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Karen drove down the highway with the windows down, reveling in her freedom. It was a relief to get away, even if it was only for an afternoon. Vermont was beautiful in the fall, and it was a perfect day. The trees were just starting to turn, bursts of warm color showing here and there among the green, and above them the sky was a sunny blue, dotted with puffy white clouds.
Away from the oppressive atmosphere of her parents’ house, she felt like a weight had lifted from her, and felt a small twinge of guilt. She loved her family, of course she did. But Karen was currently in her mother’s bad books—for no reason!—while her father was engrossed in something work-related, Karen had no idea what since he refused to talk about it. As for Kevin, he was rapidly changing from sweet, goofy little brother to moody adolescent, prone to sudden bursts of anger that mostly went unpunished, to Karen’s resentment.
She frowned as she drove. Her parents’ expectations of their good daughter had always been clear. If she ever acted out the way Kevin was doing, there would be hell to pay. Look at what a fuss was being made over a simple box of hair dye! And she didn’t even go purple, as tempted as she had been—she had known they’d raise the roof over that. But apparently red wasn’t acceptable, either, her mother carried on as if Karen had publicly announced she was a porn star or something. Boys didn’t know how lucky they were.
All in all, her grandmother’s invitation to come and spend the day with her couldn’t have come at a better time. She was eager to get away from her parents, from her brother, from the whole tiny town of Fagan Corners, where everyone had known each other since birth and everyone knew everyone else’s business. No doubt the entire population knew by now that Karen Page had dyed her hair red.
Not that her grandmother’s town, thirty miles away, was much better. But it was something different, at least. Now that she was nearly finished with high school, Karen was anxious for change—for adulthood, for college, the chance to live her own life, away from the watchful eyes of her family and her hometown.
Spending the day with her grandmother might not seem very exciting. But Grandma was a shrewd, understanding old lady, and Karen loved her. Plus, she was someone Karen’s parents couldn’t possibly object to her spending time with, even right now while she was in disgrace. Although her mother had fussed and worried endlessly about Karen driving on the highway. Honestly, she was seventeen years old, and Mom still didn’t think she could drive safely for thirty miles by herself!
She sighed, and firmly put her irritation behind her as she turned off the highway and entered the small town. Grandma was giving her an escape, for the day at least, and she was determined to enjoy it.
She was smiling when her grandmother opened the door of her comfortable old house, and Grandma smiled back, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Karen! Come in, and let me see your hair.”
Karen rolled her eyes she stepped inside. Of course Mom had told her about the dye. She had braided her hair for the drive, to keep it from blowing in her face, but now she undid the braid and shook her long hair forward over her shoulder for her grandmother to see. Karen loved her new color, but she was beginning to think she might be the only person who did, and she watched her grandmother’s face anxiously.
“Oh, I like it,” Grandma said, to Karen’s relief. “It’s bright, certainly. But it suits you. It sets off your skin and your eyes beautifully, you might have been born a redhead.”
Karen beamed. “I kind of wanted to do purple,” she admitted.
Grandma laughed. “Purple! My goodness. Not that it would look bad, with those blue eyes. But your mother would never stand for it.”
“I know! She had a fit even about red, you’d think I’d—robbed a bank or something.” She wasn’t about to say porn star to her grandmother.
Grandma’s eyes crinkled again, as if she knew Karen had substituted one sin for another. “I wouldn’t worry about it,” she advised. “Some women have a hard time accepting that their children are growing up. That you need to start making your own decisions, and that sometimes those decisions will be ones Mother doesn’t approve of. She’ll get used to it. She’ll have to. Now, come with me.”
She led Karen into the kitchen. “I’ve made us some lunch, and then this afternoon I thought perhaps we could make lasagna. You’re old enough to learn my recipe, if you want to, and you can take some of it back home with you.”
“Really?” Karen asked, startled. She loved her grandmother’s lasagna, but she hadn’t had it in several years. Grandma had stopped making it after her husband died of a stroke—it was his favorite dish, and she didn’t have the heart to make it for anyone else once he was gone. And now she wanted to teach Karen?
“I’d love to learn your recipe,” said Karen, as they sat down to sandwiches, a bowl of fruit on the table between them. She usually wasn’t all that interested in cooking, but she had a feeling that this offer was about more than just food. And it was so good, it would be nice to know how to make it herself.
Grandma smiled. “I’m glad. It really shouldn’t be allowed to die with Robert, but I couldn’t face the idea of making it all alone. But I’d like for us to make it together, and share it. I offered to teach your mother, you know, when she and your father got married. But she wasn’t interested. I’m happy I can pass Robert’s favorite on to you. Maybe one day, you’ll make it for your husband.”
Karen was touched, but she couldn’t help grinning and asking, “But what if I never get married?”
Grandma chuckled. “Even if you don’t, I hope you find someone to love, who loves you just as much. That’s what matters, more than a piece of paper from city hall. Make my lasagna for someone you love, Karen.”
She looked sad for a moment, and Karen knew she must be thinking about Grandpa. But then she wrinkled her nose impishly and went on, ”It takes hours to make, you won’t want to do it for anyone who isn’t worth the effort.”
Karen laughed. “It can be my standard for judging guys. ‘Is he worthy of my grandmother’s lasagna?’”
“That’s right,” said Grandma solemnly. “It’s important to have standards. Especially now, when marriage isn’t the necessity for women it once was. There’s no reason to ever settle for less than you deserve. But women are taught to under-value ourselves, so you might find it difficult to ask yourself if a man is worthy of you. By all means, use my lasagna as a standard of virtue if that’s easier.”
Karen wasn’t entirely sure if she was joking or not, but decided it didn’t matter. It seemed like pretty good advice either way, and it was nice to have Grandma talking to her like she was an adult, even if marriage was the last thing she wanted to think about right now.
Once they had finished lunch, they began. Karen chopped onions, while Grandma heated a saucepan on the stove and swirled olive oil over the bottom.
“Don’t waste the good extra-virgin for something like this,” she advised. “A cheaper grade is perfectly fine for making a meat sauce.” The onions went into the pan, sizzling as they hit the hot oil.
“If your future husband doesn’t like to eat his vegetables,” she went on, with a teasing glint in her eye, “you can sneak some in here, and he’ll never notice. Just grate them up or dice them finely, so there won’t be any suspicious chunks, and sauté them with the onions.”
Karen rolled her eyes, but went along with the fantasy. “I’m not going to trick him into eating stuff he doesn’t like, Grandma, I’m not his mother. But I might add vegetables just because I want to.”
“That’s a much better reason,” she agreed. “Just don’t put them in the lasagna raw, or they’ll give up their juices in the oven and you’ll have a soggy mess. Add them to the sauce, so the excess liquid can cook out. I use a little carrot and celery, even if I’m not adding extra vegetables, just for the flavor.” She finely diced some celery, while Karen grated a carrot, and they went into the saucepan with the onions.
Once the vegetables were soft, ground meat was added and browned, and then a can of crushed tomatoes, some tomato paste, some wine, and seasonings. When the mixture began to simmer, Grandma turned the heat down low.
“And now, we leave it alone, for at least a couple of hours.”
“Uncovered?” asked Karen.
“Yes, It’s too soupy now. We want it to reduce and get thicker, but also give it plenty of time for the flavor to develop. So it needs a long cooking time at a bare simmer, rather than boiling it down quickly. We’ll just stir it once in a while, to make sure nothing’s sticking to the bottom.”
“Okay. What’s next?”
“Next, we sit down and have a cup of coffee.” She went to the coffee maker on the counter, measured out water and coffee grounds, and started it brewing.
“Your lasagna recipe has a built-in coffee break?” Karen asked, getting cups out of the cupboard.
“Well,” Grandma admitted, “when I was younger, I would have gone and done some housework at this point. But now, yes, I think a coffee break is in order. We’ve plenty of time before we need to cook the pasta or get the cheese ready, that sauce will just get better the longer it simmers. So there’s no need to rush.”
She got out cream and sugar, and a tin of cookies. When the coffee was ready, she poured them each a cup, and they sat down together at the table.
“Thank you for asking me over,” said Karen, belatedly remembering her manners.
“You’re welcome,” said Grandma with a smile. “It seems my timing was excellent, I know what your mother’s like when she disapproves of something.”
Karen groaned dramatically. “She keeps looking at my hair and sighing. And talking about how beautiful it was before, and wondering why anyone lucky enough to have blonde hair would ever want to change it.”
“And what do the others think?”
“I don’t think Dad even noticed it, to be honest, until Mom pointed it out to him. He’s pretty preoccupied with work lately. And Kevin just wants to fight with everyone. He laughed when he first saw it, like he couldn’t believe I’d actually done it. I thought he liked it. But later he got mad and said he wished I hadn’t done it, just because Mom won’t shut up about it. Like it’s my fault that she’s treating it like some epic tragedy.” She dunked a cookie into her coffee resentfully.
“Sometimes anger hits the most convenient target, rather than the most appropriate one,” said Grandma. “But of course that’s no comfort to you, when you’re the convenient target.”
“No.” She took a deep breath, and let it out in a gusty sigh. “Anyway, I was glad to get out of the house. And glad to see you, of course,” she added hastily, but Grandma just smiled and nodded in understanding. “Even if Mom made another epic tragedy out of me driving so far. I’ve had my license for over a year, and she still doesn’t think I can drive safely for more than six blocks.”
“Or, possibly she’s worried that the other drivers you meet on the road may not all be driving safely. An accident that isn’t your fault is still an accident.”
Karen thought about that. “Yeah, I guess,” she said reluctantly. She still thought her mother was being unreasonable. But Grandma had a way of pointing out her own possible mistakes without making her feel defensive or angry, simply bringing up alternative interpretations and allowing Karen to draw her own conclusions. It was far more effective at getting Karen to question her own rightness than her mother’s nagging.
“Well, it’s your senior year,” said Grandma, changing the subject. “How is school going so far?” They chatted about Karen’s classes, and her friendships and rivalries within the small school. Grandma was good about remembering things like which classes Karen enjoyed most, and who her friends were. Unlike many adults, when she asked about school Karen knew that she was genuinely interested.
After a while, Grandma got up to stir the sauce, saying, “Get me the largest pot from that cupboard, will you?”
Karen knelt down by the low cupboard and looked inside. “This one?” she asked.
“Yes, thank you. Put it in the sink.”
“It’s huge. Do we really need one this big?”
Grandma turned on the faucet and began filling the big pot with water. “Once the water’s boiling,” she explained, “adding the pasta will drop the temperature, which we don’t want. The greater the volume of water, the the closer it will stay to boiling, and the better the pasta will cook.”
“It’s going to take forever to come to a boil.”
“Yes, it is. That’s why we’re starting it now. Efficient lasagna-making is all about proper timing.”
When the pot was full enough, they lifted it onto the stove together and Grandma turned on the heat.
“Could we go outside while we wait for it?” asked Karen. “It’s a beautiful day.”
“It is, and we can. Good idea.”
They stepped out into the back yard, and walked around the carefully tended garden. Grandma liked trying out new plants to see if they could survive Vermont winters, so there was something different every year. The garden was past its peak now, and lay subdued in the autumn sunshine, but it was still beautiful. They ambled slowly all around the yard, and finally sat down together on a bench.
“How’s the basketball team looking this year?” Grandma asked.
Karen shrugged. “Tryouts aren’t until next month, it’s too soon to say.” She played guard, and she didn’t doubt she would make the team—she had for the past three years, and now that Julie had graduated, Karen was likely the best girls’ three-point shooter in the school. But she knew that she was better on offense than defense, and you never knew what surprises the incoming freshmen might produce. She wasn’t going to make the mistake of becoming complacent.
“You’ve got the talent, and the discipline,” said Grandma confidently. “You’re going to be wonderful.”
Karen smiled. Her parents were indifferent to sports, and allowed Karen to play only on condition that she keep her grades up. But Grandma had always encouraged her to pursue what interested her, even when those things didn’t match the priorities of her parents. She let her mind wander for a while, thinking about the year ahead of her, full of possibilities. Grandma sat quietly beside her, thinking her own thoughts.
The sun shone warmly, and Karen felt more relaxed than she had in ages. “It’s so peaceful here,” she said, thinking of the very different atmosphere of her home. She felt sad suddenly, and a little lonely, and saw Grandma looking at her. She smiled quickly, trying to shake off this wistful feeling, and Grandma smiled back at her.
“You’re always welcome here, Karen. I’m glad my home is a place of peace to you.” She looked quite serious for a moment, and held Karen’s eyes with her own.
Then she grinned, as if she were only seventeen herself, and said, “Let’s go in and see if that water is boiling yet, your future husband is counting on us.”
Karen snorted, her momentary sadness forgotten, and followed her back inside.
The kitchen was full of the rich smell of meat sauce, and warmth from the pre-heating oven. The water on the stove was just beginning to put up tiny bubbles around the edge of the pot.
“Nearly ready,” said Grandma. “Time for the cheese.” She got out a block of cheese, which she handed to Karen, and a tub of ricotta. Karen grated cheese while Grandma mixed a little heavy cream into the ricotta, just enough to make it spread more easily. Then she tasted the sauce, let Karen taste it, too, and adjusted the seasonings.
When the water finally boiled, Grandma placed the wide lasagna noodles carefully into the pot.
“They won’t take long,” she said, getting out a clean dish towel and spreading it out on the table. “We don’t want them sticking together, so once they’re done we’ll spread them out here, and blot off any excess water.”
She got out a large baking pan. “The amount we’re making will fill this pan,” she said, “but you can always scale it down if you want to make a smaller one. Just remember to trim the noodles to fit, you want them in single layers.”
Once the cooked noodles had been fished out of the pot and spread on the table, Grandma tasted the sauce again. “Yes, I think that’s ready.” She offered Karen a taste.
“Mmmmm,” said Karen appreciatively, nodding.
“That’s how it should taste. Give it a stir, and look at the consistency.”
Karen stirred, scooping up some sauce and letting it fall back off the spoon, looking at the color and texture.
Then, they began the assembly. Grandma spooned a little of the sauce into the pan and spread it around. “So the noodles don’t stick to the bottom,” she explained. Then she put in a layer of the long, wide noodles, followed by dollops of the creamy ricotta, which she spread out to form a thin layer. She sprinkled grated cheese on top, and covered it with a layer of sauce.
“Now you do it,” she told Karen, and Karen did her best, laying down another layer of noodles, carefully spreading the ricotta, sprinkling and spooning and trying to keep her layers as even as Grandma’s. Grandma built the final layers, and then the pan went into the oven.
While the lasagna baked, Grandma got out an index card and wrote down the recipe for Karen. Karen washed the dishes. It was a chore she hated to do at home, but here at her grandmother’s house, cleaning up after the cooking they had done together, she found she didn’t mind it. When she had finished, they went back outside. They sat on the bench again to enjoy the golden sunshine as afternoon faded into evening, talking and laughing together, until the lasagna finished baking and it was time to go back in.
Grandma took the pan from the oven, golden on top with melted cheese, and bubbling around the edges. They made a salad while it cooled, and then finally they sat down to dinner. The lasagna was just as good as Karen remembered, and she felt pleased all over again that Grandma had decided to share this with her.
After they had finished, Grandma got out a couple of storage containers and divided up the rest of the lasagna, while Karen cleared the table. Whether it was the food, or the company, Karen thought she hadn’t enjoyed a meal so much in ages. She thought again how peaceful it was here, and wished she could stay longer.
As if reading her thoughts, Grandma sighed. “It’s been lovely having you here, Karen, but you should probably get home before your mother starts to worry.”
“She never stops worrying,” Karen muttered, but she gave her grandmother a smile. “Thanks again for inviting me over, Grandma, and for teaching me your lasagna. This was really nice.”
Grandma beamed. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. And remember what I said before, you’re always welcome here.”
She pulled Karen into a tight hug. Karen was a little surprised—they weren’t a very demonstrative family, as a rule—but she hugged her back willingly, feeling a wave of warm contentment. Grandma handed her a container of lasagna, and walked her to the door.
“Goodnight, Karen. Drive safely.”
“I will. Goodnight, Grandma.”
She got into the car, and reluctantly headed for home. Once she finished high school, she promised herself, she was going to leave Fagan Corners and find out what the rest of the world was like. Soon she would be an adult, free from her parents’ rules and restrictions, and free to do whatever she wanted. She was determined to do something exciting with her life, even if she wasn’t sure yet what it would be.
She could hardly wait.