Chapter Seventeen
Martin, Gerard, Helga, and Greta all show up in the kitchen at seven sharp. Sky is working late, so she won’t be joining us.
“I love the smell of bacon,” Gerard announces with his eyes closed and his nose in the air like he’s experiencing one of life’s greatest pleasures. Which he is.
“It is okay,” Greta says, “but bratwurst is better.”
“Oh, brats boiled in beer and then cooked over an open fire are amazing,” I say, ensuring our fast friendship.
“Ja, that is the way,” she agrees, with a huge smile on her face.
Martin lifts the wooden spoon sitting in the vat of macaroni and cheese I just cooked up and wants to know, “Why is it so orange?”
“That’s the result of the perfect blend of food dye,” I tell him. “There’s no actual cheese in there.” He cringes like I’m serving worms.
I scoot everyone toward the kitchen table, which I’ve already set. Then I announce, “We have to eat while the macaroni is hot for the best flavor.” My new friends look skeptical.
After dishing up at least three servings for everyone, because in my humble opinion one box equals one serving, I walk around and crumble freshly fried bacon on top of their meals. “I washed my hands first,” I say when I see the look of disgust on Helga’s face.
Once we’re all seated, I announce, “Dig in.” No one rushes to do so. I moan and groan and enjoy my first few bites so much, they all eventually join me.
“It’s salty,” Gerard says.
“Creamy,” Martin adds.
“It’s heaven,” Greta joins in.
“What do you think, Helga?” I ask.
“I do not want to talk. I want to eat.” Her answer says it all. She loves it!
There is little chitchat over dinner, as my meal is as big of a success as I knew it would be. Even the snobbiest of gourmets loves boxed mac n’ cheese. After clearing the dishes, I put a candle in front of everyone’s place before lighting it.
“What’s this for?” Gerard wants to know.
“Dessert.” I plop a box of graham crackers on the table along with a bag of jumbo-sized marshmallows and an array of chocolate bars. “We’re having s’mores, but you have to make them yourselves.” I spokesmodel how it’s done.
“I haven’t had these since I was a child,” Martin says, joining in excitedly.
We proceed to finish off the entire box of graham crackers which sadly signals that it’s time to stop eating. When Gerard stands up to clear the dishes, I tell him, “I cooked, so I clean up. But first we have to digest.”
“I’m so full, I can’t move,” Martin groans.
“Follow me,” I tell my new friends as I roll off my chair onto the floor. I proceed to crawl across the kitchen to the first large open space, which happens to be the hallway that leads to the front door. Then I lie down before popping the button on my jeans for comfort.
Jonathan’s staff follows suit. If I wasn’t the one perpetrating this scene, I’d laugh my butt off at how funny everyone looks.
Once we’re all spread eagle several feet apart from each other, I announce, “Tell me that wasn’t the best meal you’ve ever had.”
“Nowhere near the best,” Gerard replies, “but very satisfying, nonetheless.”
“I would have to agree,” Martin concurs.
Helga merely moans, as Greta pipes in with, “Ja, sehr gut.”
We lie there for what feels like hours, but I’m sure it’s only twenty minutes or so, when the front door opens. Sky walks in and demands, “Did you save any for me?”
“How did you get through the gates?” I ask. I know for a fact that no one in the house let her in because we’re all lying on the floor.
“I followed Steven in. I hope you don’t mind, but I invited him up for dinner.” She steps over us like she’s playing a super complicated game of drunk Twister.
“There’s more in the pot,” I tell her from the floor, “but we ate all of the s’mores.”
“The entire box?”
“Why do you think we’re all currently in this state?”
Before she can answer, Steven walks in. “Everyone okay?” he asks with concern in his voice.
“They’re experiencing mac and cheese bloat,” Sky tells him. “They’ll be fine in about an hour.” She negotiates her way back to the front door and takes Steven’s hand to lead him through the battlefield of bodies lying on the ground.
Martin sounds nervous when he says, “Sir, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this to the other Mr. Silver.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Steven tells him. “Especially as I’m planning on joining you.” He adds, “Jonathan and I grew up on boxed macaroni and cheese. It’s one of my favorite foods.” He and Sky go into the kitchen still holding hands.
“I’m mortified,” Martin says as they leave. “This is undignified behavior for a butler to be participating in.”
“You’re not a butler tonight, Martin. You’re a dinner guest, and as I am the hostess, you are obligated to do what I tell you to do.” He doesn’t argue. When I hear the gentle snores coming from his direction I know he’s fallen into a carb coma.
Sky and Steven bring their bowls into the entryway and sit down on the floor to join the party. Sky takes a bite and says, “You added extra butter, didn’t you?”
“Only one extra stick,” I tell her.
“A whole stick?” She drops her fork like it’s suddenly turned into molten metal.
“I made eight boxes, so that’s only one extra tablespoon per box.”
Steven is busy shoveling forkfuls into his mouth like he hasn’t eaten in a month. “So good …” is all he comes up for air to say.
Sky goes back to eating, which I take to mean the whole butter situation has been worked out in her head. As soon as she takes her last bite, she pushes her bowl away and lies down with the rest of us.
Once we’re all recumbent and recovering, I announce, “I was thinking the next time I cook, I’ll make us homemade macaroni and cheese.” I explain, “I use four kinds of cheese and heavy cream instead of milk.”
A chorus of “please, no” and “stop talking about food” hits the ether. Perhaps it is too soon to plan my next culinary coup. Before I can say as much though, the front door opens again. It can only be one person.
“Have you all been murdered?” Jonathan’s voice booms across the hall. His entire staff jumps to their feet so quickly, you’d almost think they’d never been lying down.
Martin goes into immediate butler mode. “Sir, may I offer you a drink?”
Jonathan looks him up and down, noting his unbuttoned pants and shirt half out of his trousers. Is that a smile about to break free? “Don’t worry about me, Martin, I’m just here to get a file that I left in the library.” His eyes scan the floor and rest on me, “Would you please join me, Emily?”
Darn it, he sounds mad, which I can only assume means that I’m about to be yelled at. I roll over onto my knees and endeavor to stand up when I realize that will take more effort than I currently have the energy to execute. That’s how I come to crawl after Jonathan like some beggar groveling after a king.