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Into the Deep

Into the Deep

Description : Into the Deep
“Did you go food shopping yet? Is the food expensive? Do you understand what half of it is?”

I swallowed my laughter. “Mom, I’m in Scotland, not the Amazon.”

“I know but they eat things we wouldn’t dare eat.”

She sounded so horrified I couldn’t help my dry retort. “They’re not cannibals.”

A spray of soda shot past my eyeline and I twisted to see my best friend Claudia choking on Diet Coke as she listened to my side of the conversation. We were sitting in the kitchen of our student apartment, our butts on thefortable, but still weird, waiting room chairs that had been supplied in ourmon room/kitchen. Our backs were to the wide floor-to-ceiling window that looked out over the courtyard of our building, the sun hitting the glass and prickling our skin with its heat. Everything about the room was clean, fresh, and hardwearing. The amodation was basic but it was warm and safe and a million times better than I’d been led to believe it would be.

“So dramatic, Charley. I’m just saying, the food is a little different,” Mom continued. “I want to make sure you’re eating right.”

Whether I was in Edinburgh or back home in Indiana, my mom always wanted to make sure I was eating right. This was because I couldn’t cook. Delia Redford was an awesome cook and baker, as was her oldest daughter, Andrea, so she took the fact that her youngest (that would be me) couldn’t so much as boil pasta without screwing it up as a personal failure on her part. Luckily for me, I could read and work an oven so frozen dinners kept me from starvation.

“Mom, they eat pretty much what we eat mostly because … you know … they’re people.”

“Except their chocolate is better,”...