Chet

I cradle a bowl half-filled with flour and sugar in the crook of my left arm while I try to blend the ingredients together, but most of the contents end up on the floor of Mom’s kitchen.

“Chester Wade Wilde, what have you done now?” My mother gasps. She takes a breath to calm herself before speaking again. “I know you want to be a help but honestly the way you bumble about in my kitchen is only making more work for me, why don’t you go spend some time with your brothers?”

Gabe, overhearing our conversation, calls from the living room, “Yeah brother, come on in here with Hank and me, you can tell us all the rules we’re supposed to follow tonight with your guest. Again.”

“I’ll clean this up, don’t you worry. I spend more than enough time with those two as it is. How about if I stick to something a little more basic—need any vegetables cleaned or chopped? Or, I’ll start cleaning dishes, how’d that be?” Given the two overgrown boys in the next room, I can’t exactly explain to our mother how I’m boiling over with nervous energy and that I need some outlet to burn it off. The truth is I couldn’t sit still for two seconds right now. Christy’s joining us for supper tonight and I’m equal parts excited and sick to my stomach with anxiety over how things will go when she arrives.

I spend most of the next two hours in the kitchen trying to stay out of Mom’s way as she bustles back and forth between the oven, checking on and basting the turkey, to the island counter where she preps her homemade green bean casserole or starts over on the cake I attempted before. I dutifully tend to whatever task she assigns, currently smashing at a pot of steaming potatoes, being certain to keep it firmly on the counter at all times and remaining a safe distance out of her path. The distraction has helped to quell the nerves pushing my stomach up into my throat—until the doorbell rings, anyway.

“I’ll get it,” Hank calls out. God help me. I guess she was going to meet him one way or the other, at least this way she has one last chance to turn and run.

“Well he-llo beautiful,” he says when he opens the door. He’s not wrong, she is stunning, dressed in a simple white dress, appropriately conservative, but nonetheless alluring with its short hemline and spaghetti straps. Her blonde hair, usually straight and cascading is different this evening, loose curls tumbling down and stopping just above her shoulders.

“Hello yourself … Frank? Did I guess right?” she asks.

“Hardly,” Gabe replies. “Frank is successful and intelligent. That’s Hank—he’s neither.”

“Ahh, I see. Nice to see you again, Gabe.” Christy looks down at her feet, still standing on the porch.

“Henry! Gabriel! Where are your manners? Invite the young lady inside, will you?” Mom chides while she wipes her hands with a dish towel.

“Yes, of course. Please do come in milady.” Hank bends at the hip, sweeping his arm across his stooped body in the most exaggerated and pathetic attempt of addressing royalty he can manage. Christy steps over the threshold, carefully moving past Hank.

“Glad you could make it, Doc,” I say with a smile as I come to greet her. “You’ll have to excuse the court jester here, not that he deserves an excuse, but we haven’t figured out any other way to handle him.”

I take her hand and guide her to the relative safety of the kitchen. “Can’t say I didn’t warn against you picking a Wednesday for dinner.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, so far I feel like I’m scoring dinner and a show,” she says, laughing.

“Christy Harris, this is our mother, Marie Wilde. Mom, this is Christy.”

“Well, it’s a real pleasure to meet you dear,” my mother proclaims, shaking Christy’s hand.

“The pleasure is mine. Thank you again for allowing me to join your family for dinner.”

“Anytime, dear. Anytime. I’m only sorry the other half couldn’t join us tonight. I’m sure Chester has told you all about them.”

“Chester? Is that your given name?” Christy asks, squeezing my hand.

I grimace. “Chet is my name to just about everyone but her,” I say, nodding toward my mother.

“Nonsense, your father and I put a lot of thought into that name. Besides, what is a Chet, anyway?”

“You know, I’ve thought that myself a time or two. And anyway, I like Chester,” Christy replies.

I shake my head. “Mom, is there anything else I can help you with?”

“You can set the table, everything else is just about ready.”

“Happy to. Christy, why don’t you have a seat here,” I say as I pull out the chair next to my place.

“Smells wonderful, Mrs. Wilde.”

“Thank you, dear, but there’s no need for formalities around here, call me Marie. Dinner is nothing too fancy, turkey and stuffing, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, buttermilk biscuits, and a little something special for dessert.”

“Oh my, that all sounds pretty special to me,” Christy says with delight.

At Mom’s signal, I call Gabe and Hank to eat and we take our places at the table.

We sit down to eat with our napkins across our laps, hands folded like any other Wednesday meal, until Hank breaks the silence as Mom prepares to say grace.

“Put her in Leo’s spot, eh? Makes sense, when was the last time he made it home for dinner, anyway?”

“Leo?” Christy asks.

“Chester Wade, have you not told her anything about our family?” My mother looks at me with disappointment in her eyes.

“Chester Wade?” Christy mouths to me. There goes that hair bristling up my neck again.

“Don’t think it’s come up before,” I reply.

“Well, Leonard is the baby. He and Chester have always had a … a tumultuous relationship.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” I add.

“Oh, come off it Chet. He’s been a pain in all our asses since Dad died,” Gabe says, prompting Mom to smack her hand down on the table.

“We don’t use that kind of language at the table, young man. And I’m tired of you boys all piling on him the way you do. He took your father’s passing the hardest.”

“Bullsh…” Hank coughs into his napkin.

With a scowl on her face, Mom clears her throat. “Why don’t we bow our heads to pray. You boys could use a moment of silent reflection anyway.”

When she’s finished, my brothers begin plopping food on their plates as they always do.

I look to Christy. “It’s usually a self-serve buffet style affair. Please help yourself to anything you like.”

“Will you carve the turkey for us, Chester?” Gabe asks. Hair bristling. Again.

“Happy to,” I grumble as I pick up a knife and begin slicing at the turkey.

“There are six boys in total, is that right Mrs. Wilde?” Christy asks.

“Yes. Chester, Gabriel, Francis, Henry, Jacques, and Leonard,” she replies with pride.

“You must’ve had your hands full then. Being outnumbered seven to one,” Christy states, cutting into her turkey breast.

“Well, they certainly were a handful. Some more than others,” she says, eyeing Hank and Gabe. “But their father—big John, did a fine job setting the example of how to respect a woman.”

“He must’ve been quite a man.”

“Oh, that he was. One in a million,” Mom replies, her eyes filling with water. We all nod in agreement with the words.

“So Chester …” Christy smiles as she calls me by my proper name. “You aren’t as close with Leo as you are with Hank and Gabe here, what about the other two?”

“Chet’ll do just fine, Doc,” I say, hopeful to walk her back from calling me Chester anymore. “Frank’s an engineer. He’s just down in Denver. Jack is a captain in the Army. He’s stationed out of Fort Carson, but he’s away more than he’s home.”

“Do you have a good relationship with them?”

“Hmm. I’d say so. Just like Leo, being gone makes it easy to get along,” I say, smiling. “Shame Gabe and Hank can’t be a little farther away, they might not seem so bad.”

“You’re no peach yourself, brother,” Gabe exclaims through a mouthful of food. “Go on, tell her. Jack’s always been your favorite. They’re two peas in a pod.”

“Oh? How so?” Christy asks.

“They both have sticks lodged deep in their as…” Hank catches himself mid-sentence and opts to take a bite of potato instead.

“Chester and Jacques are both private and focused. Sometimes I wonder if either of them would ever say a word if they weren’t asked a direct question first,” Mom answers.

With forks scraping at the last remnants of food on everyone’s plates, Mom asks, “Who’s ready for dessert? In honor of you joining us tonight dear, I’ve made something of a specialty—a mandarin orange cake with pineapple cream cheese icing. It was John’s favorite.”

“Sounds incredible, but I barely have any room left.”

“I’ll take her piece. I’ve got plenty of room,” Hank says, rubbing his stomach.

“You’ll do no such thing. Christy, will you try a small slice?”

“That would be perfect. Thank you.”

Mom excuses herself from the table to slice the cake and I get up and clear the dishes to make room, both women smiling their approval at the gesture.

Christy is served first and my mother waits for her to take a bite before handing out any other plates.

“Oh my goodness. That is … the cake is so moist. But what is that other flavor in the icing?”

With a grin from ear to ear my mother confesses, “Very good. I’m surprised you noticed so quickly. It’s lemon zest. You wouldn’t think it goes, but it adds a nice surprise, don’t you think?”

“It’s perfect. Thank you so much.”

Pleased by the compliment, Mom sets down a plate in front of everyone else. Mmms and ahhs take the place of conversation, as we all savor the treat down to the last morsels.

When the dessert is gone Christy glances at the clock over the sink and notices the time. “Thank you again for allowing me to share in your family meal. I should probably be going soon. It’s a decent drive back to my place and I’ve got goats that need put up before bed. Can I help clean up before I go?”

“Well dear, thank you for joining us tonight. I’ll put these boys to work cleaning up, don’t you worry about that.”

“I’ll walk you out,” I offer. “It gets pretty chilly when the sun goes down here, you can borrow my jacket. Thanks for the meal, Mom. See you boys in the morning,” I say, before escorting Christy out to her truck. I look up at the clear night sky as we walk. “There’s just something peaceful about it. When you stop and think about how small we are in all of that.”

“Definitely,” Christy says, looking up.

“Then I look at you. And can’t help thinking how insignificant all of that seems, if you don’t have someone special to share it with. I know that now.” I caress her cheek with my hand.

“Chester, how very sweet of you.”

“Hmmm. Chet really will do just fine.”

She smiles. “Alright, but you will have to promise to explain where all those names came from some day. They’re a little … unusual, don’t you think?”

“That’s an understatement.” I take her in my arms and lean in to kiss her before pulling back for a moment. “You looked beautiful tonight. Thank you again for coming.” I pause, hesitant to say the next thought out loud.

“What is it?” she asks.

“You can stay if you like.”

“What about your mother? And your brothers?”

“Well, I wasn’t planning to invite them over. They’ve got their own homes to go to.”

“You know what I mean,” she says with a soft fist against my chest. “And my goats?”

“If they’re in a pen, they ought to be okay on their own for one night. As long as you get back to them first thing tomorrow.”

Christy takes a moment to think before responding. “Yeah,” she says with a smile. “You’re right, they will be okay, won’t they?”

“So you’ll stay?”

“I will.”