Mrs. DeLuca's Kitchen

Mrs. DeLuca's Kitchen

Bridgette Elise Jakubowicz's place was as immaculate as ever--because, of course, it was. White marble countertops, gleaming stainless steel appliances, and the kind of recessed lighting that made everything (and everyone) look a little more expensive. If Carina Marie Delvecchio had any complaints, it was that the whole place felt like an Architectural Digest spread. Not a single misplaced dish towel, no crumpled-up takeout menus stuck in drawers. A kitchen like this deserved a little lived-in chaos.

Luckily, she and Zachary Noah Rannis were here to provide it.

Bridgette, effortlessly put-together in a navy blouse with the sleeves rolled up, was at the stove, minding a saucepan like it owed her money. Gianna Rosalita DeLuce hovered beside her, grating parmesan with a level of focus that suggested she feared for her life if the curls weren't perfect.

Carrie and Zach had been assigned prep work, which meant peeling potatoes and not touching anything expensive. Well, Zach was peeling potatoes. Carrie was mostly sipping from her wine glass and critiquing his technique.

"That's not how you hold a peeler, genius," she said, elbowing him in the ribs.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Iron Chef Carrie, should I be doin' a fuckin' spiral cut?" He peeled aggressively, slamming the strips into the bowl. "I swear to God, I'll make these into potato chips outta spite."

"You don't even own a mandoline." Gianna said, smiling.

"Mandoline is a fuckin' instrument."

"Mandolin is an instrument, dumbass," Gianna corrected, not looking up from her grating.

"Enough of that," Angela Francesca Rosa DeLuca scolded mildly, but there was a smile at the edges of her voice. She was stirring something in a heavy-bottomed pot, an apron tied neatly over her blouse. She watched her girls with a measure of exasperation and pride.

Zach muttered something under his breath about South Philly girls being a menace before flicking a bit of potato peel at Carrie's shoulder. She gasped like he'd shot her.

"Bridgette! Your brother-in-law is disrespecting the sanctity of your kitchen!"

Bridgette turned, deadpan. "I'm sorry, does he still have fingers? Then he's fine."

Carrie smirked, triumphant.

Gianna, ever the peacemaker, slid in between them, pressing a quick kiss to Bridgette's cheek before grabbing another knife. "Alright, alright, let's not start a war before dinner. Zach, I'll help with the potatoes. Carrie, go set the table."

Carrie let out an exaggerated groan. "I hate setting tables. Why do I always get stuck with table duty?"

"Because you make us nervous with knives," Bridgette said dryly, turning back to her sauce.

Zach snorted. "She does have the energy of someone who'd stab ya just to see what it felt like."

Bridgette hummed in agreement.

Carrie narrowed her eyes at both of them before stomping off toward the dining area, but not before stealing a taste from Gianna's bowl of parmesan on her way out.

"Hey!"

"I live dangerously."

The kitchen continued in its steady rhythm--Bridgette commanding the stove, Gianna and Zach working side by side, Angie supervising, and Carrie half-assing her way through setting the table with a theatrical sigh every few minutes.

But it was warm. Comfortable.

And when Bridgette glanced over her shoulder at Gianna, smiling at something Zach said, her face softened in a way that even the best kitchen lighting couldn't fake.

"Mrs. Jakubowicz..."

Bridgette still got a kick out of saying it.

Carrie bitched about setting the table, because that was the natural order of things. If she didn't bitch about it, someone might think she actually liked doing it. And that? That could not be allowed.

So she sighed. She muttered. She draped herself dramatically over the dining table for a full three seconds before shoving herself upright and getting to work.

Bridgette's dining room was as swanky as the rest of the place--high ceilings, moody lighting, a long polished table that probably cost more than Carrie's entire apartment. The chairs were heavy, the kind you needed two hands to move, and the walls were lined with bookshelves, because of course they were.

Carrie opened a drawer and found, to her absolute horror, that Bridgette owned cloth napkins and copper napkin rings.

"Jesus Christ," she muttered under her breath, shaking one out. "What am I even supposed to do with these?"

The answer was fold them, but she wasn't about to start some fine dining origami nonsense. Instead, she settled for rolling them up and shoving them inside the rings. Fancy but not too fancy. Carrie Fancy™.

She laid out the silverware with more precision than she'd ever admit, set down the plates, adjusted them by millimeters until everything looked right. The wine glasses gleamed under the low lighting, and she took a step back, eyes scanning the table like a critical artist evaluating a final brushstroke.

It looked good. It looked... right.

There was something about all of this--the kitchen full of laughter, the smell of simmering sauce and garlic, Gianna and Zach bickering, Angie supervising like the true matriarch she was--that made Carrie's chest ache in a way she didn't totally understand.

It was cozy. It was home, in a way she didn't often let herself think about.

Her fingers skimmed along the back of one of the chairs before she caught herself, shaking the moment off.

Instead, she turned back toward the kitchen and announced, way too loudly,

"Alright, the table is set, the ambiance is impeccable, and I begrudgingly acknowledge that I am a domestic goddess. Where's my reward?"

Bridgette, still at the stove, didn't even turn around. "Your reward is that we let you stay for dinner."

Carrie scoffed. "That's cold."

Gianna glanced over, shooting her a knowing smile, before setting down her grater and stepping into the dining room. She looked at the table, then at Carrie, then back at the table.

"You actually did a good job."

Carrie smirked. "Don't sound so surprised, Mrs. Jakubowicz."

Gianna's lips twitched. "You know, that does have a nice ring to it."

Bridgette, still at the stove, hummed in agreement. "It really does."

Carrie rolled her eyes but couldn't fight the smile.

Dinner wasn't even on the table yet, but damn if this didn't already feel like a meal worth remembering.

The moment they sat down, it was on.

Gianna was still scooping pasta onto her plate when she started talking, because why wait? Angie already had a fork in hand, gesturing as she told a story about someone she ran into at the market, her words flowing fast and fluid between bites. Carrie, naturally, kept pace, jumping in with her own commentary, waving a piece of bread like it was a microphone.

Zach and Bridgette?

Eating like normal people.

Bridgette twirled her pasta neatly, her posture perfect, taking controlled bites, chewing before speaking. Zach was less polished--elbows on the table, chewing with that kind of slow, methodical efficiency that suggested he was enjoying himself--but compared to the chaos happening across the table, he might as well have been at high tea with the queen.

It was painfully obvious who grew up together.

"Oh, and then, after all that, she's gonna tell me--" Angie pointed her fork at Carrie, chewing mid-sentence, "--that I shoulda just minded my business."

Carrie scoffed. "You?! Mind your business?! Since when?"

Gianna cackled, nearly choking on her bite of bread. "Oh my God, she did not--"

"She did."

"No way--"

"She did!"

Bridgette exhaled, dabbing at her mouth with one of her immaculate cloth napkins. "I feel like I'm at a zoo exhibit."

Carrie turned to her, mouth full of pasta. "Welcome to South Philly, bitch."

Zach finally chimed in, watching the three of them talk through bites, forks waving, gesturing with entire pieces of bread. "I don't know how none of you are choking right now."

Gianna grinned. "We have technique."

Bridgette gave her a long, slow look. "You definitely don't."

Carrie shrugged. "Nah, we just have good luck."

"And a real strong gag reflex," Gianna added.

Carrie cackled. "Fuckin' facts!"

Bridgette closed her eyes like she was praying for strength. Zach made a soft groan, rubbing his temples.

Angie, unfazed, kept eating.

"So anyway," Angie continued, smoothly ignoring the whole exchange, "this woman tells me I need to mind my business, but she's the one out here tellin' the butcher how to cut my steak--"

Gianna gasped. "Not your steak!"

"Ohhh yeah." Angie nodded. "Tried to tell him I wanted it thinner."

"Thinner?!" Carrie looked personally offended.

"Exactly!"

Bridgette, watching this unfold like some kind of bizarre National Geographic documentary, took a slow sip of her wine before turning to Zach.

"So. How's your meal?"

Zach speared a piece of pasta, chewed, swallowed.

"Best dinner I've had in months," he said, deadpan.

Carrie flung a bread crust at him.

Bridgette sighed, but there was a tiny, exasperated smile on her lips.

Yeah.

This was family.

Carrie was halfway through her second glass of wine when she decided the conversation needed a proper topic shift.

She leaned forward, smirking, elbows on the table--Bridgette would hate that--and aimed her question like a heat-seeking missile.

"So, speaking of dinner..." She paused for effect, letting the words settle, then looked Bridgette dead in the eye. "Are you eatin' Gianna's pussy?"

It was instantaneous.

Bridgette choked. Fork clattered. Wine glass wobbled.

Gianna gasped so dramatically she actually clutched her chest like she'd been shot in an old Western.

Angie, God bless her, burst into raucous laughter. Just bent forward, howling, like Carrie had just delivered the best line of a stand-up routine.

Zach wanted to die.

His head snapped toward Carrie, wide-eyed, before dragging both hands down his face like he was trying to physically remove himself from the situation.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Carrie."

Bridgette, red-faced and still coughing, struggled to find words. "I--what--excuse me?"

"Oh, don't 'excuse me' me," Carrie shot back, completely undeterred. "That's a real fuckin' question, Mrs. DeLuca."

"Carrie!" Gianna hissed, still clutching her chest.

Carrie ignored her.

"Because listen," she said, rolling forward in her seat, completely committed now. "Gianna's got needs, alright? And if those needs aren't being met? If you--" she pointed at Bridgette, "--aren't takin' care of business?"

She shook her head, deadly serious.

"Then we got a problem."

Bridgette, finally catching her breath, sat back, rubbing at her temples like she was about to develop a migraine. "Carrie--"

"No. No 'Carrie,'" Carrie pressed. "This is a legitimate concern. This is sister shit. If my girl here ain't gettin' proper attention, that's my business."

Gianna, still flustered, threw up her hands. "Carrie! Jesus Christ, I am fine!"

"You better be," Carrie shot back. "Because if I find out otherwise, I will make a fuckin' scene. You know I will."

Bridgette exhaled. "Carrie. Oh my God."

"I will start a petition," Carrie continued, eyes wild, momentum unchecked. "I will go door to door in this fuckin' building. 'Excuse me, hi, quick question, are you eatin' Gianna's--'"

Bridgette's hands slammed down on the table. "Enough!"

Carrie beamed.

Gianna had both hands covering her face.

Angie was still laughing, dabbing at her eyes like she was delighted to be here.

Zach? Zach looked like he was trying to astral project out of his own skin.

Bridgette exhaled hard, pinching the bridge of her nose. When she looked up, her voice was the measured, deeply strained tone of a woman barely holding it together.

"Carrie," she said, "if I answer your question, will you shut the fuck up?"

Carrie considered this.

"... Maybe."

Bridgette turned to Zach. "I will murder her."

Zach, still reeling, waved a vague, helpless hand. "At this point? I won't stop you."

Carrie grinned.

Gianna finally peeked out from behind her hands. "I cannot believe we are talking about this at dinner."

Carrie scoffed. "Bitch, you grew up in our house. When the fuck haven't we had a wildly inappropriate conversation at dinner?"

Gianna groaned. Angie just laughed harder.

Bridgette, still fighting the urge to strangle Carrie with a napkin, took a slow sip of her wine, clearly stalling before answering.

Carrie arched an eyebrow, waiting.

"... Yes," Bridgette said, in the flattest, most exasperated tone possible.

Carrie beamed.

"Well good," she said, leaning back with satisfaction. "That's all I needed to hear."

Gianna groaned again, collapsing forward onto the table. "I am never eating dinner with you again."

Carrie just smirked, sipping her wine. "We'll see."

Bridgette barely had a second to recover--to regain even a sliver of composure--before Carrie went in for the kill shot.

"What about the pubic hair situation?"

Gianna made a noise. A sound that could only be described as the death rattle of someone spiritually passing away at the dinner table.

Bridgette's grip on her wine glass visibly tightened.

Carrie, completely unbothered, turned toward Gianna like a concerned journalist following up on a breaking story.

"Ya keepin' trimmed for her?" she pressed. "She likes it shaved, don't ya, sis?"

The sound that came out of Gianna was somewhere between a shriek and a gasp, her face turning a shade of red previously unseen in human history.

Bridgette's head snapped toward her wife.

"Do you?" she asked, far too calmly.

Gianna whipped toward Carrie, furious. "You bitch!"

Carrie cackled, leaning back in her chair like she'd just set off a firework and was waiting for the explosion.

Zach, at this point, was beyond trying to salvage the conversation. He was done. His hands were over his face, suffering, and his voice came out muffled.

"Carrie, please."

Bridgette blinked at Gianna, like she was genuinely processing the new information.

"I didn't realize you had a preference," she said, voice far too even, setting her glass down precisely.

Gianna, absolutely mortified, flung her hands in the air. "I--Carrie is making shit up!"

"I am not!" Carrie shot back, delighted. "Bitch, you were obsessed! You bullied me into shaving for the first time, remember? 'Ew, you're so gross, how does anybody even go down on you with all that--'"

"Shut the fuck up!" Gianna shouted, absolutely betrayed.

Angie? Angie was fuckin' dyin'. Just poundin' the table with her fist, tears in her eyes, lovin' every second of this nightmare.

Carrie turned back to Bridgette, grinnin' like a demon.

"So?" she pressed. "You keepin' it smooth for my sis, or what?"

Bridgette exhaled, running a very controlled hand down her face.

Then, like a woman reclaiming the last bit of her dignity, she folded her hands in her lap, turned directly to Gianna, and asked, in a tone so neutral it was almost threatening:

"Well, Mrs. Jakubowicz?"

Gianna wanted to die. Just implode into nothingness.

She grabbed her wine glass, downed the rest, and then glared at Carrie with the fury of a thousand suns.

"You are actually the worst person alive."

Carrie beamed, proud as hell. "Yeah, yeah. Answer the question."

Gianna's entire soul left her body.

"... Yes."

Bridgette smirked.

Zach, head in his hands, let out a long, pained sigh. "I can't do this."

Carrie slammed her hands down on the table, victorious.

"THAT'S what I fuckin' thought!"

Carrie took a sip of her wine, savoring the absolute carnage she had just unleashed. Gianna was dying next to her. Bridgette had just barely recovered from the last question. Zach looked like he was contemplating self-defenestration.

So, obviously, it was time to push further.

She swirled her wine glass like she was about to deliver a serious, intellectual inquiry.

"... How are you equipped strap-on-wise?"

Bridgette froze.

Gianna made a noise. A tiny, strangled sound, like she was actively disassociating.

Zach--who had been slowly, desperately eating his pasta to avoid participating--let out a sharp, pained exhale and dropped his fork.

Angie? Angie was fuckin' thrivin'. She laughed so hard she actually had to lean back in her chair, clutchin' her stomach.

Bridgette, for her part, just stared at Carrie. Not blinking. Like she was waiting for some divine intervention to strike Carrie dead.

Carrie raised an eyebrow, relaxed as hell.

"She ain't had a real dick before, but..." She smirked. "You puttin' the work in, or what?"

Gianna slammed her forehead onto the table.

Carrie cackled. "Oh come on, like I wasn't gonna ask about Albert."

Bridgette exhaled sharply through her nose and very slowly set down her wine glass.

Zach groaned and tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling like he was begging for some higher power to get him out of here.

Bridgette finally turned toward Gianna, voice calm, almost clinical.

"... You told her about Albert?"

Gianna whipped toward Carrie, murder in her eyes. "You have to die. Tonight. In this house."

Bridgette rubbed her temples. "Jesus Christ."

Carrie, grinning, leaned in. "So? What's the arsenal lookin' like? You got a nice selection, or you just rocking one standard-issue government strap?"

Bridgette inhaled deeply.

Then, very deliberately, turned toward Gianna, looking her dead in the eye.

"Do you want me to answer that?"

Gianna made a sound of pure suffering.

Carrie, delighted, nudged her sister. "C'mon, Mrs. Jakubowicz," she teased. "Tell us about your armory."

Gianna grabbed the bottle of wine and poured herself another glass.

Then chugged it.

Bridgette just smirked.

Carrie laughed, thrilled, while Zach groaned and Angie wiped tears from her eyes, still cackling.

Best dinner ever.

Carrie was riding high, thrilled with herself, watching Gianna suffer while Bridgette just sat back and smirked like she had the upper hand now. Finally, after years of knowing this woman, Carrie had dragged her into the filth where she belonged.

And then--

Angie pounced.

"Best dick I ever had was Gianna's father, Dominick DeLuca." She tucked a few graying strands of hair behind her ear.

Carrie froze.

Gianna's eyes went wide--then she exploded into laughter, absolutely howling, grabbing at Bridgette for support.

Zach sputtered, half-choking on his drink.

Bridgette? Bridgette was just smiling, sitting back like she was watching the world burn and enjoying the warmth.

And Carrie?

Carrie was dying inside.

"Nah. Nah," she said, shoving back from the table like she could physically escape this conversation. "You are not doing this to me right now."

Angie leaned in, pleased as hell, enjoying every second of this.

"That man had nine inches on him," she continued, deliberate, like she was laying down undeniable facts. "And could take care of me all night."

Carrie shot out of her seat so fast she knocked over her napkin.

"STOP IT."

Gianna, still dying, clung to Bridgette, laughing so hard she was wheezing.

Zach looked like he wanted to physically eject himself from the dinner table, red-faced and trying desperately to un-hear everything.

Carrie pointed at Angie, wild-eyed, betrayed. "WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT?!"

Angie just grinned, shrugging like this was nothing. "You brought up their sex life," she said smoothly. "I'm just participating in the conversation."

Carrie turned on Gianna, frantic. "Make her stop! That's your dad!"

Gianna, fucking crying, barely managed to get words out between gasps of laughter. "This is so much worse than what you did to me--"

Carrie whirled on Bridgette. "Make her stop!"

Bridgette just smirked.

"I mean, I'm curious now," she said.

Carrie let out a sound. A noise that was not meant for human ears.

Zach groaned, shoving his plate away like he had lost his will to ever eat again.

Angie, completely unfazed, leaned back, fully comfortable, and smirked.

"That man could fuck," she said, pure nostalgia in her voice.

Carrie made a choked, traumatized sound and collapsed into her chair, head in her hands.

"I hate it here."

Gianna cackled, knocking her forehead against Bridgette's shoulder. "Ohhh my God, this is the best dinner of my life."

Carrie groaned, face still buried in her hands. "You are ruining my entire existence."

Bridgette just smirked, sipping her wine. "Well," she said, perfectly casual, "you did start it."

Angie, so goddamn pleased with herself, just nodded sagely. "Exactly."

Carrie groaned louder.

This was absolutely the worst dinner of her life.

And then.

Then Angie kept talking.

"Now, your father--Dante Delvecchio..."

Carrie froze.

"No."

Angie ignored her, leaning back in her chair, eyes twinkling with pure malice.

"... He was a charmer," she mused, sighing like she was reminiscing over some long-lost golden era. "He was my bodyguard, but so much more. Could make me cum from across the room with just a lift of one eyebrow."

Carrie made a fucking sound like a person actively combusting. Like someone who had just been struck by lightning inside their own home.

Gianna's jaw dropped.

Bridgette, ever the observer, took a very slow sip of her wine, watching the absolute wreckage unfold.

Zach? Zach was at his limit. His hands slammed down on the table.

"OKAY." His voice cracked. "NO MORE. STOP. EVERYBODY STOP."

Carrie launched up from her chair, palms slamming against the table like she was trying to physically flip it over.

"WHAT THE FUCK, MOM?!"

Angie? Smug as hell.

Gianna was fully wheezing, sobbing with laughter, gripping Bridgette's sleeve like she needed an anchor.

Zach shoved his chair back like he was leaving but then realized there was nowhere to go. "I am begging you to stop talking about my dead father-in-law making people cum."

Carrie pointed a violently shaking hand at Angie, face red with rage and horror.

"You are lying! You are fucking lying! You're just saying that to ruin my life!"

Angie took a long sip of her drink, smiling sweetly.

"Oh, am I?"

"YES!"

Gianna, still fucking dying, collapsed against Bridgette, barely managing to wheeze out: "This is... the greatest... night of my life."

Bridgette, watching Carrie come completely undone, set her glass down and finally, finally smiled.

"You were so confident five minutes ago," she noted, absolutely pleased. "What happened?"

Carrie, frantic, desperate, flung a hand toward her mother.

"She's a demon, that's what happened!"

Angie gave an innocent shrug. "Just having a conversation about our sex lives, Carina Marie."

Carrie gasped like she had been physically struck.

"Don't you Carina Marie me after that! You bitch!"

Angie lost it, cracking up, throwing a napkin at Carrie's face. "Oh, get over yourself!"

Carrie, horrified, turned to Zach like he could somehow save her soul from this nightmare.

Zach just stared back at her.

Blank. Hollow. A man irrevocably changed.

"... I don't even know who I am anymore," he muttered, rubbing his face.

Carrie groaned, collapsing onto the table in absolute suffering.

Bridgette leaned toward Gianna, voice full of amusement.

"So, Mrs. Jakubowicz... I assume we'll be hosting the next dinner, too?"

Gianna, still wiping tears, just nodded, voice cracking.

"Oh, absolutely."

Carrie was still reeling, emotionally shredded, spiritually unmoored. And just when she thought she was safe, when she thought there was nothing left for Angie to destroy--

Angie, the master strategist, leaned back in her chair, swirling the last of her wine, and delivered the kill shot.

"I love cock so much... how is it you girls love pussy like oxygen?"

DEATH.

IMMEDIATE. FUCKING. DEATH.

Carrie jerked upright like she had been electrocuted. "MOM, WHAT THE FUCK?!"

Gianna, sobbing with laughter, slapped the table, her head hitting Bridgette's shoulder as she howled.

Bridgette, completely unbothered, just took another slow sip of her wine, clearly enjoying the carnage.

Zach?

Zach was fucking done.

He stood up. Just got the fuck up from the table like he was about to walk into traffic.

Carrie grabbed her napkin and threw it at Angie's face, but she was laughing too hard to put any real force behind it. "You CAN'T SAY THAT at DINNER!"

Angie, smug as hell, plucked the napkin off her lap and tossed it back.

"Why not? It's a valid question."

Carrie made a sound. A guttural, dying animal sound.

"YOU GAVE BIRTH TO ME!"

Gianna, fucking howling, barely managed to breathe out: "This is... the greatest night of my life."

Carrie turned on Bridgette, desperate for an ally.

Bridgette, still smirking, just shrugged.

"I mean, I'd like to know, too."

CARRIE PHYSICALLY COLLAPSED.

She slammed her head down on the table, done, defeated, over.

Zach dragged a hand down his face. "I am leaving. I am actually leaving."

He didn't move.

But he wanted to.

Angie, supremely pleased with herself, poured another glass of wine.

Carrie, still face-down against the table, groaned into the woodgrain.

"I hate it here."

Bridgette leaned toward Gianna, voice full of amusement.

"So, Mrs. Jakubowicz... shall we make this a weekly thing?"

Gianna, still wheezing, nodded violently.

"Absolutely."