Good Enough to Eat (25 page)

“No. She’s a fragile thing, Nate, and if anything would make her run, as you fear, it would be knowing that the past she has taken such pains to conceal has come to light. No, I’m not going to tell her what I know, what I wish I didn’t know, and I hope you won’t tell anyone else.”

“Of course not.”

“I should really get going on my day, I have a ton of stuff to do.”

“Yeah, I should get home. We okay?”

“Yeah, we’re okay.” Trust is such a big thing for me. It goes against every instinct to not just scream at him, to not let this escalate. I take a deep breath. I try to focus on what I want to believe about him. “I love that you love me enough to be worried, I just wish that you hadn’t told me.”

“Sorry, can’t unring that bell.”

“I know.”

He gets up and grabs his bag. “Talk to you later?”

“Okay.”

He kisses me. “Love you.”

I clean up the breakfast dishes, and sit with a second cup of tea. I check my watch, it’s nearly ten. In a couple of hours at most Nadia is going to come home and I’m going to have to figure out how not to alter my behavior with her, how to not just pull her into my arms and hold her and tell her it’s all going to be okay.

 

 

Nadia doesn’t come home. She calls to tell me she is hooking up with Daniel and staying at his place. I avoid Nate’s calls all day, ignoring him in favor of errands and dealing with all the accumulated tedium of the week. I wish it made me tired, but I toss and turn under the weight of my knowledge and don’t get much sleep.

Tuesday, Kai and I get in early to do our once-a-month strip-down cleaning of the kitchen and walk-in. The day is long and draining. But the worst is when Nadia comes in, happy from what has clearly been a couple of lovely nights with her strange boyfriend, and is exuberantly demonstrative in her delight, extra hugs and huge smiles. All afternoon she checks in with me, brings me cups of tea, reminds me to eat. Every ounce of her solicitude strikes straight into my heart. I know her secrets, her shame. It weighs on me.

After work, we pack up some stuff from the store, and head home for a quiet late dinner. Nadia seems to think that she has a recipe that will guarantee a good night’s sleep; she is worried about the bags under my eyes. All I know is that it is warm, spicy, lemony, and sweet and apparently deeply and importantly alcoholic, because within no time at all, I’m seriously buzzed.

“So you had a good time with Daniel, huh?”

“It was awesome. We had a great time. He wants me to move in with him.”

“Isn’t that a little soon? It’s only been a couple of months . . .”

“You’ve only been with Nate a couple of months; wouldn’t you move in with him if he asked?”

I think about this. “Probably not. It’s too soon; we don’t know each other well enough.”

“But you love him, right?”

“I do. But sometimes love isn’t enough, sometimes love isn’t right, sometimes you can love someone who won’t honor that love or return it in a healthy way.”

“But you still have to love. You still have to be hopeful about love.”

“I think you have to be hopeful, but responsible about love. Don’t shut yourself off from it, but don’t be afraid to use your head either. There’s no shame in loving someone for a time, in a way, while it works. Not everything has to be a thousand percent.”

“Yes it does, Mel. Or it isn’t love.”

“It’s a recipe for disaster.”

“I’m used to disaster.”

“Yeah, honey, I know.” Shit.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you know. Barry and all that. I mean, you yourself say that you have bad taste in guys, I just, I want you to be careful.”

“Oh.”

Grasping for anything to fix it, to shift the focus, I say, “Besides, I’ve gotten used to having you around.”

“Why am I feeling a little bit like Eliza Doolittle?”

“You didn’t need me to change you; you are fine just as you are.”

“Except for my taste in guys.”

“Well, yeah, that.”

We laugh, and I’m glad the initial danger moment has passed. I pour myself another drink.

A few things have become readily apparent to me. One, I’m going to lose her as a roommate sooner rather than later. Two, I’m going to have to figure out how to fess up about what I know at some point, because otherwise something is going to slip out. And three, I’m reasonably certain that tomorrow is going to be my first corned beef hash morning in a really long time.

When we were little, our grandparents were members of a private club called the Covenant Club. It was a Jewish club that had been around since the early 1900s, established as a place for Eastern European Jews to gather, since the other downtown Jewish club, the Standard Club, was at that point exclusively for German Jews. Grandpa went three times a week to play racquetball and take a steam, or as he called it, a
schvitz
, with his buddies. Grandma went once a week to play bridge or mah-jongg. Once a month or so we would all go have dinner there. The Covenant Club was the first place I ever ate creamed spinach. I was never much for veggies, and Mom often covered them in cheese sauces, or hid them in casseroles to get me to eat them at home. But my grandpa would always order the creamed spinach, and once I tasted it, I was hooked.

Nathan and I walk into Chalkboard, where I’m greeted with a hug by Gil, the chef and owner. “Mel! How’s business?”

“Good, thanks.” I gesture around the packed restaurant. “And for you as well, I see!”

“No complaints, no complaints.”

“Gil, this is Nathan, Nate, this is Gil. He’s the chef.”

Gil extends his hand and the two men shake firmly.

“Great to meet you. Mel has raved about your place, so I’m very excited to finally get a chance to eat here!”

“Well, Mel knows I wish she’d close up shop and come hang out in my kitchen instead! So, any special occasion tonight?”

“Nate just finished his new movie, so we’re celebrating.”

“Wow, that’s fantastic. Congratulations.”

“Thank you. It always feels weird to have something finished. I’m glad to get it off my plate and at the same time, I have the time to second guess every choice I made.”

“I feel the same way about a new dish. The minute it goes on the menu and I get the kitchen up to speed, I’m tempted to change everything about it!” Gil leads us to a cozy table near the front window. Nathan pulls out my chair, and then sits next to me. Gil looks at us with a smile. “So, anyone allergic to anything?”

Nate and I shake our heads.

“Anyone have anything they hate?”

“I’m not big on shellfish,” Nate says.

“Me either!” says Gil. “Okay, is it all right with you guys if I just take care of you? I’ll just keep sending stuff out till you say ‘uncle.’ ”

“That’s very kind, thank you.” I mentally add two more hours of exercise to my weekly schedule.

“Wow, that’s terrific, thanks!” Nate says, clearly impressed that the chef is going to design a meal especially for us.

“Fantastic.” Gil waves over our server. “Let’s get two glasses of the Taltarni for these lovely people.” He turns to us. “My new favorite sparkler from Australia. You’ll love it. I’m going to go into the kitchen and play, just tell me when you want me to stop!” He disappears just as the waiter comes back with two flutes filled with a delicately pink sparkling wine, and Nate raises his glass at me.

“Cheers.”

“Congrats, honey, I’m so proud of you. And the movie is beautiful.” We spent the afternoon in a screening room downtown watching the final cut, and it is a spectacular film. I was very moved by the story of this nomadic African tribe, and was impressed that Nate’s work was seamless and invisible. Sometimes when you watch a documentary, you can see the director’s handprints all over it; their opinions, politics, and biases become clear, and you can feel them manipulating you through the story as they want you to see it. But here I just felt like a fly on the wall, the camera seemed to have been a totally objective observer, and the editing, while serving to clearly define a narrative arc for the piece, never felt heavy-handed. The production company who hired him is apparently very pleased, so whatever second-guessing he is doing now is totally just his own perfectionism.

“Thanks, that means a lot to me.”

We clink glasses again, and sip the light wine. Our server arrives with the first course and we submit to the pleasure of good food and good wine and the company of someone you love.

 

 

“Melanie, darling, how are you?”

“GILLY! My god, kiddo, it is good to hear your voice. What’s going on?”

“I’m just checking in to see how you’re doing, how you’re hanging in there.”

“I’m good.”

“Mel . . .”

“What? I’m good!”

She sighs breathily into the phone. “Look, Mel, you don’t have to put on the brave voice with me. I know what this week is. And I’m calling to say that I know, and that it sucks, and that if you need me, I’ll come.”

This is the week Andrew and Charlene are getting married. I hate that she knows it. I hate that anyone knows it. Especially me.

“Gillian, you’re sweet, and yes, it sucks, but truly, I’m fine. It’s a little piece of shit in the toilet that needs an extra couple flushes. I’m not thinking about it, I’m not dwelling on it; I’m just dealing with it. And I love you, and I’d love to see you, but you don’t have to come to rescue me.”

“Okay, then. How is everything else, how is Nathan?”

“Good. We’re good, you know.”

“That’s not the same as great.”

“I think I’m not fully ready for great, you know? It’s too soon for great, it’s too hard to believe in great. I have to really think hard every day to be happy with good, to trust it. I’m working my way up to being prepared for great, you know?”

“I know, honey. And you take whatever time you need. But Mel, Andrew was a shit. An unflushable little turd, to borrow your phrase. You have to believe he is the exception that proves the rule. Not all men are shits. Yes, you should be cautious, but not to the point it kills a chance at happiness.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“I do. Swear.”

“Pinky swear?”

“Pinky swear. How is everything there, how’s it going being partner?”

“It’s good, you know, busy busy.”

“And any boys for you?”

“When I need them.”

“Fair enough. You know, Gilly, we’ve never talked about it, but . . .”

“But?”

“If you’re a lesbian, that is totally cool with me, you know.”

Gilly laughs, throaty and deep. “Good lord, Mel, don’t you think if I were in that way inclined I would have told you by now? Yeesh. I’m not into girls; I’m just not into relationships at the moment. I date, I get laid, I’m fine. I have a plan, and I’m on track. You know I never wanted kids, that whole thing. The work is good, I have plenty of friends to eat with and laugh with and travel with. If a guy comes along and is the right guy, I’ll keep him. In the meantime, I’m good.”

“Okay.”

“A lesbian. Really.”

“Okay, okay!”

“All right, lovely, I have to go. You’re sure you’re okay?”

“I am, I’m good. And thanks for calling, I really appreciate it.”

“Love you, sis.”

“Love you back.”

 

 

Kai is waiting for me when I get to the store.

“You’re here early.”

“I had Phil drop me off; I wanted to be here when you got here.” Kai looks very serious. My heart drops.

“What’s going on? You have a look on your face I don’t like . . . Is something wrong?”

“Let’s go inside, nothing’s wrong, but I want to talk to you about something and I hope it is a good something, so don’t be worried.”

I unlock the door and let us in. Kai heads over to the stove and puts on the electric kettle, grabbing our two mini teapots and two mugs from the shelf above. “English Breakfast or Jasmine?” he asks.