Creamy Tuscan Shrimp Pasta

Mother's Day. I thought I was ready. I was not ready.

The kids made cards — Olivia's was a folded piece of construction paper with a poem she wrote herself, rhyming "love" with "above" and "heart" with "start," and it was so earnest and so nine-years-old that I pressed it against my chest and held it there. Mason drew a picture of our family: stick figures, tallest to shortest, labeled in shaky second-grade handwriting. He drew six kids. He counted Grace. I looked at that stick figure — the smallest one, on the end, with a circle head and two lines for legs — and I went to the bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub and breathed the way Dr. Kimball taught me, in for four, hold for four, out for four, until the crying stopped or at least paused, which is the best I can do with crying these days. Pause it. Never stop it.

Church was what I expected. A talk about motherhood as divine calling. A song the Primary children sang about mothers, off-key and beautiful. A woman bore her testimony about how being a mother was the greatest blessing Heavenly Father had given her, and I sat in the pew and thought: He gave me six and took one back and I don't know what kind of math that is but it's not the kind they taught me in my accounting classes at BYU. Brandon put his hand on my knee. I didn't move it. I didn't hold it either. We sat there like two people on a bus — close, parallel, going the same direction, not touching on purpose.

Brandon made dinner. He does this sometimes — not often, not well, but with effort, which counts for more than flavor. He made spaghetti. Jar sauce, boiled noodles, garlic bread from the freezer section. The kids ate it like it was gourmet because Dad made it and Dad making dinner is an event in our house, a novelty, and I sat at the table and ate spaghetti I didn't cook and watched my family and felt two things at once: gratitude that these five are here, and fury that all six aren't. The two feelings don't cancel each other out. They coexist, like roommates who don't like each other but share a kitchen anyway.

Brittany called that night. My sister, the loud one, the faithful one. She said, "How bad was it, one to ten?" I said seven. She said, "That's better than I expected." She was right. A seven is progress. A seven means I survived a day designed to remind me what I lost, and I only cried twice, and I ate spaghetti, and my daughter wrote me a poem, and my son drew six stick figures because he counted the one who isn't here. Six. He counted all of them. I'm keeping that drawing forever.

That spaghetti Dad made wasn’t fancy, and that’s exactly why it mattered—sometimes the meal that saves you is the one that asks nothing of you. But when I came up for air a few days later, I wanted to cook something, needed to cook something, the way you need to move your body after sitting too long in grief. Something that felt a little like care and a little like effort and a little like saying, all six of us are worth a real dinner. This Creamy Tuscan Shrimp Pasta is what I made.

Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 30 min | Servings: 6

Ingredients

12 oz spaghetti or linguine
1 lb large shrimp, peeled and deveined (fresh or thawed frozen)
2 tablespoons olive oil
4 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes
1 teaspoon Italian seasoning
1/2 teaspoon salt, plus more for pasta water
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1 cup cherry tomatoes, halved
2 cups fresh baby spinach
1/2 cup sun-dried tomatoes, drained and roughly chopped
1 cup heavy cream
1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese, plus more for serving
1/2 cup reserved pasta water
Frozen garlic bread, prepared per package directions

Instructions

Boil the pasta. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Cook spaghetti according to package directions until al dente. Before draining, scoop out 1/2 cup pasta water and set aside. Drain and set pasta aside.
Season the shrimp. Pat shrimp dry with paper towels. Toss with Italian seasoning, salt, pepper, and red pepper flakes until evenly coated.
Cook the shrimp. Heat olive oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add shrimp in a single layer and cook 1 to 2 minutes per side until pink and just cooked through. Transfer to a plate and set aside.
Build the sauce. Reduce heat to medium. In the same skillet, add garlic and cook 30 seconds until fragrant. Add cherry tomatoes and sun-dried tomatoes; cook 2 to 3 minutes until tomatoes begin to soften. Pour in the heavy cream and stir to combine, scraping up any browned bits from the pan.
Add greens and cheese. Stir in spinach and let it wilt, about 1 minute. Add Parmesan and stir until melted into the sauce. If the sauce feels too thick, add reserved pasta water a few tablespoons at a time until it reaches a silky, coating consistency.
Finish the dish. Return shrimp to the skillet. Add drained pasta and toss everything together over low heat until the pasta is fully coated. Taste and adjust salt and pepper as needed.
Serve. Plate pasta and top with additional Parmesan. Serve immediately alongside garlic bread.

Nutrition (per serving)

Creamy Tuscan Shrimp Pasta — The Spaghetti Night That Reminded Me to Count All Six