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I skip beside her. “Out of all your dishes, I missed your fry jacks the most. Mine don’t come out as good as yours.”
Mom starts up the stove. It clicks but doesn’t allow any flames. “This burner isn’t working?”
“Yeah, only the three at the back.”
“Humph.” Mom fiddles with the working burners and sets the pan of oil on the flame. “By the way, don’t you usually sell food on Saturdays? Why haven’t you started cooking yet?”
“I’ve been instructed not to,” I tell her, peeling a banana.
“By the doctor?”
“Yeah. Him and Cullen.”
“Ah.” Mom’s eyes crinkle with understanding.
I watch her pour water into a bowl of flour, salt, and baking powder. “What?”
“When you were in Belize, you never listened to the doctor. I had to force you to take your flu meds. And remember that one time you twisted your ankle in PE and the doctor told you not to move it for three days? You were back on the field in two days. But now thatCullenis involved you know how to be obedient.”
“It’s not like that,” I argue. “You can’t compare me now to when I was in Belize. That was a long time ago.”
“Not that long.”
Feeling exposed, I complain to her. “It’s his fault this weekend isn’t going as planned. I closed the food stall because I thought I’d be cooking for Sunny this weekend.”
“Oh?” Mom cuts dough into crescent shapes, carves two parallel lines in the center and then drops the dough in the hot oil. “What gig?”
“A rich couple hired me to cater for a birthday party. The wife’s mother is Belizean and she heard about my cooking.”
Mom twists to face me, her eyes bright with interest. “She’s Belizean? What’s her last name?”
“Not the point, mom.” I set my banana aside. “Cullenwasn’t sure if my wrist would be okay enough to cook all that food for the party. So he called them and told them to cancel.”
“That boy…”
“I know right! He’s so awful!”
“He’s so smart!” Mom juts her chin down.
I whine. “Mom, you’re supposed to be on my side!”
“Maybe I would be if I hadn’t seen you climbing on a rickety chair trying to break your neck along with your wrist. You have no boundaries when it comes to caring for others, but you can’t manage to take care of yourself half as well. You need someone firm to remind you that you’re more important than anything else.”
I fold my arms over my chest. “You’re no help.”
“Well, then… since I’m no help, I won’t tell you my idea.”
My eyes widen and I lean forward. “What’s your idea?”
“Get me a bowl and line it with napkins. Then I’ll tell you.”
I hurry to do what she asked.
Mom uses a pronged fork to lift the golden, fluffy fry jacks out of the oil. She lets the excess oil drip into the pan for a bit and then transfers the fry jack into the bowl I gave her.
“What’s your idea, mom?” I prod her when she remains focused on her task.
“I don’t know if the couple have made other arrangements, but if they haven’t, I think it’s worth a shot to offer again.”