Page 17 of The Cannon
“Honey, take a couple of plates,” Dad says.
I take two servings of pie and gladly leave the boys behind. There’s a chance staring into Sawyer’s eyes one more nano-second might catch me on fire. As I turn the corner my father’s voice lifts above the kitchen sounds.
“Sawyer, take these to the table, please.”
I know what he’s doing. Boone Swift is transparent when it comes to his children’s welfare. There’s no hidden meanings or agendas. And no line he won’t cross to see us happy. He likes the kind of man Sawyer presents as. Genuine and modest. Thinks we’d be a good match. The entire family seems to have reached that conclusion. I stand alone in my hesitation which is attempting to push me over.
“Oh good! Grandma’s pecan pie.” Mallory looks up as I pass behind her.
Placing servings in front of my mother and January as Sawyer serves my grandparents.
“Looks delicious, Birdie,” Grandpa lands a kiss on her cheek.
“Honey,” she says touching Sawyer’s arm, “have you ever tried Tennessee pecan pie?”
“No ma’am. It looks good though.”
“Sit. Sit back down. Let’s talk,” Grandpa orders.
Uh oh. It’s always been my brothers who’ve felt the sting of Grandpa’s unfiltered comments. Think Sawyer’s about to get the Davis inquisition.
Sawyer takes his seat and I mine. I’m not going to let this get too out of hand. Lord knows what he’s going to be asked.
“So, tell an old man. What kind of girls do you like? Sassy like my girl, or do you prefer the quiet type?”
“Oh God,” I mutter before I realize the words have left my lips.
Mallory chuckles under her breath and my mother joins her. Good thing Atticus and Brick aren’t in here. They’d be encouraging him to ask more. Egging him on.
“I like sassy quiet girls. You know, like Bristol.”
Ohhhhh no he didn’t. I’m about to respond when the men return. Right in time to hear the laughter coming from Grandpa.
“What did we miss? Anything good?” Atticus says, unaware of how spot-on the question is.
Grandpa opens his mouth to spill the beans when Grandma lightly touches his hand. That’s all it takes. Her silent signal for Grandpa to stop talking is known to all the Swifts. It’s kind of an inside family joke between my brothers and me.
Every time we wanted to say shut up when we were kids, we’d slap each other’s hands, exaggerating our grandparents’ ability to have a wordless conversation.
“I take it you had to cook for yourself after you were on your own, Sawyer,” Charlotte says. “I sort of had to early on too.”
“For me, I grew to like cooking. I finally could eat whatever I wanted, and as much as I wanted.”
“What was your specialty?” I say taking too big a bite.
Turning his shoulders towards my chair, the corners of his mouth lift.
“At the beginning it was Corney dogs. Ever heard of them?”
“Corney dogs! I want one,” says Mallory.
“It’s a Texas State Fair food.”
Our faces are a mix of amusement and disgust. This is the polar opposite of Tennessee cooking.
“A man can’t live on fair food. Did you expand your menu?” my mother asks.
“Yes. I’ve become a pretty good cook.”
