It started as many things do with a phone call and she knew what she was doing. Sisters always know what button to push, what phrase to use. Knowing she wasn’t feeling well, I called her to see how she was doing.
“Hi, Dot. How are you doing?’
“Better.” chuckle, chuckle. (A little family joke. Anytime you talked to my mom and asked her how she was she ALWAYS said better.) “What are you doing?”
“Just stuff around here; bills, dusting. You?”
“Just resting. I made stuffed peppers last night. They were the best I’ve ever made!”
“Stop it! Don’t tell me.”
“They were delicious, Pen”.
A cruel thing to do to your big sister. She knows me. She knows me well. She knows that just the mention of stuffed peppers will have my nose up in the air, twitching, searching for a scent like a hound dog. Ah yes, my sister knows me well.
Tom came in yesterday and grinned, saying ”You talked to your sister, didn’t you?” and the pan came out of the oven, steaming with stuffed delights, their aroma wafting, the pan almost too heavy to carry, my plate waiting, a loaf of bread nearby for catching the pools of juices that will circle my pepper. My lovely stuffed pepper filled with all sorts of sensational flavors.
I’ll get back at her. I will. It is part of the sisterhood creed. I’ll make some macaroons and then call her and when she asks me what I am eating as I say hello with a bite in my mouth I will grin and say “macaroons”!
