Mrs. Jessica Conway, a charming woman with a hint of grey hair in her bangs, worked hard in the kitchen, quickly gathering, measuring, and setting aside each of her twenty ingredients and pulling out the ground lamb. She sauteed some onions, threw the lamb in, stirred, simmered, added more ingredients and seasonings, all as her mother had taught her, whose own mother had taught her. The Conway family had developed their recipe in the early nineteenth century, and over a century of refinements had created one of the best delicacies in all the Midwest. The kitchen was quite cozy, with decorative baskets hung on the walls and a small stack of mail that the Conways had yet to get to set in their own corner on the island of the wooden kitchen. She had a window that looked out onto the front porch, so that she could see visitors as they arrived at their two-story home.
At the same time as she prepared the meat filling, she had some peeled potatoes boiling on the back burner, and once they were softened, she mashed and seasoned them as well, adding parmesan. She took the meat and vegetable filling, placed it in a casserole dish, and topped it with the cheesy potatoes before placing it in the oven to bake to a beautiful golden brown.
The front door open, and in came Mr. Joseph Conway, a conservative and kind gentleman who immediately called out, “Honey, something smells amazing!” This was true, from the kitchen wafted the scent of garlic and parmesan, onions and lamb, and could set even a desert’s mouth-a-watering. Mrs. Conway’s cooking always filled Joseph’s life with joy, even after being married for thirty years.
“Hey, babe, I’ve got shepherd’s pie in the oven. Get yourself ready for dinner,” she then called even louder so that her voice could be heard in even the far corners of the house, “Philip, come on down and set the table, please!”
Mr. Conway looked up the stairs as he walked by, where there were two bedrooms and a bath. One bedroom was for his son, and the other was reserved for guests, which they infrequently had, but it was always good to be prepared. He didn’t hear anything from upstairs, but he hoped that Philip would be closing out of his video game and head down soon at his mother’s behest. Mr. Conway continued down the hallway and entered the master bedroom, where he hung his jacket and flat cap. It was early spring, and soon it would be too warm to wear either as Indiana began one of its seasonal swings. Mr. Conway had grown up in Alaska, moved to Arizona, before finally settling with his family in Hazelwood, Indiana. He found the state was just the perfect place, with a magical winter and luscious summer. Two extremes that the state would dance between every year, sometimes daily during the fall and spring months as the temperature would rise to eighty on one day, and dip to twenty the next. He enjoyed the extreme seasons and looked forward to the smell of flowers and water in the air as spring blossomed.
He slipped off his steel-toed boots, took his shirt and belt off, and then walked to the kitchen, now comfortable. He glanced at the table and sighed. Philip had not come down yet, and he began setting the table while Mrs. Conway wiped the counters and cleaned up from cooking. “Philip,” he shouted out, “Get on down to the kitchen, your mother already called!”
“I’m in the middle of a match!” The voice echoed down the stairs and sounded absolutely irate. Joseph was growing impatient with his son.
“That’s your fault! Your mother makes dinner at the same time every day. Now get your butt on down here!”
Joseph looked Jessica in the eye, who gave a sad, but reassuring smile back to him. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m used to it.”
“That’s the problem honey, you shouldn’t have to be. The boy is twenty-five, it’s bad enough he failed out of college and then quit his job last year. Now he doesn’t even help with the basics at home. I’m sick of it. He needs to learn to grow up and act like a man.” Mr. Conway finished placing the silverware and sat back into his chair at what was the unofficial head of the table, as it was round. It gave him a perfect view of the kitchen but had his back to the entranceway.
“He at least helps on the farm.”
Joseph scoffed, “Barely, and you have to nag at him constantly just to get him to do anything. All he wants to do is play games all day, but that isn’t what life is about and he needs to figure that out. Soon too, we’re getting old, and we can’t keep taking care of him.”
“He’s aimless, and just trying to figure out what he wants to do with his life.”
“Well, it’s getting to the point where he needs to go out and figure it out on his own.”
Mrs. Conway didn’t respond and turned to the oven as she pulled out the pie. She knew Joseph was right, but she couldn’t bear the thought of Philip becoming homeless, or a druggie, or who knows what else when he struck out on his own. At least when Philip was here, she could make sure he had somewhere safe to sleep. Her maternal instincts drove her to protect and nurture Philip, even when it came to the detriment of his personal growth sometimes. She was aware of all this, but it didn’t make it any easier for her to stop. She was his mother. She would always be Philip’s mother. But maybe Joseph was right, maybe it was time to let Philip go out and struggle, even if she thought she could spare him from the harshness of the real world. They wouldn’t be around forever, and it was better he learned how to live as a young man, than go out middle-aged with nothing to show for it.
Joseph set the table and Jessica put food on each of the plates before placing the leftovers on a trivet in the middle of the table. “Philip, come on down, dinner’s ready!” She called sweetly.
“Hold on!”
“Son of a gun,” Mr. Conway swore as he stood up and walked up to Philip’s bedroom. Jessica sat and listened to them yell at each other before Philip stepped down dejectedly with his father stomping steamily on his heels. “Now sit and let’s say grace,” Mr. Conway growled with frustration. This was not how he liked his evenings to go, but it had become the norm despite his grievances.
Philip sat at the round table, and the three bowed their heads and synchronously, as they had a thousand nights before, said a variation of the common table prayer.
Stolen novel; please report.
Come, Lord Jesus, be our Guest.
To may this food, to us be blessed. Amen.
They each began eating, and there was silence before Mrs. Conway broke it to ask, “How was your day at work, honey?”
“Good. George finally managed to get our pick numbers up to where they’re supposed to be, and the new team lead has really been stepping up into the role. Even Frank was happy.”
“That’s good to hear!”
“It is. How about you, how was your day?”
“Stressful. I had a phone conference this morning, and they still aren’t listening to my concerns. We’re down twenty percent productivity, and there is only so much I can do from my workstation.” Mrs. Conway worked from home in her office, providing analytics from her little corner of the world.
There was silence again while they finished eating, and finally Mrs. Conway attempted to make the brooding Philip participate, “So how was your day, Phil?”
“Fine until you guys made me look like an idiot to my friends.”
Mr. Conway was having none of it. “Don’t speak to your mother like that, and it’s your fault anyways!”
“How’s it my fault?”
“You knew it was time for dinner!”
“Well, it’s not like it matters!”
“Excuse me?”
“We barely even talk when we eat, and when we do its to talk about your boring work stuff!”
Mrs. Conway interceded unsuccessfully, “Boys, please!”
“No,” Mr. Conway continued, “He needs to hear this. This “boring work stuff” is realer than whatever crap you do on that computer of yours. These “friends” of yours, have you ever even met them in real life? Of course not, because you don’t have any real friends. You need to stop wasting your life away on video games and go out and get a real job!”
“How’s that my fault I don’t have a job!” Philip countered, “You two keep me so busy running this farm you don’t have time for that I’m forced to stay home and help around the house. It’s your fault I didn’t have time to study for college and couldn’t keep a job!”
“What!?” Mr. Conway looked at Mrs. Conway with his lip lifting in contempt, who also looked flabbergasted by the accusation. He turned back to his son, “Really now? Let me ask you then, what did you even do today?”
“I spent all morning taking care of the animals that you two are too old and lazy to do yourself!”
“All morning? That’s what, six hours of work? Assuming you did do that all morning, which I doubt. And let me guess, you spent the rest of it upstairs playing your stupid games! That’s not even a full-time job! That’s not even mentioning that you would still have to spend a few hours each day taking care of your home and family if you had a full-time job and were independent in the first place! And don’t think we couldn’t take care of the farm without you, we just put it on you because you otherwise wouldn’t be doing anything else but wasting your life!”
“Whatever.” Philip stood up, having finished his food, and left in a huff.
“Wash your dishes!”
“I was going to!” The son came back, took the dishes, and washed them in the sink quickly before stepping outside on the front porch, grabbing his Carhartt jacket from the coatrack on his way. “I’m going to go take care of the pigs!”
Mr. Conway chose to ignore him, but Mrs. Conway tried to deescalate by saying, “Thank you, Phil.” Her heart wasn’t in it though, and it fell on flat ears.
Philip shut the door behind him and let the screen door shut underneath the spring pressure as he marched down the porch steps and saw a wet, shaggy, black dog, with deep set black eyes and a wagging tail. The dog ran up and jumped up and down on its front dogs while a low ruff rumbled from it that didn’t quite hit the decibel to be a proper bark but was too low to be a growl. There was a pitter-patter of rain on mud, and the first big shower of spring was in full swing.
“Hey Chester,” Philip patted the dog on the head, and Chester began running in circles in place from excitement. Philip smiled before reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a pair of cowhide gloves, perfect for handling twine and dry hay. He put them on and walked out to the pigsty.
The pigs oinked and swarmed to the gate, and Philip shooed them away angrily before opening it and walking to their water trough, his boots sinking into the depths of mud four inches deep, each step taking great effort. The pigs squealed and swarmed around him, and he patted them out of his way as he labored through. He looked down, and saw that the water was full, unsurprising thanks to the rain coming down. He made sure the water was clean, as sometimes the pigs would drop sloughs of mud into it, but it was still good from that morning. He smiled and turned to find himself up to his thighs in pigs.
“Come on, move,” he nudged one of the pigs, but it oinked and pushed forward almost knocking Philip down into the water. “Come on, I’m not having a good day,” he pleaded and tried to nudge the hog again, but this time it snorted loudly and pushed again.
“Move!” Philip paired this with a kick, and he felt slight satisfaction as the pig squealed and moved away from him. “Yeah, that’s what I thought!” He let out a mischievous laugh as he kicked at the other pigs, and soon he set them squelching through the mud with squeals of pain and panic. “Stupid pigs!” Philip shouted triumphantly before making his way back to the gate and letting himself out.
As he walked away, the pigs stared at him hungrily, for they had not eaten yet that evening. Each eye was dark as the abyss, as they watched Philip stop. He bent over and picked up a stick, and Chester barked excitedly while he happily goaded the pup before throwing it for the dog to chase. Philip laughed and walked back to the porch.
His boots were a muddy mess, and he took them off to set them to the side of the doormat. He would hose them off once the rain stopped, as there was no point while it was still so muddy. Chester stumbled up the steps with the stick in his mouth and dropped it at Philips now exposed socks.
“Who’s a good boy?” He asked before scratching the dog underneath his chin and behind his neck while taking a knee. Chester had been in the family for six years now, but despite his age was as spry and excited as the puppy he once was. “Sorry boy, I got to get back to my game, my friends are waiting for me.”
Philip stepped into the entranceway and hung up his coat, before walking by the dining room table. Mr. Conway didn’t bother looking back from the table, now cleared by his wife and growled, “The pigs got water?”
“Yes, sir.” Philip realized what he had forgotten even before Joseph asked.
“The pigs got food?”
“… I forgot.”
“How did you forget to feed the pigs, that’s literally what you went out there to do?”
“Get off my back, I’m heading out now.”
“I wouldn’t have to be on your back if you could do a single thing right!”
“I said I’m taking care of it, Jesus!”
“Phil!” cried out Mrs. Conway.
“Do not say the Lord’s name in vain, boy!” Mr. Conway stared back from his chair and glared needles at Philip.
“Fine! Whatever, I’m taking care of it.”
“Apologize to your mother first.”
Philip sighed, “Sorry mom.”
Mrs. Conway looked sadly at him, but gave him an encouraging smile, “It’s alright dear. I love you.”
“Love you too, mom.” Philip had already put his coat on and stepped outside. He bent over and put his boots on, now caked with mud making it difficult to tie them tightly, but he managed. Chester let out a bark, and Philip could hear the squealing of pigs in the distance. Lightning flashed and it was followed by the crash of a terrible thunder, portending the events about to occur.