4
" He chopped a garlic, set a pot of water to boil on the stove, and poured a healthy amount of kosher salt into it. He threw the garlic in a pan of olive oil and let it sizzle for just a minute before taking it off the heat. The smell began to relax all of them and Gretchen and Jane settled themselves at his counter and watched him cook. He poured them both large glasses of red wine and watched as their bodies physically relaxed. He could see the tightness in Jane's jaw go away and he smiled. It was hard to feel bad about the world when the air smelled like garlic, when pasta and cheese were being prepared, when you had a good glass of red.
Sautéed garlic could save the world.
"I call this my bad day pasta," he told them. "It's a carbonara-cacio e pepe hybrid. Tons of cheese and salt and pepper." He cut off two slices of Parmesan and handed one to each of them. He knew the crunchy crystals and salt would go great with the wine. He whisked the egg and stirred in the cheese. He reserved some pasta water. He cranked his pepper mill. He swirled the pasta into a warm bowl as he added the egg mixture until it was shiny and coated.
Jane took a sip of her wine and watched Teddy. "Mike doesn't eat pasta," she said. Teddy took three shallow bowls out of his cabinet and set them on the table. He distributed the pasta among them, sprinkled them with extra cheese and pepper.
"Anyone who doesn't eat pasta is suspect in my book," he said.
"Amen," Gretchen said. "
― Jennifer Close , Marrying the Ketchups
5
" Teddy knew what everyone would order before they even sat down. It was meat loaf night, which was Charlie's favorite, so of course he'd have that with extra gravy on the side. His mom would stick with the scallops, Gretchen would get the chicken, Jane would either get the scallops or the short ribs (depending on how much red meat she'd eaten that week), and Kay would get the chopped salad with a piece of salmon on top.
A calm came over Teddy as his family went around and ordered, one by one, and he had guessed right. He ordered the skirt steak, creamed spinach, and a glass of cabernet. No one got dessert, although Kay and Gail both ordered Baileys on the rocks as they almost always did. "
― Jennifer Close , Marrying the Ketchups
13
" A sandwich loaf (for those who don't know) is a beautiful creation, a multilayer sandwich disguised as a cake. It had fallen out of fashion in recent years, but at one time it was all the rage to serve at bridal showers and christenings. To make a sandwich loaf, you take one loaf of bread, slice it horizontally, and fill each layer with a different filling. The loaves from Scandia were filled with three layers: chicken salad, ham salad, and egg salad. Then the whole thing is frosted with cream cheese, piped with flowers and waves until it becomes a floofy white log. To serve it, you slice it vertically like a cake, each piece containing the three different layers. "
― Jennifer Close , Marrying the Ketchups
14
" Jane ordered the short ribs. The meat fell apart as soon as she touched it and she ate each bite with a little bit of the mashed potatoes, which were salty, creamy perfection. If Mike was there, she knew he would've substituted steamed spinach for the potatoes, and just thinking about it made her sad.
She always suspected that Mike didn't like Sullivan's. He would never admit this, but he made comments that hinted at it. The food, he said, was too heavy. The decor was too dark. "I always leave Sullivan's smelling like a French fry," Mike said once, years earlier. It was an offhand comment, but it had offended her just the same. "My whole family smells like French fries," she said.
It was true---the air of Sullivan's was always filled with the smell of oil from the fryers in the back and it clung to your coat and hair long after you were gone. Jane never minded this---it reminded her of her grandfather; it smelled like home. "
― Jennifer Close , Marrying the Ketchups
15
" It doesn't matter," she finally said. "Fuck her all you want. Fuck her while the bunnies watch." He looked at her then, surprised. He hadn't realized she knew about the bunnies.
Something shifted inside of her and knocked her anger loose. It felt good---really good---to be furious, to be in a murderous mood. She saw colors differently and her body temperature rose. In that moment, Jane couldn't feel anything else---not sadness or jealousy or doubt. Only full-throated rage and a rush of empathy for Left Eye Lopes, who she saw now had been deeply misunderstood.
"Jane, come on," Mike said.
They pulled up to the restaurant. They were supposed to go inside and discuss things, sit calmly and talk about their feelings. Jane put both of her hands on the dashboard as if she were bracing for impact and screamed, "Bunny fucker," so loudly that her chest hurt. Then she straightened up and said, "Take me home."
Mike drove with caution, coming to complete stops and using his turn signal as if sudden movements would make things worse. He was scared of her and that made her happy.
"Go pay Amy," she said. "And then put the kids to bed. I'm going for a walk."
Mike sat there, his mouth open. "
― Jennifer Close , Marrying the Ketchups
