Recipes for Eternal Beginners and Other Undead Novices

By Rhea Mathews

The too bright yellow gloves squeaked horribly against the vacuum-sealed stainless steel container. The contents of it thudded as she set it down on the plastic-lined counter. The shiny silver glinted up at her like a cat’s eye in the dead of night—right before it pounced. She wasn’t scared of black cats and black nights, but she had to say, the contents of this container did give her pause. Maybe this was a bit too extreme, she thought, but really she wasn’t the kind of woman to back down from extremes, no that wasn’t her at all. And she wasn’t going to let that little silver container— which was oh so helpfully marked with bold, red letters DANGER DO NOT OPEN and CAUTION because apparently Danger Do Not Open wasn’t clear enough. Well, she thought, looking down at her yellow gloved fingers and the white lab coat she donned only slightly for the drama of it all— she was exactly the kind of woman to create extremes, actually. So she took a deep breath, adjusted her plastic goggles— because of course you have to have the full look— and began to open the silver container. The yellow gloves squeaked. The vacuum seal creaked slowly open as she turned it. The air filled with the horrible odor— it was faint, but it was still there, still horrible. It was a sharp thing— this odor— she always thought of it like a knife— cutting through the air with a pungent flick. She set her shoulders and flexed her fingers. Which of course, squeaked horribly again— and nearly ruined the effect— but she would not be deterred by squeaking or by odors, not now. This was too important. Slowly she spun the shining silver cap the rest of the way open. She placed the silver cap to the side. She reached inside and— 

“What on earth are you doing?”

Uh-oh. 

“Nothing,” she replied, way too quickly. She didn’t turn around. Maybe she could stay facing this way forever, she was a very determined woman, she could manage it. 

“Turn around.” 

Ah, well that she couldn’t do— deny her anything she asked. And really that was why they were here at all.

“My love, look, I have a very good explanation for all of this,” she replied slowly. But she pulled her hand out of the container and turned around slowly. 

Even furious, her wife was a vision. The furrow of her dark, thick eyebrows. The terrifying glare of her—usually sweet— dark brown eyes. The red flush that rose to her tan brown skin almost perfectly filled in two circles on her round, round cheeks. The unhappy set of her full dark pink lips. 

“I don’t think you do have a good explanation for this. I don’t think even you could come up with one,” her wife said, shaking her head slightly. 

“You said that—”

“It’s labeled, Elizabeth. Labeled. It’s very clearly marked, so I don’t understand why I am coming home, to see my wife dressed like a mad scientist,” her wife rambled nervously, “Well, actually I would be okay with that and that would make sense— but the mad science, I take offense to—”

“It’s not mad science, Aditi, I’m just co—”

“Garlic burns your skin! Like a real chemical burn! Why—” Aditi stopped. 

Elizabeth took a step toward her. 

“Your eyes are watering underneath your ridiculous goggles.” Aditi’s voice was almost too soft to hear. She stepped around Elizabeth and closed the shining silver, clearly labeled vacuum container with t offending garlic head inside. The sharp smell of garlic dissipated slightly and Elizabeth took a deep breath. 

“Why?” Aditi asked, quietly. 

Elizabeth thought, because perhaps love is this— unstable, volatile, and deadly. Perhaps love is letting something touch your skin even when you know it will burn you perhaps— love is inviting destruction into your life. 

But what she said was, “You wanted chicken curry—like your grandmother used to make— and it has garlic in it, so I was going to make it for you.”

“You didn’t— you don’t—Why would you—”

She didn’t have to have —although she did have— decades of wisdom to guess what Aditi was asking about. “No, you’re right, I didn’t have to, but I wanted to,” Elizabeth replied calmly, “You wanted something and I wanted to make it happen. It’s simple, really.”

“This is not simple,” Aditi said, shaking her head, “It’s—it’s—it’s dramatic is what it is.”

“Well, drama sort of comes with the lot for vampires, I suppose.”

Aditi laughed, then, and the tense set to her shoulders relaxed imperceptibly. 

“I guess it does, E,” Aditi replied softly, still laughing. 

Elizabeth peeled off her ridiculously yellow gloves and regretted it immediately because they squeaked, yet again, and Aditi grimaced slightly. 

Elizabeth nodded towards the table and went to wash her hands at the sink. She peeled off her goggles and looked down at her white lab coat to straighten it out. She sat down next to Aditi who was touching the petals of the lilies on the table idly. 

“Onions, tomatoes, ginger, and green chilies,” Aditi said, she didn’t look up at Elizabeth. Her fingers kept running over the same little, pink lily petal, “, ghee, curry leaves, mustard seeds, garam masala, coriander powder and fresh coriander leaves, cumin powder, turmeric powder, fennel seeds, red chili powder, whole black pepper, but you can make do with the powder too. ”

“Those are all the ingredients,” Elizabeth said slowly, not yet understanding, “And fresh garlic, of course.”

“Did you know some people put cumin seeds instead of mustard seeds?” Aditi said, looking at Elizabeth for the first time since sitting down. 

“No, I didn’t,” Elizabeth answered. 

“Well, they do. My family was always a mustard seed family— there’s an important regional difference, you know,” Aditi continued, “I think now our family will be known for not putting garlic in our chicken curry.”

“Aditi, I’m not going to ask you to alter your family recipe for me,” Elizabeth said, exasperated. 

“All those different ingredients go in, in different ratios to make chicken curry. And you always think, oh well one thing can’t change the way it tastes altogether, but it does, it does. I can’t tell you how many hours I spent in the kitchen, next to my grandmother, trying to watch how she did it. She only measured things with the palm of her hands and I could never really get anything I made to taste the same. I spent years just trying to get close. And now I want to spend years—decades if that’s what it takes— to make our family’s chicken curry with my wife without my wife needing a hazmat suit while cooking.”

“Aditi, I can’t ask you to do that it’s—”

“I didn’t ask you to suffer third degree burns or to risk passing out from noxious fumes,” Aditi interrupted, “just because I missed something.”

“Oh,” Elizabeth was not usually the type of woman to be stunned into silence, no not at all, but Aditi had changed many things in her long life, and this was one to them. 

“I love you, just as much as you love me, E, no one needs to get burned about it,” Aditi said, reaching for Elizabeth’s hand. Aditi stroked her wife’s palm, her touch soft like it was for the lily petals. 

Perhaps love is unstable, volatile, and deadly— perhaps it is letting something destroy you. But maybe, what love really is, is a quiet promise to grow together and to change together. Maybe what love really is, is a pair of hands entwined at a kitchen table. 

“I do, love you, I mean,” Elizabeth replied slowly, “A lot.”

Aditi laughed and her tan brown cheeks reddened in a much better way. “The lab coat told me that much, E.”

“I am trying to have a sweet and heartfelt moment with you, my love, and you are ruining it,” Elizabeth huffed. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Aditi said, still laughing. She mimed zipping her lips and throwing away the key. 

Elizabeth took their entwined hands and brought them up to her lips. She kissed the back of Aditi’s hand slowly. 

“Now,” Elizabeth said, standing up, “Let me make you something both of us can eat.”