The saying that poor children learn independence early was absolutely true. Little Chili had been helping her family with cooking since she was seven years old. Now she was twenty. How could her cooking possibly be bad?
Walking into the kitchen, Don found her ladling soup and noodles into bowls. She had made bone broth, the kind Liverpool people loved, simmering large chunks of leg bones over low heat until the soup turned almost milky white. Bright green cilantro and jade-colored noodles floated in the pot, making the whole thing look extraordinarily appetizing.
Don pinched the top of her head lightly. "You didn't have to make anything. We could have skipped the midnight snack."
"I took a nap and found ingredients in the fridge, so I used them."
"Those were the soup ingredients I'd set aside for this week."
