By The Fourth of July is coming and I am dreading it the way I dread every holiday now—every marker of time, every occasion that has become a before/after dividing line. Marcus loved fireworks. He was seventeen and he still had the fireworks joy of a child, that pure animal thrill when something explodes in color overhead. Last July fourth he and Darius drove out to spend the evening by a lake somewhere and came home at midnight smelling like sparkler smoke and bug spray and teenage summer, and I pretended to be stern about the hour and he hugged me around the shoulders—this boy who had grown six inches in a year and was now taller than his father—and said, "Mama, it's the fourth of July," like that explained everything. And it did.
I am in the kitchen more now. Not cooking exactly—I made sweet potato pie two weeks ago and that was real cooking, that broke the seal—but I'm in here. I stand at the counter and drink my morning coffee in here instead of in the den. I look at things. I touched the cast iron skillet this week, just put my hand on it the way you put your hand on something familiar to feel that it's still there. Cold from hanging on the hook all these months. But there. Waiting.
Calvin asked if I wanted to drive to Bessemer and see Mama for the Fourth. I said not today. He nodded. He doesn't push—hasn't pushed once, not about the kitchen, not about church, not about anything. He just asks and accepts whatever I say and goes back to his books. I don't always know how to love him through this because we are both so broken that loving each other requires more structural integrity than either of us has right now. But we're still here. We sleep in the same bed. He puts his hand on my back when he passes me in the kitchen. Sometimes that's the whole marriage—a hand on a back, a passage through a kitchen. It's not nothing.
I got the big pot out from the cabinet today. Just to look at it. Set it on the stove for a minute and looked at it. Put it back. The pot is ready. I am getting there.
When I put that big pot back in the cabinet, I knew it was only temporary—a pause, not a goodbye. This five bean salad is what I imagine making when I finally lift the lid and let the water run. It’s the kind of dish that asks almost nothing of you: a pot, some heat, a simple dressing, and the willingness to show up. Marcus would have eaten it cold straight from the bowl at midnight, smelling like sparkler smoke. I think I’ll make it for the Fourth. I think I’m ready to fill the pot.
Easy 5 Bean Salad
Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 5 min | Total Time: 20 min (plus 1 hour chilling) | Servings: 8
Ingredients
- 1 can (15 oz) kidney beans, drained and rinsed
- 1 can (15 oz) chickpeas (garbanzo beans), drained and rinsed
- 1 can (15 oz) black beans, drained and rinsed
- 1 can (15 oz) cut green beans, drained and rinsed
- 1 can (15 oz) wax beans (yellow beans), drained and rinsed
- 1/2 cup red onion, finely diced
- 1/2 cup green bell pepper, diced
- 1/2 cup apple cider vinegar
- 1/3 cup granulated sugar
- 1/4 cup olive oil
- 1 teaspoon salt
- 1/2 teaspoon black pepper
- 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
- 2 tablespoons fresh parsley, chopped (optional)
Instructions
- Make the dressing. In a small saucepan over medium heat, combine the apple cider vinegar, sugar, olive oil, salt, pepper, and garlic powder. Stir and heat just until the sugar dissolves, about 3–5 minutes. Remove from heat and let cool for 5 minutes.
- Combine the beans. Add all five drained and rinsed beans to a large bowl. Toss in the diced red onion and green bell pepper.
- Dress and toss. Pour the warm dressing over the bean mixture. Stir gently to coat everything evenly. Sprinkle in the parsley if using.
- Chill. Cover the bowl and refrigerate for at least 1 hour before serving—or overnight for best flavor. Stir once before serving.
- Serve. Serve cold or at room temperature straight from the bowl. Keeps in the refrigerator for up to 4 days.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 210 | Protein: 8g | Fat: 7g | Carbs: 30g | Fiber: 7g | Sodium: 390mg