now, Bray. Your sister’s been leaving air biscuits in every room. You know, with Frankie it was her ankles, with Skylar it was the heartburn, with Hannah it was her sciatica, with this one it seems it’s her arse. She’s all those ails and now farts too! She’s makin’ my house smell like a pile of cabbage shite, that’s what she’s doing.”
“Mum!”
“Well, she is. But don’t tell her I told you so. She’s weepier than a willow tree this pregnancy. There’s no wonder why Anthony decided to wait until tomorrow to get here.”
Sam had no idea what to make of Braydon’s mother. Maureen continued to speak with hybrid comments filled with loving and crass observations about the McCulloughs while she bustled about the kitchen heating leftovers.
Sam noticed a microwave tucked between two raised cabinets, but Maureen continued to pull out pots and pans as she heated up food. Sam was willing to make the assumption that a women like Maureen never used a microwave. In just the brief few minutes she’d been in her presence, she could already tell Maureen McCullough was a woman who took great pride in working hard for her family and would scoff at shortcuts.
When the food was heated she placed a hefty bowl of stew in front of Braydon and Sam. There was also a bowl of roasted potatoes seasoned in rosemary and a basket of homemade biscuits wrapped in a dishcloth with red ticking that looked hand sewn.
The food was different than anything she ever tried in the city or anything she ever saw her own mother make, but it was still quite good. As Maureen prattled on about Frank, Braydon’s father, Sam watched Braydon shut his eyes in pleasure as his mother’s cooking settled into his belly.
Sam smiled. Most comfort food was embellished because it came from a mother’s love. Braydon obviously tasted more than just stew with each bite. He tasted recipes shaped by traditions and was likely remembering memories of being in this familiar place. She was happy to witness this settling side of him. She liked watching Braydon at home.
Once she finished her supper, Sam pushed her bowl away. Without pausing for even a syllable, Maureen chattered on as she stood and carried the dishes to the sink and began washing them. The kitchen was clearly her domain. She navigated through the motions of tidying up without ever taking her eyes off Sam or her son.
It occurred to Sam that her anxiety about being here had disappeared the moment she met Maureen McCullough. She analyzed the women and wondered what magical gift she held that made her able to put guests at such ease. Maurine was a natural when it came to hospitable courtesy, even if she didn’t necessarily follow propriety.
As they all laughed at an anecdote Maureen shared about a woman at the butcher, Sam decided that for as much as she loved the McCulloughs' log cabin, she loved their mother more.
Contrary to her first impression, Samantha saw the beautiful woman that was Maureen McCullough. She imagined her hair was once a fiery red to match her spicy personality although now it was more fawn colored with natural highlights in the deepest shade of orange. Laugh lines softened her dark green eyes. Her clipped un-manicured fingernails spoke volumes about how no nonsense she was when it came to taking on the labors of mothering seven children.
At first her brisk mannerisms made Maureen come off as abrasive, Sam would now describe her as soft. Not due to her round bosom or generous curves, but because of the way Maureen would titter and giggle in between stories with absolute femininity, her eyes twinkling like a little girl's. It didn’t matter how many times she said bollocks or cock in a sentence. It was all just noise coming from a sweet, loving woman with a dirty mouth.
They talked until well after one in the morning. After such a heavy meal and four hours of travel, Sam was ready to call it a night. They still had to carry in their bags from the car. The idea of carrying anything at this hour made sleeping in her travel clothes tempting.
Maureen said, “Well, I’m off to bed. I’ll see you two in the morning for breakfast.” And with that she was gone.
Braydon’s mother bustled out of the kitchen and climbed the steps. When Sam turned back to Braydon, he was smiling.