♥ Amy ♥
I had turned our dining room table into a war zone, and I didn’t even feel sorry about it. Cookbooks lay open in uneven stacks, pages held down with pens and measuring spoons. Printed recipes covered the remaining space, some highlighted, some crossed out. My laptop sat in the middle with a spreadsheet open, colour-coded and terrifying.
“Ok,” I said as I tapped a cell on the screen. “Christmas Eve is your parents', Christmas Day is mine, and sometime in between everyone expects to eat three times their body weight,” Casey sat across from me with her legs folded under her, a notebook in front of her and a pencil behind her ear. She looked from the laptop to the cookbooks and then back to me.
“This is impressive,” she said. “Also, slightly frightening,”
“I am nesting,” I said. “W
