The Chicken Sisters(66)
The minute she was inside the screened-in porch, she peeled off her pants and threw both shirt and pants over the old swinging bench that hung there. Laundry, later. Right now, ice water. Shorts. T-shirt.
When she came out of her bedroom, pulling an old tank top over her head, there were cars in the tiny driveway. Mae’s rental. A convertible—wait, that was Sabrina. And there was Andy, the last person Amanda wanted on her front steps, climbing out of yet another car. Behind him was Sabrina’s favorite camerawoman.
What were they doing? No one had said anything about coming to her house, and she didn’t want them here. Why were they here? She had all of four hours before she had to be at work, and she was done with Food Wars for the moment. And she was wearing a faded tank top with a car wash logo on it. But if she ran back for something else, they’d come to the door and see inside, to the piles around the sink and the remains of multiple days’ breakfasts on the table and the stack of recycling sliding its way past the stove. Instead, she ran straight for the porch, opened the door, and nearly fell down the stairs in her rush to meet the unwanted visitors on the lawn. Once she was there, she stopped, hands on her hips. “What are you guys doing here?”
Sabrina motioned to the camerawoman, who nodded and aimed. No one said anything. Something about this didn’t feel right. Amanda’s heart began to pound, and the sweat on her face and arms felt cold even in the sun. Should she ask again? Say something else? What was this? Mae glanced at Sabrina, and Amanda thought her sister looked a little uncertain, but then Mae—still wearing her cute skirt, of course—walked up to Amanda and faced her, arms crossed over her chest.
“Andy tasted the chicken,” Mae said. “The Frannie’s chicken. And it’s Mimi’s chicken. What the hell, Amanda?”
“What?” Amanda stared blankly at her sister.
“The chicken. Frannie’s chicken. We know it’s Mimi’s recipe, Amanda. Did you think no one would notice? Seriously?”
“What are you talking about? Of course it’s not Mimi’s recipe. Nancy made that chicken same as she always makes it.” Amanda crossed her own arms over her chest, then uncrossed them. This wasn’t an argument. This was just—she didn’t know what this was, or why Sabrina was filming it.
“No, she didn’t,” Mae said, “It’s exactly the same seasoning as Mimi’s, and not the way Nancy always makes it. Frannie’s chicken used to be way different. Now it’s just like Mimi’s, which means that you took the recipe, Amanda. You must have taken a picture of it when you were in the kitchen with Andy. It was down off the wall when I came in. It’s the only way.”
“That’s— I— What? That doesn’t even make any sense, Mae.” Amanda looked at Andy, then at Sabrina, which was a mistake, because Sabrina was right in front of the camera. Andy was staring at the ground now, but he looked serious. Mae looked serious. The camera looked serious.
“There is no recipe for Frannie’s chicken,” Amanda said slowly. “Nancy makes it the way Frank made it and he made it the way his father made it and he made it the way Frannie made it. I don’t have anything to do with it.”
“Maybe you didn’t before, but this time you did. You stole Mimi’s recipe when you were in Mimi’s, and now the chicken tastes exactly the same.”
What? Amanda kept looking from one face to the other, waiting for someone to laugh. How could the chicken be the same? Was Mae making this up just to mess with her? “How would you even know what Frannie’s chicken tastes like?” Amanda asked. “You’ve never tasted it. Until today, apparently.”
“Andy’s tasted it,” Mae said. “Maybe you thought nobody could tell, because you don’t eat chicken, but Andy tried Frannie’s chicken before he even worked at Mimi’s. And then right when he started. And it was different then. Really, really different.” Mae looked at Andy, who was still staring at the ground, looking as if he’d rather be anywhere but here, a sentiment Amanda wholeheartedly agreed with.
He took a breath and looked at the camera, not Amanda. “It’s the same recipe,” he said. “Before I took the job at Mimi’s, I ate fried chicken everywhere. I studied it. And Frannie’s had a totally different flavor profile. Kind of a surprising one, actually. It was quite notably different. And now it’s exactly like Mimi’s.”
That night at Mimi’s, he’d taken her hand and drawn her in, and Amanda had gone. She’d felt welcome, relaxed, in a way she never had at Mimi’s. It felt right, being there with him, and she had leaned lazily back, sitting there on the counter, appreciating his broad back and the way his height matched hers as he turned toward the sink, with a pleasant sense of anticipation that she hadn’t felt in years. Did he really think she’d only gone in to steal a recipe? Her ears were ringing, a strange hum between her and the world, and the skin on her scalp prickled and crawled. Everything already felt wrong, and now it was tipping over into a point where she couldn’t feel at all.
“I didn’t— This is crazy. Why would I do that? That’s not why I—” The camera was on her.
Mae stared into her face. “First you and Nancy stole our chicken. Now you took Mimi’s recipe. You’ll do anything to win this.” She pointed to Andy. “Anything at all. You stole and you cheated and now you’re lying.”