"Important Side Notes"

"Important Side Notes"

Jōb Nikki

“I think it had olives … and onions. No, she left out the onions because none of us liked them, but it had that crunch. Was it celery?” Everything was in the way as Chloe pawed through the cabinets' useless contents.

“Plenty of people are bringing food, hon. You don’t even have to make anything if you don’t want to. We have more than enough …” Clark’s voice lowered as Chloe turned towards him with a stoney look he had rarely seen, but clearly understood, “food.” Clark understood her response but still braced for the reaction he did not mean to elicit.

“She would have made ALL of the sides, but she can’t, so who else is going to make it?” Chloe’s voice spiked with anger as she tried to hide the tears. Clark raised his hands in surrender and started to walk out of the kitchen. Chloe took a deep breath in and out before sharing the reminder, “I love you, Clark.” Clark turned to give her a wink and an air kiss. “It’s just …”

“I know. It’s okay. I’ll be in the living room. If you need me to go get anything, or you want help, just let me know, honey. I’m here for you. I understand.” Chloe’s tears spilled over as Clark squeezed her shoulder. She patted his hand as she looked down with a forced smile.

Chloe sat at the table and tried her best to write down the recipes. She searched similar recipes online to help her fill in the blanks, but none of them were right. They didn’t mention the splash of pickle juice. They didn’t mention it had to be cherry pie filling, not fresh cherries. They didn’t mention that you had to put it in the freezer for five minutes before transferring it to the fridge. She had made some of the recipes before, but she would put her own flare into them and use what was available in the cupboard instead of requiring specific ingredients, but this time, they needed to be exactly right. They had to be just the way she would have made them.

After sifting through the limited ingredients already in the cabinets, Chloe called Clark back into the kitchen, “Okay, here is the list of things I need from the store,” Chloe examined Clark’s eyes as he scanned over the list and haplessly folded it before starting to smoosh it into his pocket. His carefree smile faded as he noticed her disapproving stare. “Did you read it? You have to get those specific brands? It can’t be the generic brands.” This was unusual for Chloe, but Clark understood why. “I know it sounds silly, but it has to be those brands.” Chloe nervously turned towards the cabinets as she aimlessly opened and closed random doors, again trying to distract herself from the uninvited tears building behind her guarded eyes. Clark took her hand from one of the cabinets and gently squeezed it before flashing an understanding grin.

When Clark returned from the store, Chloe had the kitchen staged like Martha Stewart. The bowls were placed in ascending order according to size. The measuring cups and spoons were divided and fanned out into “dry” and “wet” ingredient stations. Clark had never seen Chloe cook like she was back in Home Ec. Their small kitchen was overwhelmed by the volume of preparation. As Clark placed the grocery bags on the table he glanced at the notecards with scratched out ingredients and rewritten steps. Chloe wasn’t the type to do exact measurements while cooking. She would put a dash of this and a pinch of that, but this was different. This was how she would have done it.

She was Chloe’s mother, and she was meticulous in every action. She was a perfectionist, a rule follower, a stickler. Chloe adopted her haphazard approach to cooking (and life) in a form of rebellion against her perfectionist mother. She wasn’t trying to hurt her, just show her life could be lived outside of a bubble, and everyone would still be okay. Chloe would pride herself in challenging her mother to try her whimsical concoctions in an attempt to show her that good food could be created by “feeling it” rather than precise measurements of explicit ingredients. As a teenager, Chloe would be sent back to the store over and over until every exact ingredient was purchased.

“Chloe, I told you this has to be 8 oz. not 10 oz. AND you got the generic brand of butter? Claire Newton swears I gave her the wrong recipe for my chocolate chip cookies, but you know why hers never turn out?” Chloe rolled her eyes at hearing the redundant story AGAIN. “She doesn’t get name brand butter,” Chloe recited this in monotonetone as she grabbed her keys to head back to the store. “They didn’t have that brand, mom. This brand isn’t generic, it’s just another kind.”

“Well it might as well be. It’s not the same quality, Chloe.” Chloe nodded as she quickly shut the door behind her.

“Oh my god, you didn’t even get salted butter, Chloe! Do you hear me! Do you even pay attention to the lists I write for you? They are very specific. I don’t see how …” Chloe didn’t wait to hear the last of the rant she had memorized.

Memories like this left Chloe with feelings of guilt and resentment. It was this haelstrom that led her to her now frantic state, which usually ended with a mild form of paralysis. Chloe stared blankly at the perfectly staged kitchen. Her hands were shaking. Her breath was deep and shallow. She wanted to swipe everything off the counter and go back to bed, but she had to do this. With an obsession she started boiling water, sifting flour, and even measuring nutmeg with ¼ teaspoons. She got a new spoon every time she did a taste test. She dumped a half completed macaroni salad in the garbage and started from scratch after deciding it was onions, not celery. She was doing this the way she would have wanted.

After a morning of cooking, everything was ready. The cold dishes were cooling in the deep freezer. The warm dishes were staying warm in the oven. As Clark re-entered the kitchen he hid his concern about the amount of food bulging out of every available space and instead embraced Chloe lovingly as she wiped the sweat from her forehead. She looked up at him with a frazzled expression. “You did great, Chloe. She would be very proud of you.” Clark usually knew just what to say, but this time, nothing was right at no fault of his own.

“No she wouldn’t. She’d tell me I put too much salt. She’d say I left the noodles in the water too long. She’d critique the way I sliced the tomatoes. She’d say that everything is the wrong temperature.” Chloe pulled away from Clark as she paced the kitchen throwing her arms up for emphasis.

“I truly think she’d be impressed by your effort and proud of your attention to detail. You know you’re a great cook, you just finally did it her way, and I witnessed it. You did it just like she would. Everyone will know.” Chloe nodded as she began pulling containers out and onto the counter. Clark helped her gather the seemingly endless side dishes, transporting them to the car.

Once they arrived at the church, Chloe dutifully began taking the perfectly prepared dishes to the basement of the church. It was unlike Chloe to be early, but she wanted to fulfill her duty before anyone else arrived. When she got to the kitchen, she was surprised to see the light on.

“Aunt Margie, what are you doing here so early? The service doesn’t start for another hour and a half.” Chloe was stiff as she placed the containers on the counter before giving Margie a warm but brief hug.

“I just wanted to make sure the flowers were just right. You know how your mother was with the flower arrangements. They always had to be just so. She’d be calling the manager right now, if she saw the display I walked in on” Margie rolled her watery eyes as she half-heartedly chuckled. Chloe recognized the look. The nuisance of her mother’s perfectionism was now a comforting act of remembrance. They both tried to hold on to the annoyance as a way to be upset with her for leaving them. Her obsessive compulsive tendencies produced consistently premium results. It was the effortless way she would create the same perfect product, time after time, that everyone remembered. Everyone knew it was her cookies, her salad, her meatloaf, her homemade bread. “You know Chloe, you were her most prized creation. I know you’ve always lived life to your own beat, and your mother didn’t always understand, but she was always very proud of you and she talked about your successes often.”

Chloe still wanted to be upset. She still wanted to resent her mother for her now-permanent absence, “Yeah, and how she would have done it better.”

“No, Chloe. She was envious of you. How care-free you are. How fearless. How you can make things come together without tedious planning. She didn’t understand it, but she was proud of you, Chloe. She wanted to be like you, she did. I saw her try when she was younger, before having you. It was disastrous. She couldn’t manage without order, detailed lists, and tried-and-true methods. How do you think she ended up married to Frank?” This was a comedic pause as Chloe and Margie both described Frank as stale toast smothered in cold margarine. “Maybe if she had known ahead of time instead of … well, she would have started telling you more. But she did tell me, Chloe.

She bragged about you often. She described your life like a daydream she vicariously experienced from your posts online. She was worried for you sometimes, but most of all, Chloe, she was scared your way of life would cause her to lose you. It would pull you away to far off adventures; and it did, and that was hard for her to cope with, but she was always proud of what you were doing. She just didn’t know how to let go of her own need to keep you close and protected.” Chloe finally let some of her tears fall to the ground as Margie pulled out her cell phone. “I think this will help. It’s one of our last texting threads,”

-Looks like your girl is off on another adventure

-Oh, I know. I can’t even look at the pictures. She went bungee jumping yesterday, dear lord!

-She’s having a blast, Margie. Just let her be young and adventurous

-I’m just a mother losing sleep over her ONLY daughter, Margie. Why does she have to do these crazy stunts?

-You’re saying you won’t go bungee jumping with me?

-Hahahaha :/

-She isn’t just reckless, you know. Even if she doesn’t do everything the way you would, you still taught her how to be thorough and precise. She’s being safe, just in her own way.

- She’s going to be alright. I just hope she doesn’t forget I’m still here … worrying about her.

-She does.

-She’s really an amazing woman, Margie. I know that. I just hope she still needs me and remembers what I tried to teach her.

“See, Chloe. She was proud of you. She just didn’t want to be forgotten.” Margie looked at the stack of side dishes carefully placed on the counter. “And it’s clear you haven’t, and that’s all she wanted.”

As the two women wept in each other’s arms, Clark entered the kitchen with arms full of even more containers, but they weren’t the ones from their home. “Where did those come from?” Chloe sniffled and wiped her eyes as she questioned Clark with a hint of concern.

“Well, your cousin Susan just arrived and she said she made all of your mom’s famous dishes. And Allen is still on his way because they had to bring two cars to fit all of the food.” Clark tiptoed on the delivery of the announcement unsure how Chloe would respond, but after scanning the large kitchen packed with Tupperware and Pyrex, all three began roaring with laughter.