Free A Toast to Starry Nights by Mandi Rei Serra

A flick of a switch and the room lit up. Green-tinted
cement counter tops, frosted glass-fronted cabinets and a massive island that
housed a sink, stove top, and built-in microwave. The oven was on the wall, a
huge, glistening beast that seemed capable of belonging to the updated kitchen
of Hansel and Gretel's witch.
    Hands clad in silicone oven mitts pulled
out the heavy jelly roll pan with a white and brown mottled mound from the
oven. I set it upon the stove. From the refrigerator's veggie bin, I removed
plastic bag containing the Greek salad I threw together earlier. Red onion,
romaine lettuce, tomato quarters, feta and chopped Kalamata olives awaited the
dressing of lemon juice and olive oil. I tossed everything into a wooden salad
bowl and mixed it to perfection. Thirty seconds later, I hit the start button
on the microwave. In five minutes, wild mushroom couscous would be ready.
    Dmitri walked past me clad in purple
shorts emblazoned with the Sacramento Kings logo on his way to the garage. “Any
particular kind of hammer?” He opened the garage door and left it open as he
called out, “Ball peen, framing, sledge, rock or a mallet?”
    “Something big and impressive. But not
too big or ungainly... that would be overkill.”
    “Gotcha.”
    He came in carrying what looked like a
weapon. It fit the bill as something big and impressive. “What the hell is
that?”
    “It's a thirty-two ounce steel
straight-claw hammer. Hickory handle.” He held it up and kissed the shiny
hammerhead. "I love this thing."
    “Good to know. Now whack that, pretty
please.” I gestured to the mound awaiting its beating on the stove. I was
trying out one of Jet's suggestions: appeal to Dmitri's masculine need to wield
something heavy and use force to help and/or impress a female.
    He plagiarized my earlier statement.
“What the hell is that?” Dmitri stood before the stove, hammer in hand as he
gazed upon my culinary masterpiece with a quizzical look.
    “Dinner.”
    He lifted the hammer and with a thud,
shattered the salt-crusted armor covering the chicken. Wisps of steam escaped
into the air. The scent of roasted bird, garlic, thyme and black pepper
perfumed the room. Dmitri peeled off the solid chunks of salt, revealing a
tender and succulent fowl reminiscent of simple French cuisine.
    “Can you carve it up for us?” I asked as
I removed the white Corningware casserole dish of couscous from the microwave.
    “I can do anything, but I might want a
knife. The hammer would just make a mess of things. Smells good. My woman did
well.”
    “You had a hard day at work, then a hard
time at home... I'm sure a peanut butter and marmalade sandwich would smell
good to you.” Dmitri staunchly believed sandwiches should be made with meat.
Peanut butter is an abomination against God in his view, and thus banned from
the house.
    He laughed. “I like your definition of a
hard time at home.” Dmitri's demeanor sobered. “But yeah, it sucked today, but
not until after I left the shop. Your BFF called me after work... something
about her sink disposal not working.” He grabbed me by the shoulders and looked
me in the eye. His face went white as the haunted look in his eyes recalled the
horror. “Dealing with her sink made me so fucking sick. so I had to clear the
clog to just to clean up the Taco Bell fueled mess. I swear, Kaylis, it's like
she shoved a family of fat weasels down the disposal and the weasels won. That
thing was fubar'd. You aren't perfect, Kaylis, not by a long shot. But you
puking on me wasn't nearly as gnarly as the beast that took over that sink.
Thank you for not being crazy like your friend. She's cool and all... but she
has some issues .”
    If he only knew.

 
    Chapter Eight-
     
    It wasn't the way my mother's voice
trailed off or the ferocity of her wiggling pinky finger that had me wasting my
Tuesday afternoon at an office on the North side of Chico. No, it was the
thought of strangers parading around my wedding