Too Many Cooks Read Free

the letter inside, which is written in my mom’s swooping cursive, the slanted lines indicating the involvement of a blackberry brandy or two:
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    My dear little Kelly Belly,
    If you’re reading this, I’ve finally kicked the bucket. I hope it was quick and relatively painless and didn’t cause the rest of you too much trouble. Lord knows I gave you enough trouble when I was living, so I hope I went out on a high note.
    I have a few parting requests for you, so I thought I’d put them all together in a list. That’s right—a list! I bet you’re liking me better in death than in life already. (Kidding.) Unlike you, I’m not much of a writer, so I hope you’llbear with me.
    Okay, here we go.
    (1) First of all, keep Irene O’Malley away from your father. She always had her eye on him, and even though I’m dead, I do NOT want her getting her hands on him. Frankly, I don’t want him dating any of my friends, but especially not Irene.
    (2) Speaking of Irene, if I had to guess, she still has my square Tupperware container with the maroon lid. Now that I’m dead, she’ll think it’s hers, but it is not. Make sure you get it from her and explain that I hadn’t forgotten she never returned it—even though I reminded her seven times . (You can mention the part about seven times; I bet she’ll be impressed I remembered that.)
    (3) If anyone asks about the rest of my Tupperware collection, it is not up for grabs. It’s for you, your dad, and Stevie. (You’re welcome.)
    (4) As for your dad, don’t let him get too kooky. He never liked to feel a lot of feelings, so he’s probably acting all sorts of strange, and that’s okay, but don’t let him get too weird. I’d say a good gauge would be: if he’s shouting at the newscasters on TV, that’s fine, but if he starts talking to the bushes, you might want to encourage him to get a dog.
    (5) Look after your brother. I don’t mean move back to Ypsilanti (please, don’t do that, I’ll explain why below), but check in on him once in a while and make sure he isn’t doing something stupid, like growing pot or dating that floozy, Catherine Gornicki. I know you’ve always looked out for him, but now that I’m not around, it’s extra important that you’re there for one another.
    (6) That brings me to you. I know, I know, I can see you rolling your eyes: “Here goes Mom with her kooky ideas!” But a person only gets one chance to make a dying wish, so listen up! Here’s what I want: I want you to walk away from the beaten path and, for once in your life, do something unpredictable and a little crazy. Not crazy by Kelly standards. Crazy by my standards, which, as you know, are pretty darn crazy. You’ve spent your whole life following the rules, and it’s time for you to make a change. I’ve always seen you as my star, the Madigan who would go on an adventure—a real, honest-to-goodness adventure—maybe in Hollywood or New York or someplace really exotic like Switzerland. I’m so proud of all you’ve accomplished so far, but you haven’t managed to leave the Midwest, and I feel like you were destined for so much more. You’re probably thinking, “What does Mom know? She’s never lived anywhere but Ypsilanti!” And that’s true. But that’s also why I know what I’m talking about. I’d hate for you to turn 40 and never have lived anywhere outside the Midwest. If you decide to come back here someday after all that travel, so much the better, but as Dr. Phil would say: “Make an informed decision.”
    (7) Finally, a word about this Sam guy. Really, Kelly? I get that he’s a doctor and looks like a Ken doll and is steady and reliable, etc., but I have to be honest with you: he is a little boring. Is this what you want for yourself? A fifty-year snoozefest with some fuddy-duddy