Somehow we have ended up having supper in the kitchen instead of the dining room. This makes sense. Dad and I only used the dining room table for special occasion dinners, and really, this is a better way for everyone to start feeling at home together here. Definitely much cosier.
"I didn't know you could cook like this, Chris", says Carl. You rate right up there with my sister."
"Thanks. Any word from her since we left?"
"I just got a text from her. Mom was on Skype with her this morning just after we left and was crying and in a panic about having to quarantine for two weeks when they arrive here. Otherwise they're okay. Everyone just hung around together at the house all day, random visits and chats, and Carol treated them to a full piano recital before dinner. It sounds like no one has a lot of energy after all the intensity of the past week. Maybe our absence will help calm things a bit."
"Your absence", says Francois, pointing his fork at him.
"Guilty as charged." I can tell by the good humour of this exchange that something positive is starting to develop between them.
"Is that the book?" says Francois, noticing Karen Wilson's tome next to my plate.
"I looks really interesting", say I. "We can read a bit of it together after dinner. Unless you guys want to watch Netflix instead."
"I don't think that's why we're all here", says Carl.
"Agreed", concurs Francois. "And Carl is right. Your cooking is equal to anything that Melissa would dish out."
"And that is a high compliment", say I , shoveling the remains of my dinner into my mouth..."
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