they started to smell smoke.
“Delivery for Mr. Harrington?” a man asked warily, looking around at the chaos.
His mother’s head popped up, her eyes narrowing on the three bags of take-out.
“U-Uhh…here,” his dad gulped, guilt written all over his face.
“What’s this?” she asked, her eyes seething.
He took a hasty step away from her. “Now don’t get upset—”
“Upset? Why would I be upset that my husband ordered food when he knew perfectly well that I was cooking?”
“It was just a precaution.” He flicked a hand at the fireman hosing down the house. “And a pretty good one, I might add.”
“You said you trust me!”
“I trust you,” he said, putting a hand on his chest. He gave her an innocent look before adding, “I just don’t trust your cooking abilities.”
Talon tuned out their arguing and stood as his grandpa drove up the street in his old, beat up truck. He pulled up alongside Talon and rolled down his window.
“Should I even ask?” he said, jerking his head over to the black column of smoke billowing out of the house.
Talon shook his head. It was pretty self-explanatory.
His grandpa sighed. “Love that girl like she was my own, but she can’t cook to save her life. Don’t know why your dad keeps letting her in the kitchen.” He glance over at the two of them and his face softened.
Talon looked over his shoulder and grimaced. His parents had finished arguing and were now wrapped in each other’s arms, kissing.
“I’m never going to be that stupid over a girl.”
“Never say never,” his grandpa warned. “One day, a girl’s going to walk into your life and you’re going to find yourself bending over backwards to make her happy.”
Talon shrugged. He wouldn’t let that happen. No girl was going to tell him what to do.
“Hop in,” his grandpa said, tapping the door. “We’ll go to the store and pick up some Peeps. I need to stock up.”
Talon quickly forgot about girls and scrambled in. “Can we get the supersized ones?” he asked, buckling his seat belt.
His grandpa snorted and took off down the street. “Are there any other kinds?”