A Table by the Window: A Novel of Family Secrets and Heirloom Recipes (Two Blue Doors) (31 page)

In a panic, I called Cat.

“You are so lucky I’m awake,” she said when she picked up. “The boys are sick and not inclined to sleep, and not inclined to let me sleep either. Just so you know, Jules, if you’d woken me up, you’d be so dead to me.”

I closed myself in my room and unzipped my boots. “Nico is freaking out.”

“Caught that.”

“Everyone knows.”

“Figured as much.”

I released a pent-up breath. “You have to tell me what to do.”

“Honey, I moved to Chicago—that’s what I did.”

“Mom invited him to Sunday-night dinner.”

“She’s good, that one,” Cat acknowledged. “So, is he sticking around until Sunday?”

“He’s scheduled to leave that morning,” I said, scanning my room for projects. I could put away clothes—the morning’s attempt at dressing had wreaked its havoc. I smushed the phone between my ear and my shoulder and began to throw garments into piles.

“So what are you worrying about?”

“Aside from the rest of the crazy?”

“How did Nico find out, anyway?” Cat asked.

I folded a pair of jeans. “Adrian.”

“That’s Nico’s new best friend, right?”

“Right.”

“Always makes me think of
Rocky
. Anyway—why did it matter enough for him to tell Nico?”

“There’s a vibe,” I said, tossing two blouses to the end of the bed.

“A boy-girl kind of vibe?”

“Yup.”

“And nothing’s come of it—you’re just vibing each other?”

“Dating a coworker is bad news. And he’s enough like Nico that it would be a terrible idea. I don’t take him seriously.”

“Well, boo on him for outing you.”

“I miss you.”

“I miss you too. Did you at least have a good second date?”

I couldn’t stop my smile. “After a fashion? Yeah.”

“Cool. I won’t ask, because if I did, I’d be the biggest hypocrite, but I’m glad it was good. So—other than everyone being in your business, is there a reason you wouldn’t want him at a family dinner?”

“No. Yes. He’s wonderful, but he’s different.”

“ ‘Different’ as in he wears capes publicly, or ‘different’ as in …”

The bed squished beneath me as I sat down. “I don’t know. I guess he’s not the epicurean, big-personality guy that I think everyone’s pictured me with.”

“Whatever. You’re the one dating him.”

I lowered my voice. “I don’t want him to be the next Nelson.”

“Okay …” She paused in thought. “Nelson’s not actually that bad.”

“He’s boring.”

“Not to another CPA he’s not. And he’s good-natured. Sophie wanted stability, and that’s what she got. He’s a good dad to Chloé. You could do worse than someone like Nelson, if it was a guy you really liked.”

“I guess that’s true.”

“You could always invite him to dinner, you know, so he knows the offer’s out there. See what he does with it.”

“What if they scare him away?”

“If that’s the case,” she said, “he doesn’t deserve you. Also—know that when Nico called, I acted totally shocked. He didn’t hear anything from me.”

“Thanks for that.”

“Anytime.”

“I might skip Sunday-night dinner just to spite everyone.”

“Go for it,” Cat said. “A little rebellion is good for the soul.”

Neil picked me up at eleven the next morning, already dressed in a suit for his presentation.

“You look great,” I said, taking in his ensemble. Not many men owned a day suit, but the caramel color looked wonderful with his ginger hair.

“You look better,” he said, offering his arm as we walked out the door.

“Glad you like it. I haven’t dressed for a medical lecture for a little while.”

“Ah,” he said. “Just a little while?”

“More like ever.” I grinned up at him cheekily. I had to admit I felt pretty sharp. I’d donned a white sheath dress and paired it with my black boots, a black blazer, and a cobalt-blue necklace.

We walked to the car arm in arm.

“I had a thought,” Neil said once we were en route. “I don’t want to leave on Sunday.”

“No?”

“No. And I’ve got plenty of vacation time built up. How would you feel about it if I flew out early Tuesday instead? Then we’d have some time Monday evening, maybe meet for lunch in between, if you can get away.”

Tuesday. I froze.

“If you’d rather I didn’t, that’s okay,” he said, eying my face nervously even as he negotiated traffic.

“No, I
want
to see you,” I said, sounding more panicked than pleased. “It’s just that, um—”

“Don’t worry about it. Forget I asked.”

“My mom invited you to Sunday-night dinner,” I blurted.

“What?”

“Sunday-night dinner. Most of my family has dinner together every Sunday. Sunday because that’s the day the restaurant’s closed. Adrian saw us together yesterday, and he told my brother, and now everyone in my family knows about you, and my mom invited you to dinner.”

“That’s kind of her,” Neil said.

“Yes,” I said, “kind. Or recon with food.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“There are a lot more thoughts in your head. I can see them on your face.”

I crossed my arms and schooled my features. “You’re supposed to be watching the road.”

He pointed forward. “Stoplight.”

“Whatever.”

“It’s up to you. I’d be happy to meet your parents.”

“Oh no, it wouldn’t just be my parents. It would be my brothers, and my sister and her spouse, and my niece, and it’s basically a room full of multilingual people eating food and bossing you around and getting in your business.”

“I can handle myself.”

Ungraciously, the first thought in my mind was a retort about him spending his days with petri dishes. But I caught a hold of myself. If he liked me, maybe he wouldn’t be totally overwhelmed by my family.

Maybe?

“It’s up to you,” I said finally. “They’re a lot. Have you seen
My Big Fat
Greek Wedding
? Dinner with my family is like that, but not Greek and with smaller hair.”

“I think I saw that movie at some point.”

I squinted at him. “You’d remember if you had.”

“This may surprise you,” he said dryly, “but I don’t watch a lot of chick flicks.”

“I hate that term,” I said, looking out the window, “but that’s an argument for another day. Are you in or out?”

“I’m in.”

“Fine,” I said.

I spent the rest of the drive trying to decide how to tell my mother I
would
bring a guest on Sunday.

Neil would give his lecture at the OHSU’s Old Library Auditorium. I gave him a parting kiss on the cheek before we entered, and I allowed the event’s coordinators to sweep him away. An assistant gave me a paper program and showed me to a seat in the front row. While I waited, I examined the program.

“Phagocytes in Opportunistic Mycoses,” it read. Before I could fully wrap my head around what that could possibly mean, another man in a suit—not as nice as Neil’s—stood at the podium to greet everyone and announce Neil.

I could see Neil standing to the side. In his suit, in the setting, he seemed almost a different person. Self-assured, certainly. He was calm and collected, his features composed.

Seeing him so serious, I found myself wanting to make silly faces at him. But there were still other people up front with him, so I bided my time.

Neil made a few opening remarks, thanked the gentleman who introduced him, and settled in for his lecture. While my science background wasn’t bad—I had to be conversant in the chemistry of baking and the biology of roasting meats, after all—so much of what he said was completely and utterly
over my head. At least the slides were pretty and colorful in their own way, even if they were the interior of some sort of cells.

Ten minutes later, Neil was alone at the podium, without even an assistant waiting in the wings to give him bottled water.

So I waited.

I waited until his eyes landed on me. His eyes crinkled at the corners, and his mouth turned up into the gentlest smile.

I had him.

Holding his gaze, I turned my lower lip down into an exaggerated pout and slid my tongue up until it covered my upper lip. He wanted to laugh. I could tell. But instead, he paused for the briefest instant—which sounded dramatic and professional—and flashed an irresistible grin.

Ha.

My eyes slid from left to right, checking the attendees seated next to me. Both were scribbling notes, absorbed with Neil’s material.

And nobody was the wiser.

I stayed at Neil’s side during the following reception. Neil introduced me to people whose names I immediately forgot. I made charming conversation but mostly smiled and nodded silently. All in all, I felt very much like a political wife.

Another ten minutes and my wrist would start to pivot my hand into the royal wave.

Thankfully, we left nine minutes later, almost as if Neil knew I wouldn’t be able to behave for much longer.

“You were amazing,” I said, as we walked to his rental car.

He gave me a sideways look. “Nice faces there.”

“I just wanted you to connect with your audience,” I said with an innocent shrug. “And it was only one face. Don’t exaggerate your data.”

“Mmm. I wouldn’t want to do that,” he said, his hand finding its way onto the small of my back.

“So, are you sure you’re still up for dinner tomorrow?”

“I am.”

“I should call my mom and let her know. I was also going to ask if you would like to come to church with me tomorrow.”

“Of course.”

“Great,” I said, trying to quell the butterflies that decided to take flight. Dinner with the family, going to church together—I couldn’t get ahead of myself. Instead, I smiled and made a conscious choice to focus on the present.

At church the following morning, I chose the service my family didn’t attend and sat in the back rather than the seventh row, right-hand side.

“Is everything okay?” Neil asked after we’d shaken the hands of everyone in the general vicinity.

“Yes. Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You seem a little … twitchy.”