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“Perfect!” said Rachel as she headed down the hallway and into the kitchen. Abby picked up the ball of muscle and black and white fur at her feet and received a grateful cheek licking.
Her mother had always wanted a little cottage overlooking the ocean and the perfect place had come up for sale at the same time Abby purchased her home. Rachel’s cottage sat back several metres from a bedrock slope about twenty feet above the tideline. The facade was glass, giving her studio perfect lighting. The studio carried onto an open kitchen and living space where Rachel combined her art with her home life. The front of the cottage had two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a small office where Rachel stored the more mundane aspects of her life, such as bills and paperwork.
Rachel’s eclectic taste was apparent in every inch of the cottage and while it was a style all of its own, to Abby it simply felt like home. She hadn’t grown up in this house, but everything that reminded her of her childhood was here.
“That smells amazing. Did you cook a roast?” The gentle rumble of Abby’s stomach had become an all-out roar. She returned Bruce to the floor and washed her hands at the sink. The little dog tore off in search of his chew toy, which landed at her feet seconds later.
“I felt like lamb and veggies,” said Rachel, pulling down two wine glasses from the cupboard and placing them on the massive island bench that also served as her eating area. Two places had already been set.
“I hope you weren’t counting on leftovers.” Abby uncapped the wine and left it to breathe for a moment. “I’m starving.”
Rachel laughed. “I’m sure I’ll manage.” She removed the baking tray from the oven, placing the lamb on a carving board. “Here, you can plate up the veggies while I carve.”
Abby grabbed some tongs and began arranging the crispy potatoes, pumpkin, carrots and broccoli onto a serving platter. Her mother had always baked everything in one pan when she cooked a roast, simply adding the veggies at the appropriate intervals. A steaming jug of gravy and freshly made mint sauce already sat beside the salt and pepper. It was the Sundays of her childhood on a plate.
As they prepared the meal, they shared the details of their day. Abby poured the wine and took her seat, salivating over the feast in front of her. Bruce whined at her feet, clearly feeling the same way about the food.
“You start, darling. I just need to dash to the loo.”
Rachel was gone before Abby could say anything. She decided to serve herself while she waited. After staring at the food on her plate with growing anticipation for a few moments, Abby realised her mother was taking what seemed a long time. She popped a piece of lamb in her mouth and tried not to moan. Divine!
“Here you go, puppy.” She offered Bruce a generous cut. He snatched it between his teeth and ran for the safety of the far corner, in case Abby changed her mind and wanted the meat back.
Peering down the hallway, Abby wondered what could be keeping Rachel. “Everything alright, Mum?”
The quiet vibration of the water pipes heralded her mother’s imminent return.
“Sorry darling, I hope you weren’t waiting for me?” Rachel headed for the sink and poured herself a glass of water from the tap.
“Are you feeling okay?” Abby silently berated herself for not paying closer attention to her mother when she arrived, too busy thinking of her own stomach.
“Yes, yes. Just felt a bit off, you know how it is.” Rachel took her seat at the bench. As she reached for the serving tongs, Abby noticed her hands shaking.
“Mum?” Her eyes widened with worry.
“I just need to eat something, darling.” She began piling food onto her plate. “I had a late breakfast and then skipped lunch.”
“You need to eat properly! You keep losing weight that you don’t need to lose.” Under the island lights, Abby noticed the dark shadows under Rachel’s eyes as, the kind she’d noticed at the cafe two days earlier, and that niggling sense of panic slipped under her skin again.
“Yes, Mum!” said Rachel, a smile brightening her face. “Now, enough of the lectures. Tell me, is it any good?”
Abby sliced through a potato that was perfectly crisped on the outside and fluffy on the inside. “It is delicious.” The enthusiasm sounded false, but her mother ignored it.
Rachel beamed. “Let’s dig in.”
Despite her concerns, Abby didn’t need another invitation. They ate and talked, sipping at their wine. As Abby finished her second helping, Rachel asked after Demi.
“Thank goodness for Flynn,” she answered. “I don’t think she’d get out of bed every day if it wasn’t for that baby.”
“My heart breaks for her.” Rachel placed her hand over her heart as if she could catch the pieces. “Has she heard from Jake at all?”
Abby took a sip of wine and shook her head. “Not a word.”
“He seemed so happy when he found out they were pregnant, and when Flynn was born.”
“Demi and Flynn are better off without him.” Abby stood and took her plate to the trash to scrape the scraps before rinsing it in the sink.
“Oh, darling, I don’t think Demi wants to hear that.”
