Devan
The aroma of roasted chicken fills the kitchen as I stir the potatoes. Sticking a fork into one, I announce, “I think they're ready to mash."
Mom turns from where she's cutting fruit for a fruit salad. “Do you want to mash them?"
I scrunch my nose. “Ricky will complain about lumps."
Mom's smile grows. “If that's the only thing your brother complains about during the meal, we'll be getting off easy."
“You're right. Maybe lumps will distract him."
Removing the colander from the cupboard, I put it in the sink. Using hot pads, I carry the pan to the sink, and pour the potatoes and water into the strainer.
As I'm working, Mom brings a stick of butter and a carton of heavy cream and places them beside me.
“I see we're not going for the low-fat version."
“Honey, if there's o
