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Authors: Christina F. York
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Food Fight
Christina F. York
Published by Tsunami Ridge
Publishing at Smashwords
Copyright 2010 Christina F.
York
Smashwords Edition, License
Notes
This ebook is licensed for
your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or
given away to other people. If you would like to share this book
with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each
person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it
was not purchased for your use only, then please return to
Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting
the hard work of this author.
Food Fight
Christina F. York
"Honey, how do you like the
candied yams? I made them special for you." Lori wiped her forehead
with the back of her hand, pushing her bangs to one side. The
fatigue and stress were evident in the quaver in her voice. It was
important that everything be perfect.
It had been a long,
nerve-wracking day, the first holiday meal she had cooked on her
own. The table was set with their best dishes, everything was done,
even the pumpkin pie cooling on the counter between the kitchen and
the dining nook.
Greg paused, a forkful of
mashed potatoes and gravy dripping onto the turkey on his plate.
"They're OK. Pretty good, actually, but not like my mom made them.
She always put orange juice in the glaze, and ..."
"Not like my mom made?"
Lori's voice rose an octave. "Not like my mom made?" She was
screaming now. "Look at the mess in the kitchen. I've been working
for hours to make
our first Christmas really special, and all you can say is 'not
like my mom made'? Well, then maybe we better not eat them." She
took the cover off the casserole dish of yams, and dumped the
contents onto the tile floor. "Maybe you should just go get
yourself a hamburger."
"For heaven's sake,
sweetheart, there's no reason to come unglued! They weren't the
same as mom's, but they were alright. Look at the mess you made.
You're being unreasonable. Now come on sit down and eat something.
You'll feel better."
"Don't patronize me,
Gregory Rose! I hate that gee-you're-cute-when-you're-mad
bullshit." She turned away, huffing toward the kitchen, and nearly
tripping over Bones, the Scotty she'd had since high
school.
Greg hesitated, then picked
up a roll from the basket on the table. Ten years of Little League
paid off, as he pegged Lori in the back of the head. The soft bread
bounced off onto the floor. Bones grabbed it and retreated under
the table to enjoy his booty.
Lori whirled around, eyes
blazing. "Funny man, you are gonna be sorry." She reached the table
in two long strides, and emptied the basket of rolls over Greg's
head. Then she topped them with the dish of cranberry-orange
relish.
"Why'd you do that? There's
cranberries all over my shirt, and in my hair." He fished a handful
of sweet glop out of his shirt pocket and dropped it on top of the
yams, which Bones was devouring. Greg scooped up a handful of
mashed potatoes, leaving cranberry streaks in the fluffy white
mounds, and dropped them down the front of Lori's shirt. "Here, how
about a little gravy with that?"
Before he could pour, Lori
knocked the ladle from his hand, sending an arc of gravy spatters
across the wall. Greg picked up the potato bowl. "Oh, is that where
you want 'em?" He flung the potatoes along the same arc as the
gravy. Lori responded by pouring the remaining gravy on Greg's
shoes. Bones abandoned the potatoes and licked rapidly at the gravy
lake on the floor.
Greg grabbed the stuffing
bowl, and shoved the serving spoon in his mouth. "This is really good," he mumbled
with his mouth full. "But it's not at all like mother's, so out it
goes!" He jerked the bowl upwards, and watched the contents splat
against the ceiling before joining the rest of the food on the
floor. Corn, peas, olives and sweet pickles were added in rapid
succession. Neither Greg nor Lori spoke as they pelted each other
with vegetables. Neither dared touch the
Christina F. York
Published by Tsunami Ridge
Publishing at Smashwords
Copyright 2010 Christina F.
York
Smashwords Edition, License
Notes
This ebook is licensed for
your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or
given away to other people. If you would like to share this book
with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each
person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it
was not purchased for your use only, then please return to
Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting
the hard work of this author.
Food Fight
Christina F. York
"Honey, how do you like the
candied yams? I made them special for you." Lori wiped her forehead
with the back of her hand, pushing her bangs to one side. The
fatigue and stress were evident in the quaver in her voice. It was
important that everything be perfect.
It had been a long,
nerve-wracking day, the first holiday meal she had cooked on her
own. The table was set with their best dishes, everything was done,
even the pumpkin pie cooling on the counter between the kitchen and
the dining nook.
Greg paused, a forkful of
mashed potatoes and gravy dripping onto the turkey on his plate.
"They're OK. Pretty good, actually, but not like my mom made them.
She always put orange juice in the glaze, and ..."
"Not like my mom made?"
Lori's voice rose an octave. "Not like my mom made?" She was
screaming now. "Look at the mess in the kitchen. I've been working
for hours to make
our first Christmas really special, and all you can say is 'not
like my mom made'? Well, then maybe we better not eat them." She
took the cover off the casserole dish of yams, and dumped the
contents onto the tile floor. "Maybe you should just go get
yourself a hamburger."
"For heaven's sake,
sweetheart, there's no reason to come unglued! They weren't the
same as mom's, but they were alright. Look at the mess you made.
You're being unreasonable. Now come on sit down and eat something.
You'll feel better."
"Don't patronize me,
Gregory Rose! I hate that gee-you're-cute-when-you're-mad
bullshit." She turned away, huffing toward the kitchen, and nearly
tripping over Bones, the Scotty she'd had since high
school.
Greg hesitated, then picked
up a roll from the basket on the table. Ten years of Little League
paid off, as he pegged Lori in the back of the head. The soft bread
bounced off onto the floor. Bones grabbed it and retreated under
the table to enjoy his booty.
Lori whirled around, eyes
blazing. "Funny man, you are gonna be sorry." She reached the table
in two long strides, and emptied the basket of rolls over Greg's
head. Then she topped them with the dish of cranberry-orange
relish.
"Why'd you do that? There's
cranberries all over my shirt, and in my hair." He fished a handful
of sweet glop out of his shirt pocket and dropped it on top of the
yams, which Bones was devouring. Greg scooped up a handful of
mashed potatoes, leaving cranberry streaks in the fluffy white
mounds, and dropped them down the front of Lori's shirt. "Here, how
about a little gravy with that?"
Before he could pour, Lori
knocked the ladle from his hand, sending an arc of gravy spatters
across the wall. Greg picked up the potato bowl. "Oh, is that where
you want 'em?" He flung the potatoes along the same arc as the
gravy. Lori responded by pouring the remaining gravy on Greg's
shoes. Bones abandoned the potatoes and licked rapidly at the gravy
lake on the floor.
Greg grabbed the stuffing
bowl, and shoved the serving spoon in his mouth. "This is really good," he mumbled
with his mouth full. "But it's not at all like mother's, so out it
goes!" He jerked the bowl upwards, and watched the contents splat
against the ceiling before joining the rest of the food on the
floor. Corn, peas, olives and sweet pickles were added in rapid
succession. Neither Greg nor Lori spoke as they pelted each other
with vegetables. Neither dared touch the
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