Ethically Speaking

0.4

•- Quincie Jackson -•

With the Jackson family name came trust funds, investments, and more money than anyone could handle. Despite being able to afford pleasantries such as the outdoor pool and a beautiful garden, the one thing my mother refused to pay for was personal chef. My father had tried countless times to convince my mother that she did not need to spend every second in the kitchen, but she was a woman of many skills.

I used to love watching her waltz around the room gathering her ingredients before mixing them together to create the most divine dishes I ever had the joy to eat.

"It smells amazing," I smile as I enter from the foyer. I could smell the beauty of her art from the porch and was eager to see what she was cooking on this lovely day.

"Quincie!" She exclaims as she dusts some sort of dried herb onto the dish she was preparing. She wipes her hands against a colorful apron wrapped around her torso before meeting me halfway in the kitchen. She pulls me into a tight embrace which I return kindly.

There was nothing I loved more than the sweet embrace of my mother's hold. It was both comforting and loving as she held tight.

"I'm surprised you made it this evening since you've missed the past few family meals," her eyes lift scoldingly before she returns to the tiled countertops to resume her cooking.

"I'm sorry, I just haven't had the time between assignments. But I'm here now," I smile.

My mother understood the stress I was under. Similar to my father, she came from a wealthy background that prized themselves on their education. She had a degree in law and practiced until she became pregnant with my younger sister. She then decided to become a stay at home mother and worked tirelessly on board meetings, organizing events for my sister's school, and all in all parenting my younger siblings.

"Your father tells me you have a new professor, do you like his classes?"

While the subject of Elijah Fields was mainly brought up by my rage endured conversations, the last thing I wanted to do was discuss the all too ignorant Professor Fields.

"He's alright, mom, but I don't want to talk about school. I'm too stressed as it is."

I knew she could see through my lie as all I ever wanted to talk about was school. Unfortunately my mind had changed on the subject and I refuse to belittle my professor in front of his superior. It was a low move that I had no intentions of partaking in.

"As you wish," she smiles before turning to her stove where pots and pans were scattered with all sorts of contents.

Grace reminded me a lot of my mother in that way. When Grace expresses an interest in cooking, my mom taught her everything she knew. I was helpless when it came to cooking so I left it to the professionals. Grace and my mother shared so many techniques that I was able to experience the homemade meals my mother made in the comfort of my parent-free apartment.

It was truly beneficial.

"So where are the kids?" I ask as I look around the visible areas of the home.

It came as a shock when I walked in the door to not hear my younger sister playing her beloved piano, or the whaling screams of my child brother running wild around the main level.