Katrina

Chapter Nine - Story A

THE TASTE OF HOME

Morning sunlight crept across the grounds of the secluded estate outside Charlotte, scattering bright patches of dew over the rolling lawns. Beyond the garden, tall trees swayed lazily in the morning breeze, and birds called back and forth from the shelter of their branches. For all the tension hanging over the household, the estate looked remarkably peaceful—almost untouched by the heavy reality that had driven the family here.

Inside, however, the house was waking up on tiptoes.

In the spacious kitchen, Katherine stood before the hot stove, flipping golden slices of French toast while a pan of scrambled eggs simmered nearby. A fresh pot of coffee was already dripping on the counter, and the rich, comforting scent of cinnamon, melted butter, and crisp bacon filled the room.

She’d been awake for hours. Nobody had asked her to cook; the estate certainly had enough staff to ensure nobody had to lift a finger for breakfast. But cooking had always been her anchor. It gave her hands something familiar and productive to do when the silence in her own head got too loud. She loved choosing the ingredients, adjusting the heat, and watching raw components transform into something worth sharing.

Besides, she desperately wanted to avoid spending her first morning alone with her anxieties.

She was reaching into the cupboard for another ceramic plate when a small, hesitant voice broke the quiet from the doorway.

"Hi."

Katherine turned quickly.

J.J. stood blinking in the entrance, wearing oversized pajamas with his blonde hair sticking up wildly in three different directions. Still half-asleep, he stared at her for a second before his gaze drifted hungrily toward the stove.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved, trapped in that awkward space of not knowing quite how to act around each other.

Katherine wiped her hands on a dish towel, keeping her voice soft. "Good morning, J.J."

"Morning," he mumbled, shuffling a step closer as the smell of breakfast pulled him in.

"Are you hungry?" she asked gently.

He gave a small, sleepy nod.

"Well, there's plenty to go around. Would you like some French toast?"

"Okay."

It was a quiet answer, but it was an acceptance. Katherine forced herself not to smile too broadly or make a big deal out of it. She plated a warm slice of French toast, added a scoop of scrambled eggs and a few berries, and set it carefully on the counter at a height he could easily reach.

J.J. climbed up onto a tall wooden stool, murmuring, "Thank you."

"You're welcome, sweetie."

As he picked up his fork and took his first bite, Katherine retreated back to the stove. She wanted to flood him with questions—about his favorite foods, his friends at school, the little things that filled his days now. There were so many blank spaces she was desperate to color in. What made him laugh when he was having a terrible day? What games did he play with his father? Which vegetables did he secretly pick out of his food?

Yet she knew she couldn't buy back years of absence with a sudden interrogation over breakfast. She would have to learn him slowly, piece by quiet piece.

"Is it good?" she asked after a moment.

J.J. looked down at his plate, chewing thoughtfully before nodding. "It's good."

A genuine smile touched the corners of her mouth. "I'm glad."

He took another bite, and the kitchen settled back into a comfortable quiet, punctuated only by the soft scrape of his fork against the ceramic plate. Katherine deliberately resisted the urge to chatter, letting the silence stretch without pressure. She knew she couldn't expect their relationship to snap back into place just because she had walked back through the door. He was her son, but an enormous chunk of his childhood had marched forward without her.

J.J. glanced back toward the stove, his curiosity winning out over his shyness. "What else are you making?"

"Eggs, bacon, toast, and a few other things," she replied over her shoulder.

"For everybody?"

"For everybody."

He considered this heavy logistical fact for a second before diving back into his breakfast.

Katherine smiled faintly, checking the pans, and muttered softly to herself, *"Come antes de que se enfríe."*

J.J. blinked, looking up with a confused frown. "What?"

"I just meant you should eat before your breakfast gets cold," she said smoothly, switching back to English without missing a beat.

"Oh." Satisfied, he went right back to eating.

As she turned back to the stove, Katherine’s thoughts drifted southward, untangling themselves and landing heavily on another kitchen—and another woman whose absence felt like an ache in her chest. *I wonder how Mamita is doing.* Is she eating well? Is she sleeping, or driving herself crazy trying to worry over things out of her control? Katherine longed to pick up the phone and hear her voice, but she forced herself to push the thought away for now. There would be time to call Mamita later.

Gradually, the rest of the house began to stir.

Soft footsteps padded across the wooden floor upstairs, followed by a muffled door opening and a child's bright laugh echoing down the hall.

J.J. was scraping up the last bits of his eggs when Avery appeared in the kitchen doorway.

Her dark hair was messy from sleep, her eyes still heavy. She froze the second she crossed the threshold and realized Katherine was standing by the stove. Her entire posture stiffened, the warmth instantly draining from her expression.

For a long moment, neither of them breathed.

"There's food ready if you want some," Katherine offered, keeping her tone light and non-threatening.

Avery walked further into the kitchen, deliberately keeping a wide physical distance.

"Would you like anything special?" Katherine asked softly.

"I can get it myself." The response was quiet, but sharp enough to bruise.

Katherine felt a familiar, stinging ache in her chest, but she kept her face carefully neutral. "Of course." She stepped aside, giving her daughter complete room at the counter.

Avery grabbed a plate and aggressively loaded it with food, refusing to look Katherine's way even once before retreating to the far corner of the counter. J.J. glanced nervously between his sister and his mother, then quietly went back to chewing.

Katherine didn't push. She remembered the fire in Avery's eyes when they’d last spoken—the raw inventory of hurts and angry questions. She wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around her daughter and promise she’d never vanish again, but empty words wouldn't fix what was broken. For now, respecting Avery's boundaries was the only gift she had to offer.

Soon, the kitchen filled with the morning rush as more family members drifted in, magnetically drawn by the scent of roasting coffee and hot food.

One of them paused in the doorway, blinking in surprise. "Is all of this just for breakfast?"

Katherine glanced over her shoulder, a playful glint in her eye. "Unless I've accidentally spent the last hour preparing an elaborate lunch."

That earned a warm, easy laugh.

Another relative wandered up to inspect the spread, breathing in deeply. "Good lord, this smells incredible."

"Thank you."

"You know, it's been an awfully long time since any of us had your cooking."

Katherine’s hand froze mid-motion over a stack of plates. A lump formed in her throat, but she swallowed it down, offering a small, fragile smile. "I'm glad you remember it."

Hearing that felt like touching a fresh bruise—tender, but undeniably real. She had missed these voices, missed the simple, domestic joy of feeding the people she loved. But she knew a good breakfast couldn't magically glue a fractured family back together.

People began pulling out chairs at the adjoining table, pouring coffee, and passing platters around. Katherine answered when spoken to, tossing in light remarks where they fit, but she made a conscious effort not to force herself into every conversation. She was happy to cook, and she was happy to serve. What they chose to do with her presence today was entirely up to them.

A bit later, Jason walked into the kitchen.

His footsteps slowed as his eyes swept over the loaded counters before shifting to Katherine by the stove. He lingered for a moment, taking in the painfully familiar sight of her standing right where she used to belong.

"Looks like you've been busy," he remarked quietly.

"Someone had to make sure you all ate something besides cereal," she replied, keeping her voice steady.

A faint, complicated shadow of a smile touched his lips. "I've missed your cooking, Katherine."

She looked straight at him, feeling the heavy pull of the past. For a terrifying second, his words dragged her backward into years gone by, when making breakfast for Jason was as natural as breathing—when she hadn't had to decode every look or wonder if her very presence was a betrayal.

Those years were gone.

She couldn't tell if his words offered comfort or just reminded her of everything they had shattered. Probably a messy mix of both.

"Well, you'd better eat it while it's still hot," she said evenly.

Jason held her gaze for a beat longer than necessary, then nodded once. He didn't press her, turning away to grab a cup of coffee.

Around the room, the morning hummed on. Cups clinked, plates were passed across the table, and someone hollered across the room for another piece of French toast. Avery stayed tucked away in her quiet corner, while J.J. kept sneaking curious glances at Katherine as she moved back and forth between the counter and the stove.

Nothing was fixed. No grand apologies had swept away the past, and no promises had glued the cracks back together.

Yet, they were sharing a breathing, living morning under the same roof.

Katherine let herself lean into that small, fragile truth without demanding that it become a fairy-tale ending. As she set down another fresh dish, her mind briefly wandered back south again—*How are you doing, Mamita?*—bringing that familiar, quiet ache with it. She kept the longing tucked safely away behind her ribs, offering another warm smile to a relative who complimented the eggs.

She stood there among them all—uncertain of her footing, a ghost in her own home, yet holding tightly to the simple comfort of having something she could give.

For today, that had to be enough.