The Chicken Sisters(45)

“Really, Mom?” Mae was outraged. It wasn’t just being an extra person. It was everything Mae brought with her. It was being Mae. “Patti wouldn’t have known half what I know. Sabrina would not have paid any attention to her.”

“She did work for me once, a long time ago,” Barbara said, “Before you were born.” You don’t know everything, Barbara’s smile said.

Mae, brought down a considerable notch, put down the plate of chicken bones and took her pie. “Patrick’s pies are so good,” she said. “Not as good as yours, of course”—this in answer to Barbara’s sidelong look—“but you’re obviously a good teacher. You could do Mimi’s pie classes,” she said, getting a little excited. “That would be another reason to come out here from Kansas City. People would love it.”

Barbara didn’t respond, and Mae took another bite. This had to be the fattiest meal she had eaten since college, and she knew other people would be thinking the same thing. Classes were a good idea, but to really build Mimi’s—assuming her mother wanted to—it was going to be tough to get people to come back again and again without addressing the health factor. “We really should add, like, just one healthy thing to the menu,” Mae said.

“We have salad,” Barbara said, in a tone that suggested it was the end of any discussion.

“Iceberg lettuce is not healthy, Mom. It’s basically water. I’m thinking something affirmatively good for you, like, Yeah I’m eating fried chicken but I also ate this, so I’m good. Like kale. What if we offered one version of the salad with kale in it? It would still be the same salad.”

“No kale,” said Barbara. “That’s ridiculous. Nobody comes to Mimi’s for kale. Raw kale stops you up, too. It’s terrible stuff.”

“My mother forced us to eat it as kids,” Aida said. “It grew so easy. It was always gritty, though. And stringy. Oh, I hated that stuff. I can’t believe people eat it now.”

Sometimes people had to hear an idea a whole lot of times before they came around to it. Mae let their objections go for now. She was on a roll, starting to see what Mimi’s could be. People liked it; they really did. They weren’t just looking for another Olive Garden. Crystal, Julia, Morty Rountree, all the people she had recognized, and way more that she had not—it just felt like people really got how important and cool it was to eat real food. Food with a history.

“People love the salad dressing,” she said. “And the chicken is so good. Andy says he called Caswell’s to up our usual order of fresh chicken for tomorrow—but do you know if they’re organic? Sabrina was asking, and I told her I thought it was, basically, because of course it should be. If it is, we should highlight that on the menu.” It would be cool to put up a sign or something—chickens born and raised right here in Merinac. Amanda could draw— Well, no, Amanda probably wouldn’t. But just the sign would be cool. She started to say so, then realized that her mother, beside her, had stiffened and was glaring at her.

Barbara put down her pie on the porch beside her and spoke firmly. “I do not know if the chicken is organic, Mae, but I assume it’s not, since he isn’t charging me an extra arm and leg for smaller pieces. It’s just chicken, from Caswell’s, same as ever.”

That was fine; it didn’t really matter. Mae nodded. “They’re at least free-range, right? People love knowing that. The Caswells have been doing this for as long as Mimi’s has been around. We can share the story behind the food, that it’s fresh and locally sourced.” She smiled reassuringly at her mother. The organic label itself really didn’t matter. “That’s all anybody in New York ever talks about right now, where the food comes from and stuff.”

Barbara was not soothed. Everything that had been easy between Mae and her mother seemed to disappear in an instant. “People do not come to Mimi’s for organic food and kale, Mae,” said Barbara, raising her voice. “We’ve been serving Caswell’s chicken and lettuce salad since before you were born, and we will keep serving it long after you go back to Brooklyn, since you’re so set on that. You’re here to help me win this, not to turn Mimi’s into—into—some fancy New York place.”

Barbara’s lack of an example at the end made her want to giggle, but Mae knew her mother was serious—and that her mother had seriously misunderstood. Mae just wanted to tell customers what Mimi’s already was, not make it something different, or at least, not very different. But before Mae could defend herself, she heard footsteps coming around the side of the house. She leapt to her feet, and Barbara struggled up next to her.

“Hello?” The voice was Sabrina’s, and without any need to consult, the Moore women swung into action. Aida, leaving her chair, held the door for Barbara, who rushed inside to turn off the lights. Mae rushed toward the corner and nearly collided with Sabrina just as the lights went off, leaving her grabbing the other woman’s arm in the dark.

“Oh, hey!” Mae tried for a casual tone. “My mom just went to bed. Um, come on, I was just about to go get my car. I’ll walk you back.” The path was uneven, but the light from Mimi’s kitchen windows was just enough to show Sabrina where she was going—and not enough, as long as her mother didn’t turn any inside lights on, to reveal anything unusual about the house.