I Loved, I Lost, I Made Spaghetti (35 page)

THE AGENT arranged a round of meetings for Lachlan with a handful of interested publishers. She guessed that she could get
$50,000 for the book, a number Lachlan and I had been imagining all along. I intended to see the book through and to see him
onto his plane—after all, I had a lot of my own blood, sweat, and tears invested in the project. Yes, I even considered driving
him to the airport, going so far as to make arrangements with my mother to borrow her car. “Do you think it looks funny?”
asked my mother, who now was sickened by the sight of Lachlan, when I told her I wouldn’t need to use it after all. I think
her question explains a lot about why I am as nuts as I am.

The night before Lachlan left, I was full of righteous anger. I walked to Dean & DeLuca to pick up food for his last meal,
muttering to myself about how sick and tired of him I was and how happy that I wasn’t going to have to make his damn dinner
anymore, all the while wondering what I would make. I decided on the teriyaki pork I had gotten there before. They sell it
already marinated so you just have to put it in the oven. I wasn’t hungry when I got home; I sat on the couch and just stared
at the opposite wall, where there happened to be a mirror, in which I watched Lachlan put his arm around me.

“What are you feeling?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I said, “I’m just sick of you.”

When he asked me to get his rucksack out of my storage bin in the basement, I was more than delighted to do it.

Lachlan’s Last Supper

Teriyaki Pork Loin

½ cup teriyaki sauce

1 clove garlic, minced

1 tablespoon minced ginger

2 scallions sliced, green parts only

1 pound pork tenderloin

Combine all ingredients in a Ziploc bag. Marinate on the kitchen counter for 30 minutes or up to 8 hours in the refrigerator.

Roast in a 425-degree oven until pork is cooked to your liking, 20 to 25 minutes. It’s a trying time, but this pork is tender!

Yield: 2 servings.

Cilantro Rice

(Adapted from Gourmet magazine)

¾ cup rice

1½ tablespoons olive oil

1 clove garlic, minced

1 cup chopped cilantro

1½ cups water

2 tablespoons pine nuts, toasted

Salt, to taste

Cook rice as you would pasta, in lightly salted boiling water. Check for softness after 10 minutes; it could take up to 15
minutes. Drain and toss gently with oil, garlic, cilantro, and pine nuts. Taste for salt.

Serves 2.

Bok Choy with Garlic

(Adapted from Bon Appétit magazine)

1 clove garlic, minced

1 tablespoon olive oil

4 baby bok choy

¾ cup chicken broth

Salt and pepper to taste

In a medium skillet over medium heat, sauté garlic and olive oil for 1 minute. Add bok choy and broth, bring to a simmer,
and cook for 8 to 10 minutes, turning occasionally. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

Serves 2.

Three publishers were set to make offers on Lachlan’s book the day of his flight back to Italy, where he would freeload some
more until he figured out his next step. THE AGENT instructed everyone to have bids in by noon. That morning, I had to go
to the funeral of my uncle. We weren’t very close, so it wasn’t a devastating event; still, it added some more emotion to
the biblical flood I was already feeling. Lachlan was packing when I returned.

“Well?” I asked.

“Random House offered a hundred and ten thousand dollars,” he said.

Now added to the loss of a love, and a relative, was a sense of having been swindled of everything I ever owned. I sat on
the floor at the threshold to my bedroom, where Lachlan was fussing with his clothes and books, and smoked cigarette after
cigarette while I tried to find out once and for all why he didn’t love me. Goddamn it! If I could get him $110,000 for a
book about a rhinoceros, he was going to give me an answer!

“That’s grown-up money, are you going to grow up now?”

“Maybe I’ll use it to go on living like a child,” he said petulantly.

“I did that so that you and I could have a life together.”

“I don’t love you,” he said.

At those words I moved to the bed, where I flopped around like a just caught fish. “There’s no one in the world I would have
done that for. I wouldn’t have done it for myself!”

“You didn’t do everything,” he said, “it’s not like I didn’t spend ten years writing the book.”

A person who could stay in one place could have easily written that book in a year—was all I could think.

“Who would you love? What were the people you loved like? Did you love Sasha [the Australian artist]?”

“I think I did.” (That was a reinterpretation of history as originally told to me.)

“Why?”

“Because she had a pet kangaroo,” Lachlan joked, “because she had an Australian accent.”

“Did you
ever
love me?”

“I was excited about you,” he replied.

Which sounded like nothing other than: “I was excited about what you could do for me.”

____

Lachlan wanted
to take me out to lunch, but I had no appetite (he couldn’t believe it), so he went about reheating the previous night’s
dinner. I sat with him and I ate and that did make me feel a wee bit better. We sat on the couch together the last few moments.

“You never even apologized,” I said.

“You haven’t given me any space to.”

It was time for him to leave. I was sobbing hysterically. There were tears in Lachlan’s eyes, too, as we hugged and he walked
out my door for the last time.

I called my mother, still crying hysterically. She cried, too.

Then I called Anne, who was warm and sensible.

Then I called Ginia, who was on a deadline, but I saw her later.

Then I smoked six more cigarettes.

Then I took a nap.

The next day,
I started writing my book.

“What do you want to know?” it opened. “How much money he got for the book or how much he broke my heart?” I imagined an entire
book about Lachlan, ending with the line “Reader, they overpaid.”

But then I thought, Why let him alone have all the glory? even though that experience, the first to leave me feeling both
heartbroken
and
used, certainly was the grated cheese atop the bowl of spaghetti. I wrote about all of them, and I kept on cooking.

____

I was preparing
a Sunday afternoon dinner for Larisa and her family. While cutting potatoes with my new Wüsthof chef’s knife (I was buying
a lot of things for my apartment after Lachlan left, trying to make it look a little less like the place where he lived—I
did keep Scoopy, but he has to stay in his drawer unless he’s working), I cut a gash through my thumb and ended up spending
five hours in the emergency room getting seven stitches. I reluctantly canceled my dinner party (I actually thought I might
be able to get sewn up and home in time to finish cooking), and my frantic mother came over to cook the food that I left strewn
about my kitchen. Before she arrived I sent Nick, who had taken me to the hospital, back to my place to wipe the blood off
the walls. Matthew stayed with me while I was getting sewn up.

As I was lying there waiting to be mended, I thought about how much I had suffered for the love of cooking and love itself,
those two interchangeable passions. My body was marked by wounds that represented both of them—my arms were scarred from burns,
my thumb was severed, my heart was broken. There had to be something for food to give me. And there was.

I went back to the book. I never doubted it would turn out okay.

I look forward to the day I can say that about love… but that’s the next book.

Ginia Bellafante, who dreams for me even when I’m not dreaming for myself. Her friendship and influence over these many years
has enriched my life in countless ways.

Jennifer Warren, who has been listening to me and encouraging me ever since our fairly innocent college days; her generosity
of heart is infinite.

Anne Magruder, who was a font of warmth, daily inspiration, and laughter throughout the writing of this book and for many
years beforehand.

Frank Bruni, who explained my idea better than I could and brought it to…

Lisa Bankoff, who shared my joy in this project, handled it with the utmost care, and is, best of all, a terrific girlfriend.

Caryn Karmatz Rudy, whose enthusiasm for this book has been unwavering and who lent understanding and deep intelligence to
its every page.

Jennifer Romanello, a friend I met through work who became like family and was there through many of these stories, laughing
at them when they were funny and helping me to shake them off when they no longer were. How fortunate that this book ended
up in her sage hands!

Sandy Sislowitz, who changed my life dramatically with phenomenal insight, deep compassion, and abundant humor.

Corey Seymour for being a teacher, a guide, a source of sustenance, amusement, and wisdom for far longer than I deserve.

Lucinda Rosenfeld and John Cassidy for reminding me—over many evenings of spaghetti and meatballs traded for their excellent
company—that I am a pretty good cook.

Meredith Tucker for being a fantastic neighbor, cheerleader, and taster.

Russell Perreault and Reed Maroc for impeccable hospitality and countless incredible meals at their beautiful home in the
Connecticut hills.

Colleagues at
Harper’s Magazine,
especially Ellen Rosenbush, Jennifer Szalai, and Ted Ross—who kindly read the proposal in its early stages and offered editorial
guidance. I was privileged to be in the company of so many smart people for so many years and I am privileged to get to keep
them for friends.

Mark Lane, Dennis Corrado, Joel Warden, Anthony Andreassi, and James Simon at The Brooklyn Oratory for being so keen on a
book I’ll have to go to confession for.

Anne Twomey for designing a book jacket that captured exactly what I wanted when I had no idea what I wanted.

Jamie Raab, Emi Battaglia, Martha Otis, Karen Torres, Elly Weisenberg, Amanda Englander, Harvey-Jane Kowal, Sona Vogel, Brad
Negbaur, and everyone at Grand Central Publishing.

Karolina Sutton, Tina Wexler, and Elizabeth Perrella at ICM.

Kenneth Ardito, Maxwell Ardito, Susanna Beacom, Gillian Blake, Bliss Broyard, Carmen D’Aloia, Larisa DePalma, Jeff Edelson,
Jonathan Elderfield, Marianne Gillow, Mark Haag, Yuki Hirayama, Hannah Houston, Deborah Kwan, Dante Nicola Melucci, Elizabeth
Melucci, Stella Giulia Melucci, Biba Milioto, Deak Nabers, Blake Nelson, Alessandro Pugliese, Giulia Rosina Pugliese, Stanislao
Pugliese, Maria Ricapito, Joia Speciale, Robert Sullivan, Suzanne Sullivan, Jen Tadaki Catanzariti, Marie Ventura, Elena von
Kassel, Angela Voulangas, and Jimmy Wallenstein.