"Thank you," I stammer.

"Mom?" a small voice calls from the doorway. Katherine’s attention goes to the boy standing there.

"What do you need, T-Jean?"

"Can I have something to eat? I’m hungry."

"Sure, sweetie. You go on back out and I’ll bring everyone a snack in a few moments."

"Thanks!"

He turns to run back outside, but Katherine’s voice stops him. "You tell your Tante Harper the next time she gets hungry to come in and ask for herself."

The boy giggles. "Yes, ma’am."

"Some things never change. She used to send in Robie," Cécile mutters. She leads me to the next woman, the one who asked about Harper a moment ago. "This is Rachel, Lucien’s wife."

This is another blonde wife, but different from Katherine in almost every way imaginable. Where Katherine is tall and voluptuous, Rachel is short and has an athlete’s build. Her hair is cut short and she has hazel eyes, which belie a keen intelligence, I suspect.

Rachel holds up her hands, which are covered in flour, and smiles. "Good to have you here. Maybe we’ll get to hear some truth about what it is old Harper does nowadays."

"I think we can swap some stories," I suggest. I would love to have some dirt about a young Harper.

We move along and come to Rene. "Good morning." I am surprised to see that she has Clark in a snuggle-pack against her chest. "How did you wrestle him away from his aunt?"

"Wrestle is the key word. Clark is a little too young yet to be out there with that rowdy bunch. And Robie is just as bad."

"They’re all alike, every last one of them," Katherine sighs.

"I’m Elaine," the last wife introduces herself to me as she hands me a mug of Earl Gray. "Jean’s wife."

Elaine is dark haired and willowy with a toothy smile. I look at her narrow hips and can’t believe this is a woman who has given birth to no less than five children, as Harper has told me. The youngest of her five is an infant boy, a few months older than Clark, sitting in a car seat on the table. He is sound asleep. "Thank you." I prepare my tea on the countertop, drizzling in some honey. "Cécile, is there anything I can do to help?"

"Actually, yes." She gathers up a cutting board, knife and a colander of something I don’t recognize. "Could you peel these up for me? And take out the seed?"

"Of course, I’d be happy to. But … what are those?" The item in question is a prickly-skinned green vegetable, roughly the size and shape of an avocado.

Harper’s mother laughs. "Child, this are merlitons. After you peel them and remove the seed, we’re going to stuff them with shrimp and breadcrumbs. Then we bake them and eat them. And you will love it, so good."

I take the vegetables and begin lending about as much help in the kitchen as I’m capable of. Thank God Erik has taught me the bare basics of cooking for myself. Peeling I can do.

Katherine has finished putting together some snacks for everyone outside. She is about to take a tray out when Rachel stops her. "Hold on, I want to take some tea out to the boys, too."

The two sisters-in-law look at each other and laugh.

I think someone’s in trouble.


* * *

I’m wondering where Kels has gotten to when Katherine and Rachel come into the garden with trays of snacks and iced tea. The kids instantly cluster around Katherine, wanting even more sugar, God help us, while Rachel makes her way to me.

I don’t like the look on her face. It’s far too smug. She sets the tray down on the wrought iron table. Then picks up a glass and turns to me, placing it in my hand. "She’s cute, Harper. I like her."

Oh shit.

"Huh?" I can’t seem to find my tongue as I sip my tea, hoping my sister-in-law won’t torture me. But this is Rachel. I know better.

"Kelsey. She’s cute."

"Where…where…is she?" I take another sip of tease…er…tea.

"With Mama and the girls, in the kitchen." She says the last three words slowly, letting me know what’s going on. Rachel turns from me and picks up another glass, which she gives to Lucien, along with a kiss.

Oh shit.

"Excuse me for a minute, guys." I grasp the glass and head for forbidden territory. I gotta get Kels out of there.

Years ago Mama banished all of us kids from the kitchen, declaring it to be hers alone, the one place in the house where she could have solitude. We were all quite fine with that declaration, until we realized she only meant it during the cooking of the food and not during clean up. Nevertheless, Mama’s prohibition stayed in place.

Until Katherine.

When Gerrard brought her home, Mama immediately took her to the kitchen and tossed us out. Together, they plotted and schemed and decided Gerrard’s fate. Not that he wasn’t amenable to it. But, he wouldn’t have been married quite so young had it been left solely up to him.

Andrew Jackson’s kitchen cabinet has nothing on Mama’s.

The kitchen became a litmus test of sorts for the girlfriends. If Mama liked one, she was invited into the kitchen to help. Elaine was invited into the kitchen after dinner to help with dessert. It took Mama the meal to decide if she liked the Yankee. Elaine’s family had only moved to New Orleans fifty years prior from Massachusetts.

Rene was scooped from Robie the moment she stepped into the house. I think Mama spent more time courting her than he did. Of course, Rene has Cajun in her – her grandmère grew up near mine – and so she was instantly family. If Robie hadn’t already been head over heels in love with her, Mama would have beat him until he was. She was intent on Rene becoming a Kingsley.

Lucien brought home a series of girls who never got past the parlor. I was actually the one who brought Rachel home. We were at Tulane at the same time – although she was in law school while I was undergrad. We took a course on entertainment law together. When I brought her home for dinner one night so we could study for the final together, she met Lucien. And got invited into the kitchen.

I was best man in the wedding, gender notwithstanding.

Standing in the doorway, I see that it’s worse than I thought.

Not only is she in Mama’s kitchen, but she’s helping out with the meal.

Mama, you’ve gone too far this time.

I force a smile across my face as I approach my partner. I need to appear nonchalant. Despite the fact everyone is looking at me and pretending not to.

"Good morning, Little Roo, ‘bout time you got up." I reach for one of the merliton seeds and get my hand playfully slapped.

"Well, I’m up and having my tea." She picks up her mug to take another drink. "Thank you, by the way." She grins as she toasts me with the mug.

"Uh huh." Oh boy. This is sooooo very bad. On so many levels.

She takes the time to pull the collar of my polo shirt out of my sweatshirt and straighten it, like this is something she does everyday. "And I thought I’d offer a little help in the kitchen." She now hands me one of the seeds.

I put it in my mouth immediately to keep myself from doing one of two things: saying something really stupid or kissing her.

Rene says, "Fous le camp, Harper. Ce n’est pas tu place."

I’ve just been ordered out of the kitchen. "Tais toi, agitateur." You be quiet, troublemaker. I look over at my favorite sister and give her my best intimidating look. It is, of course, completely wasted on her. "Tu sais ce qu’elle fout." You know what she’s up to. Meaning Mama.

"Vas-y!" the accused orders.

I narrow my eyes slightly at my mother at her command to leave, but not so much as to get a spoon rapped on the back of my hand. It’s been known to happen. "Kels, it’s beautiful out. You wanna come outside? I can show you around." Come on, Kels, let me get you out of here.

"No, thanks. I’m glad to help out."

"See, she’s fine. Dehors!" Mama repeats, looking displeased with me.

Now Mama is pointing the way out of here. "Mama, I told you …"

She holds up her hands and turns her head to the side. It’s her ‘I give up - what did I do to God to have him give me a child like you’ sign. I saw it quite a bit growing up.

"Fine. I’ll be outside," I huff.

"On t’appellera, quand on est prêt," Mama says after me.

I snort. Yeah, right, she’ll call me back into the kitchen later. Will that be before or after you pick me up a marriage license, Mama? I’ve gotta get her off that Families for Same Sex Marriages committee.

Now I know how my brothers felt.


* * *

They are laughing at me when I come out. Robie comes to my side and throws his arm around my shoulders. "She’s brutal. But we know that, we grew up with her."

"Like a dog on a bone," I mutter.

"I know, little sister. But, at least, Kelsey’s a cute chew toy."

"Robie! à ça oui!" I slap him upside the head for even thinking such a thing about Kelsey. I can. My brother can’t. Even if he is my favorite. Especially since he’s my favorite.

Oh God. I am so screwed.

I’m glad she’s here with me. I can’t stand the thought of her being in Los Angeles watching some crappy movie marathon instead. And I like her. A lot. Okay, more than a lot. But, am I ready for her to be in that damn kitchen?

Suddenly a football is headed my way and I catch it as it impacts my gut. I look over to see Gerrard and his two oldest sons waiting for me to toss it back.

I do.

Too much thinking is bad for the appetite.

And it is Thanksgiving. I plan on stuffing myself.


* * *

I finish with the merlitons, then take the cutting board over to Cécile, giving it to her with a little smile.