chapter 6

how the sausage is made

(‘Sausages’, by Kerry Escobedo)

The faded gingham tablecloth blows in the spring breeze. I grab another jelly jar to weigh down a corner.

“Did you make mashed potatoes? You know how much Liam likes them with sausage”, Harold asks as I lay the plates onto the picnic table.

“I did. Will you pull the cobbler out of the oven before it burns?”

He grunts and wanders back up the neon green hill towards the backdoor where I hope he remembers what I asked of him.

My feet hurt after a long day in the kitchen. I place my hands on my hips as a gesture to remind myself to stop and take stock of the especially beautiful evening here on the farm. I notice the dappled light that dances on a few brick pavers around my feet. I notice the scent of spring magnolia blossoms wafting up from the pasture below. I lift my gaze up to the sky to notice the swifts performing their tricks above the roof of the barn. These are all sure signs that summer is on its way.

Few things excite me the way they did in my thirties, forties, or even my fifties, but waiting for my children to visit for Sunday dinner- especially my granddaughter, Nico- makes me buzz with anticipation. Nico is four, the perfect age to appreciate the farm. She’s currently most amused by the rabbits and baby goats, but I can tell she’s showing more interest in the pigs each week. Maybe the latest batch of fuzzy yellow chicks will distract her from the pig pen.

Harold is holding the cobbler in his mitt-clad hands in the kitchen doorway at the top of the hill.

“What should I do with it?”

“You can set it on the counter. I still need to make whipped cream.”

And with that, Liam’s head pokes around the right side of Harold, and then- as if rehearsed- Sarah’s head pops out from under Liam’s arm, and Nico’s head pops out from between Harold’s legs.

I giggle, and my heart swells at the most wonderful sight.

*

Sarah saddles up next to me at the kitchen sink and sets her wine glass down on the counter.

“Jimmy didn’t want to come tonight?”, I carefully ask her as I hand her a wet plate.

She grabs a towel and dries the plates faster than I can clean them.

“I don’t know. It’s weird. Where’s Nico? I don’t want to say too much in front of her.”

“She’s outside with Dad. I really hope he’s not taking her out to see the pigs.”

“Oh god, she’ll be asking about them all week. Are you guys going to hold onto them a little longer this time or…?”

I shoot her a side eye as I scrub the burnt bits at the bottom of the mashed potato pot.

“Ah ok. So don’t get too attached is what you’re saying?”

“Tell my sweet Nico that the Collins down the road just had kittens. They told us we could take our pick of the litter. Maybe she’d want to pick one next week when you guys come for dinner?”

“Are you trying to make her love you more than me? Because that’s what’s happening. She already throws a fit every time we say goodbye, y’know..”

She reaches around my neck to hug me from behind.

She’s either wearing a small heel or I’m shrinking.

Liam walks into the kitchen and sarcastically apologizes for interrupting what he calls our love-fest. I invite him to join us, but Sarah has already pulled away as she gathers her purse and Nico’s sweater.

“Liam, will you be bringing a date to dinner in a few weeks?”

“Mahm. I’ve already told you. I’m not dating anyone right now. And even if I was, the hour drive out of the city isn’t how everyone wants to spend their Sunday afternoon.”

I used to let his remarks hurt my feelings but I’ve learned to ignore them. I summon him for a hug but Nico assumes the invitation is for her as she runs in through the back door. She crashes into my apron. In that moment, I feel like the luckiest person in the whole world.

*

The faded floral tablecloth lays perfectly still as I set the table. I can’t help but notice the lack of a breeze tonight, even though it’s not yet hot. I call for Harold to bring out the lemonade when he comes, but I don’t know if he heard me. I notice the dapples of evening light are brighter and smaller now that the sun is setting later. I notice the hum of cicadas are growing louder as well, and I swat something itchy at my ankle. I notice the farm is bathed in a warm orangey glow that makes it appear as if everything is on fire. I notice that far off in the distance, a group of buzzards circle over what appears to be the Collins’ farm. I wonder if all the kittens are accounted for.

“Hiya, Mom”, Sarah startles me. “Heads up- Liam just pulled up and, uh, it looks like he brought a girl with him. And not a familiar one.”

I sigh, “No Jimmy? And where’s my little Nico?”

“Jimmy couldn’t make it, and she’s trying to pull Dad away from the tv. I think she wants to see the pigs. Can I help with dinner?”

*

Nico rubs her eyes with one hand while she holds a slipping kitten from her other. I ask her what she will name her.

“Flashlight”, she answers without hesitation.

Sarah and I double over, laughing so hard she self consciously corrects herself, “Not Flashlight, I mean Fairy Queen.” I nod, but honestly I wish she had kept her name Flashlight.

Liam and his friend (I think her name is McKenna, but it might’ve been McKayla?) arrived late and appear now to be leaving early. I notice his friend is quieter than the rest of us. I notice she doesn’t laugh at anything anyone says, but I think it may also be that she’s not listening to what anyone says. I notice Liam doesn’t seem to care that she’s not participating. I can’t decide if I’m annoyed by McKenna/Kayla or feel sorry for her. I say goodbye as I wipe my wet hands on the front of my apron. I thank them for making the long drive. She cordially smiles, and Liam kisses the top of my head.

Harold remarks that McKenna/Kayla was a lovely girl after I shut the door.

*

The faded linen tablecloth sits atop the dining room table tonight as the rain pours. I’m disappointed we can’t eat outside, but truthfully, we needed the rain more than ever. I noticed earlier that the garden was looking especially sad and parched. I noticed that all the animals were either sleeping under a tree or in the barn. I hope the rain will bring cooler temps in the morning for their sake.

I pulled the roast potatoes from the oven and flipped the sausage in the pan. I push the softened onions to the side to keep them from burning. A chocolate pie cools off to the side. I call for Harold’s help as I place the vase of wildflowers in the center of the table. I notice the bold colors of the zinnias and cosmos. I hate overhead lighting so I burn some candles and turn on side lamps instead. I notice the shadows of the wildflowers dance on the ceiling above the table. My feet hurt.

“Harold?”

*

With a full belly, Harold held his torso as he laughed at one of Liam’s work stories. Apparently, while hedge funds aren’t particularly that funny, a day in the life of their managers can be. I really don’t understand what exactly it is he does for a living, but I glean it involves handling large sums of other people’s money over long fancy weekday lunches. In between cocktails with clients, Liam chums around with colleagues that commute in from as far as New Jersey and even Connecticut. He’s retelling the story of a partner whose wife thought he was cheating on her because he came home from work smelling of perfume. But in reality he only smelled like another woman because he popped into a “scent bar” on Elizabeth St. after a homeless man allegedly accosted him on their walk back to the office from an afternoon latte run. He tells us the scent was called “Le Labia”, which I find hard to believe. Furthermore, I know I’m missing the point but I think, “So your friends can commute over an hour each way to work five days a week, but you can’t drive an hour to visit your mom a few times a month?” Of course I would never say any such thing aloud, but I think it nonetheless.

I notice the underside of Liam’s face is lit by flickering candlelight. I admire his handsome features that remind me of young Harold. I’ve lost count of the number of old fashions the two of them have consumed. I would never want to sound like a nag, but I silently worry about the combination of weather and whiskey.

I notice Sarah’s smile, but she’s not laughing along for fear of waking a sleeping Nico draped across her lap. I gesture to let me hold her in case she needs to use the bathroom or fill a tupperware with leftovers for Jimmy.

Fairy Queen knocks a picture frame over on the piano. We all jump.

*

The faded embroidered tablecloth flaps around in the regular gusts of Autumn wind. It’s a welcome feeling after a hot day. I notice that Summer temps are still lingering, but there are hints of subtle change if paying attention. I notice the scent of the blooming tea olive shrubs that line the wood is drifting up the hill with each of gust of wind. Yellow and orange oak leaves pirouette down onto the still empty table. I notice how nature is a better decorator than I am. I remember that I forgot to gather eggs this morning. I’ve noticed the hens’ egg production has doubled in the last few weeks.

Nico flies down the hill and straight into my arms. I’ve waited all week for this very greeting.

“Gramma, where’s Fairy Queen?”, her soft beautiful face looks up at me.

Before I can answer, Harold and Sarah walk towards me smiling, and Sarah says, “Dad told me not to ask you about the pigs? We’re having chops for dinner tonight I suppose?”

“No”, I whisper, as put my finger over my mouth. “Sausage”.

*

Liam couldn’t be bothered this week to make the drive. My feelings aren’t hurt, but I do miss him. Harold is quieter than usual. Sarah too. Nico was persuaded to eat exactly four bites of her dinner before being freed from the table to play with the kitten.

“I’m not sure if you saw SNL last week, but John Hamm was really funny”, I say as I am just filling space.

Sarah shakes her head and apologizes for being “off” tonight.

I reassure her she’s fine but ask if things are okay. She shakes her head again, and her head drops. I notice her fork gently taps her plate as her body begins to rock in a silent sob.

Her hair smells the same as when she was Nico’s age. I hold her head close to my breast while I signal to Harold to go watch tv in the next room. He grunts as he walks away. Nico has fallen asleep on the rug as she was playing with Fairy Queen.

*

The faded poinsettia tablecloth is adorned with my late mother’s finest china and crystal. A bouquet of red and green flowers from Liam sits in the middle of the table. A note attached reads, “Wish I could be there. Merry Christmas, Mom”. He is spending the next year in London for work. I’m proud of him, but I miss him. I notice Harold is fast asleep in his recliner. I doublecheck the turkey and sausage stuffing through the oven window. Sarah and Nico should be here any minute now. I press play on the cd player and Bing Crosby sings ‘White Christmas’. I’m dreading telling Nico that Fairy Queen has gone missing. Sarah has reassured me that it’s okay to play dumb with a four year old.

The doorbell rings.

*

Nico’s favorite gift is the noisiest toy of course. I swore I’d never be the grandmother that gives my grandkids toys that would annoy my children after my own mother gifted Sarah a Casio and Liam a drum kit when they were little. But like Liam and Sarah at her age, Nico loves anything musical. I knew it would be a hit, and it was. She pressed the same buttons on the worm keyboard over & over again, “do, do, do, do, me, me, fa-f-f-f-fa, fa, sooooooo, soooooooo”.

Sarah shoots me a “thanks a lot” look.

I apologize and tell her she can leave it here.

Harold pours himself another drink. I rarely do this sort of thing, but I guess the eggnog has made me bolder, so I sarcastically say, “No thank you, Harold. I’m fine. Sarah and I are fiiiine. Just help yourself.”

Sarah stares at me in disbelief. Harold stops mid-step. I would normally soften such an awkward moment with a laugh or an “I’m only kidding”, but I let it hang thick in the air. My cheeks are warm, my eyes are narrow, and Nico (completely unaware) presses “la, la, la, do, ray, fa, fa, fa” at my feet. Harold eventually walks away from the table, but my heart continues to beat fast for another few minutes. Sarah touches my hand, “Are you okay?”

*

The faded gingham tablecloth flutters in the frosty late winter gales. I’m second guessing the decision to eat outside. The weatherman promised springlike weather but as we near dinnertime, the temps are beginning to really drop. I notice the white drifts are receding along the edge of the orchard. I notice the hollow sound of a woodpecker on a nearby tree. I notice the patches of blue sky trying hard to poke through the fast-moving grey clouds. It’s a sure sign it’s too soon to eat outside.

Nico yells, “Grammmmaaaaaaaa!” and it echoes throughout all corners of the farm. Even a few goats and rabbits turn to see who or what the commotion is all about. Winter’s bleak cold melts as she runs towards me with arms outstretched. Her puffy jacket makes her hug feel extra warm and special. “My Nico”.

*

After Sarah helped me move our dinner back inside, I cut Nico’s sausage into smaller bites. I told her the turnips had been pulled out of the ground earlier that day, in the hopes she’d want to try it. Sarah told me not to waste my time. Harold tucked his napkin into his flannel collar, even though he knows I hate it when he does that.

We ate quietly, and I felt a pang of guilt that I started this tradition. I never want to make anyone feel obligated to spend time with me. I only ever wanted to give the people I love the most a place to call home, even if only a home away from home.

The phone rang and I accidentally blurted, “Liam!”

Harold answered before I could get to it, and I excitedly waited next to him, hands pressed together in a praying position. I surprised myself by my eagerness. I noticed Sarah smiling at us. I blushed.

After dinner and after our call with Liam, Sarah pulls me in close to her. She notices my hair is almost completely silver now, as she tucks a few stray hairs behind my ear. I notice she has something weighing on her. She holds my hand and whispers, “we’re separating.” My eyes fill with tears, but I’m not surprised. She tells me she’s fine.

*

The faded floral tablecloth blows in the spring breeze. I’ve awaited this day for so long. Liam is home for a visit, and Sarah and Nico have helped me decorate for the occasion. Bundles of daffodils have been stuffed into every vase I own, and we placed the bouquets on every surface inside and out. They’re living with us indefinitely, or until the divorce is finalized, and I try hard to conceal my love of this arrangement because I know it won’t last forever. I notice the way Sarah places her hands on her hips to take stock of the especially beautiful evening. She looks like me. And Nico looks like young Sarah, as she stands on her tiptoes to reach into the henhouse feeling around for eggs. I point to the swirling swifts above the barn and together we notice them. She points to the pink magnolia blossoms off in the distance, and we suddenly notice their scent. We notice the dappled light dancing beneath us. Sarah says, “My feet hurt”.

As Liam tells us stories that make us laugh, Harold leans across the table and mumbles, “I can’t believe you made sausage again.”