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SHREK DADDY

Tyler

Admittedly, I’ve been spoiled by Sabrina and Agatha. I’ve hardly set foot in a grocery store in years. But with Thanksgiving coming up, I don’t feel right handing Sabrina a list of the things I’ll need to cook.

And it’s not just because I’m hosting this year—pray for me—but because I want to make sure I do right by the vegetarians in my life.

Luna and Sabrina.

Since my brother is the real cook in the family, he’s handling most of the meal, but I still want to contribute.

So I enlist my sister one afternoon when she’s in the city for a meeting with business partners for her punk rock bar.

She’s been a vegetarian her whole life, and I figure she’s my best shot at getting this right.

We head to Natural Foods while Sabrina is at the rink for her skating lessons.

As I push the cart down the nut aisle—since Charlie assures me that the best stuffing is made with nuts—I brace myself for her sisterly inquisition about my true motives.

After all, she gave me the third degree about my unrequited crush when I hired Sabrina.

But she’s too busy singing the praises of pecans and pistachios.

“I could marry mixed nuts,” she says, grabbing a bag and tossing it in my cart.

As we leave the aisle, my phone buzzes with a text, and I pull it out.

Sabrina: While you’re at the store, could you please get me some Popsicles?

Popsicles? It’s an unusual request. But one I like.

“Who’s that?” Charlie nods to my phone and I quickly stuff it back in my pocket.

“Sabrina,” I reply, then hightail it out of that conversation and head to the frozen meat section, figuring that’s where the fake meat is too, like the veggie sausages Luna likes.

I stop in front of a display case of Tofurky, scrubbing a hand over the back of my neck, trying to decide which one of these fake turkeys to get.

“So, how do you choose?”

Charlie laughs and flicks her pink-tipped hair off her shoulder. “You don’t, unless you want to train the vegetarians in your life to secretly hate you. Let’s go.”

I furrow my brow. “What do you mean? It’s Tofurky.”

“It’s an abomination of food,” she says.

“Ouch. I’ll make sure the Tofurky people don’t hear you say that.” I glance at some other options—ham substitutes, Cornish game hen made of rice and mushrooms, a loaf of something with wheat protein and lentils—then a… “How about a Field Roast?” I ask, looking at the vaguely ham-like thing .

She pretends to gag.

I hold up my hands. “I’m so lost. I have no idea what I’m supposed to get. Don’t I just buy a fake turkey?”

She pats my shoulder, her expression shifting from playful to understanding. “First of all, I love the sentiment. But here’s the thing—most people think vegetarians are climbing the walls for meat substitutes. We’re not. Most of us actually really and truly like vegetables and rice and lentils.”

I blink. “But isn’t that all the stuff in these things?”

She smirks. “Sort of. But let me tell you a little secret. What’s the best part of a Thanksgiving meal?”

I narrow my eyes, like this is a trick question, but then say, “The rosemary mashed potatoes? The stuffing? The cranberry sauce with orange slices that Mom makes?”

Her whole expression lights up like I’ve just won a game show. “Yes! Exactly. It’s the sides. The sides are better than the main course.”

“So…I need to stock up on sides?” I ask since that kind of makes sense.

“Yes! Think about it—creamy mashed potatoes, roasted vegetables with rosemary, sautéed Brussels sprouts, fresh-baked rolls straight from the oven, a savory butternut squash soup, a delicious salad…That’s the good stuff.”

I nod slowly. “That does sound good.”

“If you really want to make something substantial, do a mac and cheese with a breadcrumb topping, a butternut squash risotto, or a rice pilaf with cranberries. But you don’t have to replace the meat,” she explains.

“And you definitely don’t need to make it look like meat.

Most of us aren’t craving things that look like meat.

Personally, I can’t stand those fake beet burgers that ‘bleed.’ It’s just wrong. ”

“That does sound disgusting,” I say.

“And look, the fact that you’re thinking about this and making sure your guests have a variety of things to eat? That says a lot.”

Good. I’m glad. I want Luna and Sabrina both to know I’m thinking about them. That I care about their choices, and that it’s a privilege to be able to accommodate them, not a pain in the ass. But I also would never have known this.

“Thanks, Charlie. I would never have thought of that,” I admit.

Charlie squeezes my shoulder. “That’s why you brought me.” Then she points at me, shooting me a searing stare. “Also, don’t you dare forget pumpkin pie. No soul alive can resist it.”

“True.”

“Do you think you can make one?”

I scoff. “I can buy the fuck out of one.”

“That works too.” Then she grins mischievously. “But there’s one more thing most herbivores love above everything else.”

This is going to be good. “Tell me. I need to know all your secrets.”

“Are you ready for it?” she asks, lowering her voice.

“I sure am.”

She leads me toward the beauty aisle.

I stare at her, baffled, as she picks out several face masks, cruelty-free shampoo, and some ethically sourced face serum. I glance down at my cart, then back at her. “For them?”

She bursts out laughing. “Oh, no. These are for me. Service fee for today.” She winks, then tosses a few extra face masks into the cart. “But I bet they’d like them too.”

I laugh. She was always the sneaky one.

As we wander down some more aisles, I let out a sigh of relief. Charlie hasn’t cross-examined me and I’ve gotten what I came for .

But I’ve definitely spoken too soon. When I’m grabbing some edamame, she says, “So I’m guessing if you’re making food for her, that crush might not be so unrequited?”

It’s like an icy dose of cold water. My grip tightens on the handle of the cart, and I focus way too hard on the bag of edamame in my hand. “What are you talking about?”

She laughs at me. “It’s funny how you play clueless.”

“No idea what you mean.”

“Fair enough. You are often naturally clueless. But I think in this case, we both know exactly what I mean.” She levels me with a shrewd stare. “You’re shopping specifically for her. Is this because of your unrequited crush, or has it turned into something more?”

I couldn’t be more transparent, but I’ve got to find a way around this.

“It’s for Luna. And Sabrina is a great nanny, so I really want to make her feel at home.

She hasn’t had a lot of that,” I say, and that’s the truth and the whole damn truth.

“Her parents didn’t even invite her for Thanksgiving.

Her dad is a grade-A asshole. The least I can do is cook for her. ”

Charlie’s teasing expression vanishes, and she sets a hand on her chest. “You kind of made me tear up a little bit with that. That’s really sweet.”

“She deserves some good in her life. You and I know what it’s like to have a dad who’s let us down, but at least we have a great mom and an amazing stepdad. We have Miles and we have Birdie. And we have each other too.”

She rests her head on my shoulder, sighing in a contented, relaxed way. “We do. We really do,” she says.

“One hundred percent,” I say quietly as I pat her hair, grateful she knows she can count on me. That she’s always known that, since it’s the same for me with her. And with my brother. I’m lucky like that—so damn lucky.

She lifts her face and says, “On that note I need to grab some bread. I’ll be right back. ”

“I assume that bread is on me too?”

“You know it,” she says with a gotcha grin.

Once she’s out of sight, I glance around the corner to make sure she’s gone, then double back to the frozen section and grab some Popsicles.

Well, Sabrina did say she wanted them, and what she wants, she gets.

On the team jet the next night, after barely eking out a win at home, I sink down in my cushy seat in the dim light of the aircraft, figuring I’ll get some quiet time to watch a few more of these cooking videos.

My brother’s in the row in front of me, already absorbed in a book—knowing him, I’m guessing it’s an allegory about the state of the world. Anything to make his big brain bigger.

It’s fuck-all late, but I’m not tired yet.

With the team settling into quiet nighttime vibes and most of the guys trying to catch some early shut-eye, this’ll be a good chance for me to make sure I know what the hell I’m doing when we get back in a few days.

I pop in my earbuds and toggle over to some videos I’ve downloaded on my tablet.

As I watch a YouTuber assemble mushroom risotto, Rowan drops down in the seat next to mine, and Ford hovers behind me in the next row.

Well, so much for my plans. I hit stop.

“You in a recipe club?” Rowan asks, checking out the video I just paused, his gaze flicking to the ingredients listed on the screen.

“Ooh, do you exchange faves? I’ve got a couple Crock-Pot meals that you’ll flip for,” Ford taunts from behind me.

“Dude. Stop holding out. Give them all to me,” Rowan says, tossing his black suit jacket onto the empty seat between us.

I can never catch a break with these guys. “Can’t a man plan a meal on a plane?”

“Oh, is it a private meal?” Ford teases, pushing his hair back from his eyes.

“Hey, if that’s your thing, that’s cool. I mean, we get that you’re really into solo stuff. Just didn’t know it included cooking too,” Rowan adds dryly, with a wink and a jerk of his fist.

“Do you cook in the nude?” Ford bombards me with questions. “Wait, scratch that. I don’t want to know.”

Rowan snaps his gaze to the troublemaker behind me. “Thanks, asshole. Now I’ll have to bleach my brain.”

I snap the device closed and scrub a hand against the back of my neck. “Do you clowns have anything better to do than give me a hard time? How about watching some cooking videos yourselves?”