Salty

Four | Pizzaz Lamb Shank with a Ceiling Glaze

Four | Sloan

The kitchen floor had become littered with carrot and potato balls. Oil splatter covered not only the stovetop but also the hood, backsplash, and a few inches of countertop. Dustings of salt and pepper along with tiny sprigs of rosemary and thyme were now trapped in an unplanned, and very sticky, cherry glaze spill. This occurred beside a paper that should have resembled a recipe, but appeared more like a mad mathematician's notes. The duplex kitchen now looked like a culinary war zone, with multiple shots fired and a wannabe chef left as the only survivor—I was hanging on to my sanity by a weak thread.

I dropped into a wooden dining chair, shielding my eyes with messy hands from the disaster that was supposed to be dinner. Nothing ever went right. I should have known that spending what was left of my paycheck on this was a terrible idea. Unfortunately, when I found the courage to remove my hands, the mess was still there and dinner remained only half-cooked.

"Fuck." My lip trembled, followed by a few rapid blinks to stop myself from tears.

The whole situation was making my stomach ache. This was supposed to be my way of apologizing to my best friend. Hallie hadn't spoken to me in days, and I deserved it for breaking girl-code. After years of being friends, we had been through plenty of petty arguments and usually gave up on them after a day, chalking it up to menstrual madness. This time was different. Hallie was completely betrayed by TJ, and I went to him for help, of all people.

I fucked up.

Typically, when I screwed up dinner, it was because I had some crazy idea while watching Chopped—such as a random ingredient no one in their right mind would put into a dish. This time, I couldn't even blame myself for the catastrophe. Although, I should not have banked on this going in my favor.

My head fell back, and I gazed upwards to the ceiling to take a deep breath. Instead, I squinted at a pink blotch that was a definite contrast against the white paint. Not recalling it ever being there, I stood to get a closer look. When a drop of the pink goop fell to my cheek, I knew exactly what it was. I dragged a finger across my face and stuck it directly into my mouth, twirling my tongue around it and savoring the sweetness.

"I did not just witness you lick something that fell from the ceiling..."

I spun toward Hallie's shock, not even caring that she had seen me in a moment of weakness. My best friend was speaking to me. Hallie stood in the kitchen's doorway, dressed cutely in a pair of white jean shorts and a blue Jack's Mannequin tee. Her long hair was braided perfectly to one side, falling low over her shoulder. Multiple bags were at her feet—some retail therapy, no doubt.

The fact Hallie was smiling was more relief than I could have hoped for. The unease in my gut that had been there all week was already diminishing. Our fight was hopefully ending.

I giggled and popped my finger from my mouth. "It's a cherry glaze. Wanna try it? I can get the ladder."

"Nah, I think I can use my fingernail to get some off of the cabinet doors."

Sure enough, when I turned back to the row of white cabinets, they too were covered in pink blotches. I really had outdone myself with this mess. Was there a surface I hadn't hit with food?

"The appliances are not submitting to me today. The lid wouldn't stay down on the blender. Hence," I used a finger to circle the air, displaying the room and sticky mess. "And the fucking oven quit on me. Again! Now I can't finish the lamb shanks."

Hallie's lips pursed, stifling her laugh. "Well, let's start with some wine."

I pressed my fingertips to my temple and shook my head no. "You know how this works. If I touch the fridge, it will die. The appliances hate me."