A Little More Than Convenient

|Carmen Remington|
The next day was Wednesday, and I felt atrocious. I guess I overdid it, cleaning all afternoon. And believe me, the apartment was shiny and clean. Today was the day that I began my cooking. Did I feel like cooking? No, I sure as hell didn’t, but I guess that didn’t matter.
The menu was turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, cranberry sauce, dressing, sweet potatoes, green beans, macaroni and cheese, rolls, and green bean wraps. For dessert, we were having Hershey bar pie and dirt pudding. I was gonna be totally exhausted, let’s not even mention how exhausted I was before I cooked.
I’d woken up at ten am that morning. I’d slept for almost twelve hours. Not to mention the three hours I’d slept before Trent got home. Speaking of Trent, I wondered where he slept the night before. I was in his bed. He might have slept with me, but he also might have slept in my room.
I groggily sat up and looked around. The sun was shining brightly into the room. “Go away,” I groaned. The sun refused to listen, so I got up and went to the bathroom.
I took a bath in Trent’s Jacuzzi. I really hoped that he wouldn’t mind. This wasn’t the first time I had used his tub. I knew I probably should have been using my own, but this one had jets! You can’t expect a person to use a regular tub when there’s a Jacuzzi in the apartment.
I think I spent about a half hour in the tub, then brushed my teeth and put my wet hair in a ponytail. I dressed in black yoga pants, a girly girl originals T-shirt, white socks, and pink plaid sneakers.
I needed to put the turkey into the dry rub, make up the dressing so that it would be ready to cook all night, and starting making the pie. I had decided that Trent would fry the turkey, so I needed to make the dry rub.
When I had went to pick up the turkey frier from my dad, he’d said, “Honey, do you think that you’re ready to deep fry a turkey? You know, it’s definitely not as easy as it seems.”
“Daddy,” I’d protested, “I’m not frying the turkey. Trent is.”
He’d bitten his lip. “Has he made anything like that before? Does he know how? Maybe I should talk to him.”
That’s when it dawned on me that Trent and my dad had yet to meet. Lizzie and Stephen hadn’t met him yet, either. And I hadn’t met his parents. I had a feeling that this dinner was going to be extremely awkward.
“I’m sure Trent knows how to cook, Daddy,” I’d replied, biting my lip.
He’d deciphered over that for a few minutes, while I stood, tapping my foot.
“All right, Carmen, if you really think so.”
I nodded. “I know so, Dad.”
“Okay, follow me.” I followed him to the kitchen where he got out a pot, a lid and some other stuff. “This,” he said, holding up a thing that was circular at the bottom, with holes in it. There was a stick thing standing out of it. “Is what you use to lower the turkey into the oil, so that you don’t get burnt. You use this thing, too.” It looked like a musical triangle.
“Okay,” I replied.
“Does he have the right kind of Propane tank?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“Okay, then. Do you have a platter?”
“Yes.”
He exhaled. “You should be good to go then. Just tell him to be careful.”
“Of course.”
“Oh, and fry the turkey on concrete. We don’t want any fires. And make sure to do it outside.”
I frowned. “Dad, we’re not fourteen.”
He nodded. “And I know that, sweetie. But I don’t want an accident.”
I bit my lip and sighed. “Okay, Dad.”
He’d helped me load my car with the turkey frier and then I went back to the apartment.
First I washed the turkey with cold water, just to make sure it was clean. Then, gagging, I took out the neck, the liver, and the gizzards.
The dry rub wasn’t very hard, just salt, pepper, lemon pepper, turkey seasoning, and seasoned salt. All it required was to rub the entire turkey with it.
I did that, and then put three drops of teriyaki inside of it. Three drops gave it flavor, any more would overpower the turkey’s natural flavoring. After finishing the rub, I placed the turkey into a trash bag and tied it off. Then, I put it in the refrigerator.
Now all I had to do was make the batter for the Hershey bar pie and the pudding. I got out the Hershey bar, and and whipped topping.
I noticed my iPod sitting on the table. I plugged it into my ears and put it on shuffle. The first song was “Boulevard of Broken Dreams,” by Greenday. I sang along as I melted the chocolate. While the chocolate melted, I put all of the whipped topping into a bowl. When I finished that, the microwave beeped, so I took out the chocolate and stirred it into the whipped cream. I covered the bowl with a lid and put it into the refrigerator. Tomorrow, I would put it into the pie crust and decorate it.
“Boulevard of Broken Dreams” went off and on came “My Maria” by Brooks and Dunn. I’d forgotten how much I loved that song, so I sang it very loudly, as I crushed the Oreos and stirred milk and whipped topping into the vanilla pudding.
“Marieeee, oh my Maria. Marieeee, oh my Maria. Maria, I love you,” I sang loudly, unaware that I was being watched.
“Gypsy lady, you’re a miracle work for me.”
I spun around and saw Trent leaning against one of the kitchen chairs. Immediately, I pressed pause on my iPod and turned it off. I blushed furiously and apologized.
He laughed and said, “What are you apologizing for? We all sing sometimes. And that song is pretty good. Kind of old, but still good.”
I rolled my eyes. “You could have at least told me you were home.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “That would have ruined my fun.”
I watched, biting my lip, as he walked off, humming “My Maria.”
I sighed and went to put the pudding in the refrigerator, when a rancid smell caught in my nose. I ran to the bathroom.
As I lay over the toilet, throwing up like crazy, Trent came in. “What’s the matter? Are you getting sick.”
I groaned and said, “No, something just really stinks, I guess.”
He stood there with a blank face. “What could be stinky? You cleaned the apartment like crazy yesterday.”
I shrugged as he handed me a cup of mouthwash. I rinsed my mouth and said, “I don’t know. I didn’t smell it until you got home. Have you bathed today?”
He chuckled. “Yes, I’ve bathed today. Let’s see, um...,” he trailed off.
“Did you bring anything home?” I asked, taking another breath. I was feeling a little better, but I still felt a bit icky.
He nodded. “Yeah, I brought home some Popeye’s chicken and the fixings, because I figured that you wouldn’t feel like cooking.”
I furrowed my eyebrows. “That shouldn’t make me sick...,” I trailed off.
Trent remained silent, as if he were confused.
Then I shook my head. “I’m sure it’s fine. I might have eaten something that disagreed with me. Or maybe I was emptying my system. You never know.”
He nodded. “Okay then. Do you feel like eating?”
I nodded my head yes. “I believe so. I’m still hungry.”
He helped me up out of the floor. “Okay, then, let’s enjoy our last night before Thanksgiving.”