Packing Up

The noodles were cold.

Of course they were.

Ettie stirred them half-heartedly, listening to the wet sound of slimy things sliding against each other. She sighed, then, bracing herself, took a large bite. Despite the horribly unappealing slop that was takeout, her stomach’s ferocious growls were much too loud to ignore. As her first bite made its way down, the greedy thing quieted slightly. She took a sip of water to wash away the greasy aftertaste, and, still grimacing from the first, took a second bite. Then a third. She continued this way, hastily swallowing mouthfuls of noodles and water, until her oily takeout box was empty. When she finally finished, it seemed to her that her stomach was finally satisfied, as it dutifully set to work digesting the awful stuff without another complaint.

Ettie downed the last of her water glass as well, then glanced down at the grimy table, where a small fortune cookie waited for her. She liked fortune cookies, but, unfortunately, the takeout noodles had drained her of her will to eat more of, well, anything, really. She picked up the cookie and placed it in a nearby pile with others of its kind. As she did so, her eyes fell unwillingly on the envelope next to it. It was a beautiful crimson hue, eye-catching and bold, and it was addressed to her. She glanced away, feeling her eyes beginning to sting, then rose from the table with the garbage from her supper in hand. She walked a short way to the other end of the kitchen and dropped the stuff on top of the large pile in her garbage can, then left for her bedroom.

It was growing dark outside. The large windows in the room were wide open, letting in rushes of cool evening breeze. The rest of the house was full of the muggy heat that came with late summer, and this room was the only one with windows large enough to circulate some of it out. Ettie gulped the fresh air in gratefully, then let it all out with a whooshing sigh.

Though incredibly messy at the moment, the room was one of the nicest in the large house, second only to the kitchen. Plush red carpet cushioned Ettie’s bare feet as she made her way to the unmade bed. Patches of the crimson wallpaper were discolored from the dozens of pictures that had hung for decades. Ettie had taken them down several days ago, as she couldn’t stand having so many smiling faces surrounding her. One face in particular was especially difficult to bear. Many of the furnishings had been removed as well, taken apart and wrapped up securely in boxes downstairs, leaving behind deep impressions in the carpet. Those, fortunately, hadn’t been so hard to be around every day.

The whole house was to be packed up over the next couple weeks, and Ettie, unfortunately, was in charge of taking on the entire process herself. She supposed it was her punishment for neglecting the maintenance of relationships she’d formed throughout her life. The only one she had kept in her short time on this earth was now irrevocably, inexplicably broken. She had always believed that this one would be enough, not foreseeing that it would end while she was still so young…

Ettie felt her eyes sting again, and quickly pulled herself out of such a state. She had been plagued with streams of thought like this over the past month, and she often had to force herself into a state of productive indifference in order to battle it lest she be rendered entirely useless. She sat down on the bed and took up a stack of papers that lay on the nightstand next to it. After quickly fluffing up a pillow to prop up behind her head as she leaned back against the headboard, she began to sift through them. It was a dreadfully stale task, but it certainly kept her drifting mind occupied…at least for a little while. This was one of the major reasons she still occupied this house, after all. By the faint light of twilight, she sorted through the stack of bank statements, doctor’s notes, insurance policies, and personal letters. The last of these categories drew Ettie’s mind insistingly towards the envelope that lay on the kitchen counter downstairs, which only saddened and frustrated her more. After a few minutes of this, she set the section of letters aside and focused her attention solely on the dry, impersonal documents that were separated neatly from them.

After what Ettie perceived to have been about half an hour, the doorbell rang. She paused, unsure of who would visit at such a time, or at all, for that matter. After a moment of contemplation, she rose from the bed, papers scattered all across it, and made her way downstairs. The front door was located to the left of the kitchen and opened into the living room. Ettie hurried over to the door and, straining her neck a bit to see, checked the front porch through the peephole. There was a young man, about her age, with messy black hair and a dark tan. He was cleaning his glasses with the hem of his shirt as he waited for her to answer the door. Ettie remembered he had recently moved in next door. What was his name? George? Grant?

She opened the door hesitantly, causing the man to hastily put on his glasses and look up at her.

“Hello!” He said cheerfully, “Are you Miss Alouette Baptiste? Daughter of Celeste Baptiste?”

Ettie looked him up and down warily. “I am. I go by Ettie.”

“Oh! My apologies.” He stuck out his hand eagerly. “My name is Graham. I’m your mother’s neighbor.”

Ettie shook his hand lightly. “I see.”

Graham gave her a look of what appeared to be genuine sorrow. “I’m so sorry for your loss. I know this is an odd time to stop by, but I have one of your mother’s recipes that she lent me, and I’ve been studying abroad for the past couple of months and haven’t been able to return it. I just came back this afternoon, and I’m leaving again tomorrow to visit my sister a couple towns over. I saw that you were here, and I wanted to return it before you left.”

Ettie cocked her head slightly, suddenly curious. Her mother never lent her recipes. She debated with herself for a moment, then said, “That’s alright. Thank you. You can come in for a moment, if you’d like.”

Graham smiled, then stooped over, picking up a large crock pot that had been sitting on the porch. Ettie hadn’t noticed it before. “I also made this for you.”

Ettie blinked. “Oh. Thanks.”

She held the door for him as he came in, his skinny arms straining as he carried the massive pot.

“This is the stew that she gave me the recipe for. I figured you would like it.” Graham said as he walked through the living room and into the kitchen, setting the pot down on top of the stove with a huff. Ettie nodded, standing by the counter, still a bit wary.

“I’m sure I will.” She said quietly.

Graham put his hands on his hips and surveyed the space. It was a bit embarrassing to have it examined by a complete stranger, seeing as it was in a state of half-packed mess.

“Looks like you’ve made some great progress here! But I’m sure you’ve had lots of people to help you out.”

“Well, not really.”

“Oh?” Graham turned to her with a surprised look on his face. “You’re doing all of this? By yourself?”

“Yeah. It’s really not a big deal,” Ettie replied, rubbing one of her arms, “I can handle it. I just…don’t know a lot of people around here.”

“Do you have any family that could come over? It’s a pretty big place to clean all by yourself.” Graham said, wandering into the living room.

Ettie offered, “Please, take a seat.”

Graham did so, sitting leisurely down on the armchair that was across from the sofa. Once he was settled, Ettie took a seat in front of him before continuing, “My mother never really spoke about her relatives, and she seemed to be set against taking me to visit them, so I don’t know anything about them. She adopted me when I was quite young, so I don’t really remember much about my blood relatives. It was honestly just us most of the time. She never married or had other children.”

Graham frowned. “That sounds like it was a bit depressing.”

Ettie shrugged. “Not really. We had each other, and that was enough. She really was a good mother.”

Graham nodded. “Interesting. But, it doesn’t surprise me that she was a good mother. She used to come over to my house with food all the time, you know.”

Ettie shifted in her seat a bit. “Really?” She had never known her mother to socialize much at all, even with neighbors.

“Yeah. I bought the house next door about six months ago. I had secured a job in this area shortly before that, and I figured I would move down here after I graduated in the spring. I came down for a while to tour the house and eventually to purchase it. She came by while I was cleaning the old thing out, you know. She brought me some wonderful pastries. We started chatting outside almost every day after that. I think she might have been a bit lonely, all by herself in this big house.” He sighed, then met Ettie’s eyes directly. “She used to talk about you a lot. Said you two used to cook together all the time, and how you were away at some prestigious culinary school.”

Ettie blinked, unsure of how to respond. “Oh. How nice.”

Graham nodded, then slowly rose from his chair. “Well, I should probably go. It was nice to meet you.”

Ettie considered just letting him go, but she was admittedly intrigued by this stranger that her reclusive mother had become so friendly with.

“You can have some before you go, if you would like.” She offered instead.

Graham’s eyes lit up. “Really? I mean, yes, that would be great.” He patted his stomach. “I must say, I am a bit hungry.”

Ettie still felt mildly sickened by her supper of subpar takeout, but she just said, “Me too.”

The two walked back to the kitchen, where Ettie pulled two bowls and two spoons out from a partially filled box on the floor. She set them on the counter, then turned to the stove, where the crock pot sat, its clear lid foggy from steam. She opened the lid, only to be hit by the smell of overcooked chicken and burnt garlic. Trying to keep a neutral look on her face, she dished out some of the stew into the bowls. After putting the lid back on, she handed a bowl and spoon to Graham and took up her own bowl and spoon. The two then walked back to the living room and took their respective seats.

“So, as I was saying,” Graham said, after a moment of awkward silence, “Ms. Baptiste and I became acquainted fairly quickly while I was doing work on my house. She would bring me something to eat every day while we talked, you know. Sometimes multiple times a day. Eventually, I jokingly asked if I would ever learn how to cook as well as she could. Well, she didn’t think it was a joke. The next day, I was in this kitchen, apron on, and she was showing me how to chop vegetables.” He chuckled, stirring his bowl of stew, “I wasn’t very good at it. I had never learned to cook. Growing up, my family would go out to eat or have our housekeeper prepare our food, and I have meals provided for me at the university I attend.” He trailed off then, looking at her as if he was expecting her to say something.

Ettie glanced down uncomfortably, searching her brain for something to respond with. While she wasn’t shy, per se, she did struggle with conversation at times. “Did she teach you the triangle trick?”

Graham tilted his head to the side slightly. “I don’t think so. What’s that?”

Ettie blinked. “It’s a, um, a knife trick she taught me when I was young. It’s just a way to dice your vegetables into triangles instead of squares. It looks kind of neat.” She paused. “I just thought of it because you said she was teaching you to cut vegetables.”

Graham nodded thoughtfully. “That sounds interesting. Is it difficult to learn?”

“Not really. Once you get the hang of dicing vegetables, then you’ll be ready.”

“Well, perhaps you’ll have to teach me some day.” Graham said, smiling.

They sat there for another moment in awkward silence. Graham’s gaze wandered through the room, likely taking in the dusty, dingy walls and the various red decorations. Then, his eyes stopped suddenly, as though snagged on something.

“Is that a picture of you two?” He inquired softly, pointing to a picture that hung behind Ettie and to her right. She didn’t need to see it to know what he was referring to, but she turned to look at it nonetheless. It was a framed photograph of two people: a beautiful woman, her shiny black curls blown into her face as she beamed at the camera. Her rich brown skin and eyes were glowing with sunlight and joy. She had smelled like lavender that day; she usually did. Next to her was a little girl, ten years old, with pale skin that was slathered in coconut-scented sunscreen, her own red curls covering her face in much the same way as the woman. She was smiling as well, though it was much more reserved. It was a picture that Ettie hadn’t bothered to take down because it was in a room she didn’t use much and hadn’t begun packing up yet. However, seeing it now brought the tears to her eyes that she had been battling all evening.

“Yeah. That’s us,” She managed to say, forcing her voice to remain steady, “We went to the boardwalk and tried all the food. Mom had saved up for a long time so that we could do that.”

When she looked back at Graham, his face was unreadable. “You guys really liked to bond over food, huh?” He said.

“I suppose so,” Ettie replied. “It is odd, though.”

Graham’s brow creased. “What is?”

Ettie realized then that she’d started to say a private thought out loud, and she blushed. “Oh, nothing.”

“No, tell me. I want to know.” Graham said. His eyes were alight with renewed attention. Ettie was a bit taken aback, not used to such interest in what she had to say. She supposed she hadn’t had enough conversations to experience it. Or she’d never known someone well enough to have an intimate conversation like this one, especially with a stranger.

“Well, she - my mom - she wasn’t really one to make friends. I suppose that rubbed off on me a bit, as I’ve always had a tendency to let friends drift away from me, usually without realizing. Mom was worse though,” Ettie shifted in her seat, “I don’t like to use this word for her, but I suppose you could call her a bit of a recluse. I just found it odd that she was so friendly with you.”

Graham frowned, apparently a bit confused. “Really? I never would have known.” He sat up a bit. “I only knew her for that bit of time after I bought the house. I had to leave to go back to my studies, and that was when she…you know, passed away. I never had a chance to give her the recipe back.” He patted his pocket. “Which I should probably give to you now, before I forget.”

He rummaged through his pocket, eventually pulling out an index card, yellowed with age and scrawled on with her mother’s hand.

“Here,” he said, offering it to her. She took it, not wanting to look at it. But Graham was there, smiling softly, so she did. It was a recipe for chicken and wild rice stew. The handwriting brought back the tears, but this time she let them fall.

“Thanks.” She said, sniffling and smiling, “Well, I suppose we should eat this stew now before you go.”

Graham smiled gently. “I suppose so. Bon appétit.”

They both took a bite, and they both grimaced.

“That’s pretty bad,” Graham said, chuckling.

Ettie nodded, laughing along with him. “I guess I need to teach you more about cooking.”

Graham shook his head in mock disappointment. “Yeah. Maybe I could help you with the packing, while we’re at it.”

Ettie smiled at him, and though it didn’t quell the grief she felt for the mother, she felt the first glimmer of hope she’d felt since her mother’s passing. Maybe, just maybe, it would give her the strength to open the envelope of her mother’s secret recipes.