"No, thanks. I’m glad to help out."

"See, she’s fine. Dehors!" Mama repeats, looking displeased with me.

Now Mama is pointing the way out of here. "Mama, I told you …"

She holds up her hands and turns her head to the side. It’s her ‘I give up - what did I do to God to have him give me a child like you’ sign. I saw it quite a bit growing up.

"Fine. I’ll be outside," I huff.

"On t’appellera, quand on est prêt," Mama says after me.

I snort. Yeah, right, she’ll call me back into the kitchen later. Will that be before or after you pick me up a marriage license, Mama? I’ve gotta get her off that Families for Same Sex Marriages committee.

Now I know how my brothers felt.


* * *

They are laughing at me when I come out. Robie comes to my side and throws his arm around my shoulders. "She’s brutal. But we know that, we grew up with her."

"Like a dog on a bone," I mutter.

"I know, little sister. But, at least, Kelsey’s a cute chew toy."

"Robie! à ça oui!" I slap him upside the head for even thinking such a thing about Kelsey. I can. My brother can’t. Even if he is my favorite. Especially since he’s my favorite.

Oh God. I am so screwed.

I’m glad she’s here with me. I can’t stand the thought of her being in Los Angeles watching some crappy movie marathon instead. And I like her. A lot. Okay, more than a lot. But, am I ready for her to be in that damn kitchen?

Suddenly a football is headed my way and I catch it as it impacts my gut. I look over to see Gerrard and his two oldest sons waiting for me to toss it back.

I do.

Too much thinking is bad for the appetite.

And it is Thanksgiving. I plan on stuffing myself.


* * *

I finish with the merlitons, then take the cutting board over to Cécile, giving it to her with a little smile.

"Merci, chér." Her smile is so kind and gentle. I shake my head a bit as I turn to see if there is anything else I can do.

"So." Rene waves me over to the breakfast table, which she is now clearing. I don’t know why, but I begin helping her. It simply feels right. "You were going to give us dirt on Harper."

Oh, the dirt I could give them. But somehow I think I’d better make it clean dirt. Question is, do I know any clean dirt?

"Not without us!" Rachel calls as she, Elaine and Katherine wander over.

Cécile looks over at us from the stove. "À oui, mes brus, I do believe it is time for us to do what we do best. Dinner is coming along nicely. Let’s relax a bit."

With that, the breakfast table is properly prepared and very soon we are all seated around it with fresh cups of tea, coffee and finger food. Somehow, I had a feeling we were going to end up here.

"Come on now, Kelsey," Elaine encourages as she scoops Geoffrey out of his car seat. He looks at me as he rests his head against his mother’s shoulder. His hair is dark like the rest of the Kingsleys, but his sleepy brown eyes remind me of a baby deer. He focuses on me, poking his little tongue out from between his lips. He yawns, almost making me join him. Once his fists are done rubbing his eyes, he smiles and reaches for me.

Oh shit. Me and kids. Not a mix I had considered before. Still, he’s too cute to be denied. I open my arms to him and he extends his body. It doesn’t take long for me to find myself with a lap full of eight-month-old. He’s content to sit upright in the crook of my arm with his bottom on my lap, staring at his mother and sucking on his fingers. I look down at him and begin to understand why Harper likes this so much.

As I glance around the table, I get the feeling that all of these women are communicating telepathically. Guess that’s what happens in close knit families.

"Tell you what," I offer as I sip my tea. I’m grateful for Harper’s baby lessons from dinner last night, which allow me to be reasonably comfortable right now. If nothing, I’m a fast learner. "I’ll trade you two for one, but you have to go first."

They all look at each other. I can tell they’re trying to decide which story to tell first. Oh, I’m gonna like this. Watch out, Tabloid. I got you where I want you now.

Well, maybe not where I want you, but this will do.


* * *

I have tears in my eyes and I try to catch my breath. "You’re joking?"

"Pas de tout," Cécile says, pouring another cup of coffee from the carafe she brought over earlier. "I’m serious. Covered." She puts her cup down and gestures over her own body. "Totally covered, head to toe, in flour."

"Now, this was, of course, after Robie and Gerrard had pelted her with a few raw eggs," Rachel adds as she wipes away her tears. "She looked like a walking cake mix. She had things just dripping off her body. It was almost obscene."

Now, I don’t know why that struck me as so funny, but I find myself choking on my tea. I try hard to swallow it instead of letting it leave my mouth and nose like it wants to. I’m glad I returned Geoffrey to the safety of his mother’s arms a few minutes before.

Katherine joins in. "Not quite the food play Harper is used to."

All the women burst out in laughter again.

"Well, all I can say is thank God Harper has shared some of her ideas with her brothers," Rachel whispers conspiratorially.

"Amen," Rene echoes, crossing herself, setting off another round of tittering.

"Qu’est ce qu’on vous fairait?" Mama asks, clearly as amused as the rest of us.

"What will you do with us? Adore us, madly, like you already do," Rene replies, leaning over to kiss her mother-in-law’s cheek.

"And they did this because?" I ask as I hold a napkin to my lips.

"They did it because she said that they couldn’t." Rene cuddles Clark close to her. "She said she was the grand champion of practical jokes and nothing they could cook up would be smooth enough to catch her. So they nailed her with the eggs…"

"Got her to chase them down to the gazebo," Elaine continues, shifting Geoffrey and his bottle just a bit. "There they managed to get her to hit a trip wire and dump close to fifty pounds of flour on her head from the trees above."

"It looked like a snowstorm had hit us in the middle of July," Katherine adds as she begins to clear the table.

July. It hits me. "You mean to tell me this happened the last time she was home? Not when they were kids?"

Cécile shrugs. "They just never grow up. Took Jonathan weeks to get the grounds cleaned up. He wasn’t nearly as amused as they were."

"I can only imagine."

Just as we are all about to get back to work the back door swings open with a crash.

"Oh, don’t be such a big baby, baby sister!" I think it’s Robie’s voice.

"I’m not. I’d just like to get the damn bleeding stopped, if you don’t mind." I hear Harper growl and I’m on my feet before she enters the kitchen.

"Kelsey?" I turn and catch the damp towel Cécile has tossed to me. Why did she toss it to me? Why am I getting up?

Harper comes into the kitchen holding her right hand to the top of her head. She looks a little sheepish, as she shrugs at all of us. "I zigged when I should have zagged." She points at Katherine. "Your Joseph is getting as big as his daddy. Damn."

Katherine swells with maternal pride. "We have a team to supply at Tulane, Harper. You know that. Is he all right?"

Harper pauses, hand on her hip, and glares at her sister. "He’s fine. I’m the one bleeding."

A mock baby’s cry is heard from the doorway.

"You go along, Robie," Rene calls. "She’ll come back out and play in a minute."

Before I even realize what I’m doing, I take Harper by the arm and sit her down at the table. "Lemme see."

"Kels."

"No argument. Now, come on."

"It’s just a scratch. I only need a Band-Aid," she protests as she swats at my hands.

"Don’t make me hurt you, Tabloid." I hear Robie snort from the doorway. Harper shoots him a dirty look as Mama shoves him out the door. But Harper drops her hand, allowing me to press the cloth to the cut on her head. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. I’m fine."

After I clean the cut above her right eyebrow, I find that first aid supplies have been placed at my fingertips. Without thinking, I place a small bandage over it. I give my head a little shake to stop myself from my next course of action, which would have been to give her boo boo a kiss.

"There you go, Tabloid. All better?"

"Much." She fingers the bandage for a second. "Thanks."

"No problem." I gather up the wrapper and the other discarded items and move across the kitchen to throw them away. "You can go play again," I tease. "But be more careful this time."

Harper just shakes her head and tries to hightail it out of here.

"Tu as pris aux bons soin de cela," Cécile whispers to me. You took good care of that. She has her back to the rest of the family, who are now teasing Harper, each of the sisters carefully inspecting her for further injury. "Tu as du douce âme." You have a gentle soul.

Here I thought I had kept my little secret, secret. I’m beginning to wonder if anything is secret from Cécile Kingsley. I smile at her, tossing away the wrappers. "Merci."

"Dit donc, tu as le nez fin, aussi." She quirks her brow at me. And you are a sneaky one to boot.

"Evidament, que ce n’est pas assez." Apparently not enough. I give her a pat on the hand as I turn and lean against the counter.


* * *

Papa and I come in for the turkeys. He goes over and places a gentle kiss on Mama’s left temple. "The natives are getting restless, darlin’."

"Of course they are. Ça fini pas," she murmurs in agreement. "They’re ours." She spots a small scrape on the back of his knuckles. "Jonathan?"

He shrugs, glancing at me. "We had to make the extra point, dear."

"Mama," I say, trying to save my father. "I can’t wait to have some of your fried turkey. I’ve been dreaming of it long and hard."

Mama recognizes my ploy, but allows it. She walks over to the large professional size refrigerator and opens the door, revealing two large birds waiting for us.

"Fried turkey?" Kelsey asks, the tone of her voice conveying her extreme skepticism.

"It’s amazing," Rene assures her. "Nothing better in record time. Don’t worry."

"You want to see how it’s done, Kels?" I ask, innocently enough. I can use this to drag Kels out of this dangerous place.

"Sure," she agrees amiably.

Papa and I each grab a tray laden with a twenty pound turkey and make our way outside. Kels opens the screen door for us and helps run interference as the older grandkids run over to see the birds.

We approach the garage driveway where a makeshift fence has been erected around a cooking area. Gerrard and Lucien are standing inside it, while Jean and Robie are entertaining the littlest kids, keeping them well away.

Fried turkey is a wonderful thing, a staple in our home for Thanksgiving, and in many other Cajun households. It sounds like KFC, but it ain’t. Not by a long shot. There’s no breading on the bird, so it doesn’t come out that way. We just cook the turkey in a pot of oil and take it out when it’s done. Cooks faster and seals in the moisture. Plus, Mama puts an amazing injection of Cajun spices into the turkey, so those are sealed in as well.

"So, you can see," I begin explaining to Kels, "we’ve heated up the oil using the propane tanks. We need to dip them quickly a few times in the oil to vaporize any excess water off their skin, to prevent any spitting of oil once they’re fully immersed."

Even as I speak, Gerrard and Lucien take the birds and do as I describe. They sizzle, and a small cloud of vapor rises up over the pots. Then the boys set them down fully in the oil.

"That’s it?" Kels asks, as my brothers go over to deck chairs and set themselves down to watch the birds cook.

"Yup."

"How long will they take?"

"Around an hour."

"That’s fast."

"Yup. And wait until you taste it. Darlin’ …" I growl, like my stomach always does thinking about this delicacy.

Kels laughs and blushes.

Oh damn.


* * *

It’s less than two hours later when we sit down for dinner. The formal dining room table doesn’t have enough room for the family anymore, which now numbers twenty-three, including Kels. We’ve brought another table into the room and set it at a T to the main one. Mama never believed in kids’ table. Family sits with family, no distinction for age.