Page 20 of Townshipped
“That was thoughtful of you, Mabel,” Aiden says, watching her pass by. Then he looks at the other two women as they follow like a little casserole parade. “And Esther. And Memaw.”
“Well, aren’t you going to ask us in?” the one I think is named Esther asks, even though she’s already inside the house, making her way toward the kitchen.
“I have to get to work,” Aiden says.
It’s only a little past seven and only moments ago he and I were having a leisurely give-and-take as to who would be fixing breakfast.
“Nonsense,” Mabel says. “You’ve got them flexible hours of an entrepreneur. Let us feed you and your guest breakfast.”
“It’sthosehours, notthem, Mabel,” Esther corrects her.
“Okay, Miss Grammar,” Mabel huffs as she follows Esther into the kitchen, acting as if they own the place.
The woman Aiden called Memaw follows the other two, giving me a soft smile as she passes me by. I wonder if she’s his grandma.
Aiden rolls his eyes at me like an adolescent boy whose mom just showed up at his school in the latest ill-fitting teen fashion and started throwing around the trendy lingo to impress the popular crowd.
His face says,Kill me now.
I send him a look I hope says,They seem harmless.
His responding expression clearly says,You have no idea.
“Now, aren’t you going to introduce us?” Memaw asks Aiden once we’re all gathered in the kitchen.
But she doesn’t wait for his answer.
She turns to me. “I’m Virginia, but everyone calls me Memaw and you should too. This is Esther and this is Mabel. And we already know you’re Em.”
“I think I am,” I tell her.
Memaw pats my arm. “My goodness, dear. Haven’t you been through an ordeal? Of course, you could have landed outside a different farm and done much worse. Aiden’s one of the good ones.”
She gives my arm a complicit squeeze. “And he’s as single as the day he was born. He may not have told you that.”
“He did, actually,” I say with a chuckle.
Aiden rolls his eyes again, but he’s smiling.
“So,” Mabel says. “Have a seat. We brought you some food. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?”
“No,” I tell them. “We had just been talking about breakfast. Aiden came in from feeding the goats only a little bit before you arrived, and we were having coffee. Can I get you any?”
“Oh, no, dear,” Mabel says, shaking her head and clucking her tongue. “I can’t drink coffee anymore. Runs straight through me. I end up needing to stay home if I have even a half cup these days.”
“TMI,” Esther tells Mable.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Mabel asks.
“Too much information,” Esther says. “No one wants to hear about your geriatric gastric problems. Least of all a near stranger who’s just banged her car into a tree and can’t remember a thing.”
Despite the heavy truth of her statement, I can’t help but laugh.
Aiden, who has been silently standing back with his arms crossed across his chest, pops himself away from the counter and says, “Let’s eat, then.”
He brings down five plates and walks into the dining room off the kitchen to set the table. Mable, Esther, and Memaw dutifully follow behind him carrying their casserole and breakfast dishes like the three wise men approaching the manger.
We take our seats and our guests take turns showing off their dishes. The unspoken competition between them makes the whole thing feel like I’m judging a county fair.
