He called. Not texted — CALLED. On Monday. At 7 PM. Like a person from the 1990s. Like someone who was raised right. Like a Marine who was taught that phone calls are how you communicate when something matters.
'Hey, Rachel. It's Ryan. The, uh, Abernathy from Virginia Beach.'
'I know which Abernathy you are.'
'Right. There's... there's kind of only one other option and that would be weird.'
I laughed. He laughed. We talked for two hours. TWO HOURS on a phone call in 2017, when normal people text. He told me about Ohio — his mom, his dad who works at a factory, his sister who's a teacher, the small-town-America thing that sounds like a country song but is also just his life. He told me about the Marines — boot camp at Parris Island, infantry training, Camp Lejeune. He's been in for three years. He loves it the way my dad loved the Navy — not blindly, but deeply, the way you love something that gives your life structure and purpose even when it's hard.
I told him about us. About Dad and the Navy and the seven schools and the kitchen and the food and the way my mother holds the world together with casseroles and sheer force. He listened. He actually listened — not the polite nodding kind of listening, but the leaning-in kind, the kind where someone asks follow-up questions because they want to know more.
'Your mom sounds incredible,' he said.
'She is. She'd like you. You said ma'am.'
'I say ma'am to everyone.'
'That's why she'd like you.'
He asked me on a date. A real date. Dinner. Saturday. He'll drive up from Camp Lejeune — that's four hours — for dinner. Four hours for a dinner date. I said yes before he finished the sentence.
I told Mom. Not everything — just that I met a guy and he's coming for dinner on Saturday. Mom asked three questions: What's his name? What does he do? Where is he from?
'Ryan Abernathy. He's a Marine. He's from Ohio.'
Mom was quiet. Then she said, 'Abernathy?'
'No relation.'
'A Marine.'
'Yes.'
'Your father was Navy.'
'I'm aware.'
She looked at me for a long time. 'Rachel,' she said, in a voice I hadn't heard before — not angry, not worried, something deeper. Something knowing. 'Be careful. Military men will love you with everything they have. And then they'll leave for six months and you'll be alone with everything they left behind.'
She wasn't talking about Ryan. She was talking about Dad. She was talking about herself. She was talking about every night she sat at the kitchen table alone after the girls were asleep and prayed.
'I know, Mom,' I said. And I did know. I grew up knowing. But knowing doesn't stop you from feeling what you feel.
Mom made her chicken and rice casserole tonight. The comfort food. The Pyrex time machine. I ate it and thought about Ryan driving four hours for dinner and Mom's voice saying 'be careful' and my own heart saying something much louder.
Saturday. He's coming Saturday.
Mom didn’t say much after I told her about Ryan — she just went to the kitchen and made the casserole, which is how she says everything that matters. This King Ranch Chicken is my version of that same dish: the creamy, layered, hold-it-all-together kind of meal you make when someone you love is nervous and needs feeding. It’s what I’ll be making Saturday, because if Ryan is driving four hours for dinner, he deserves something that tastes like being welcomed home.
King Ranch Chicken Casserole
Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 45 min | Total Time: 1 hr 5 min | Servings: 8
Ingredients
- 3 cups cooked, shredded rotisserie chicken
- 1 can (10.5 oz) cream of chicken soup
- 1 can (10.5 oz) cream of mushroom soup
- 1 can (10 oz) diced tomatoes with green chiles (such as Ro-Tel), undrained
- 1 cup sour cream
- 1 cup chicken broth
- 1 medium yellow onion, diced
- 1 green bell pepper, diced
- 2 cloves garlic, minced
- 1 tablespoon butter
- 1 teaspoon chili powder
- 1/2 teaspoon cumin
- 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
- Salt and black pepper to taste
- 12 corn tortillas, cut into quarters
- 2 cups shredded sharp cheddar cheese, divided
- 1 cup shredded Monterey Jack cheese, divided
Instructions
- Preheat and prep. Preheat your oven to 350°F. Grease a 9x13-inch baking dish and set aside.
- Sauté the vegetables. Melt butter in a skillet over medium heat. Add the onion and bell pepper and cook for 5–6 minutes until softened. Add the garlic and cook 1 minute more.
- Build the sauce. In a large bowl, stir together the cream of chicken soup, cream of mushroom soup, diced tomatoes with chiles, sour cream, and chicken broth. Add the sautéed vegetables, chili powder, cumin, garlic powder, salt, and pepper. Stir to combine.
- Add the chicken. Fold the shredded chicken into the sauce mixture until evenly coated.
- Layer the casserole. Spread a thin layer of the chicken mixture on the bottom of the prepared baking dish. Arrange a single layer of quartered tortillas over the top, overlapping slightly. Spoon half the remaining chicken mixture over the tortillas, then sprinkle with half the cheddar and half the Monterey Jack. Repeat the layers: tortillas, remaining chicken mixture, remaining cheeses.
- Bake. Cover loosely with foil and bake for 30 minutes. Remove the foil and bake an additional 15 minutes, until the cheese is bubbly and golden at the edges.
- Rest and serve. Let the casserole rest for 10 minutes before cutting. Serve with a green salad or a side of cilantro-lime rice.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 420 | Protein: 28g | Fat: 22g | Carbs: 28g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 890mg
About the cook who shared this
Rachel Abernathy
Week 68 of Rachel’s 30-year story
· San Diego, California
Rachel is a twenty-eight-year-old Marine wife and mom of two who has moved five times in six years and learned to cook a Thanksgiving dinner with half her cookware still in boxes. She married young, survived postpartum depression, and feeds her family of four on a junior Marine's salary with a freezer full of pre-made meals and a crockpot that has never let her down. She writes for the military spouses who are cooking dinner alone in base housing and wondering if they're enough. You are.
