The Love Goddess' Cooking School (15 page)

“You delivered at home with Amanda, using a midwife
?”

Lenora glanced at her friends. “Yes, and everything was fine. It’s what I’m going to do for this baby too
.”

“No, Lenora,” I said. “This baby should be born in a hospital
.”

Her sharp blue eyes bored into mine. “Why? What are you saying
?”

I hated this. Hated knowing. Hated knowing so little, but enough to alarm. “I don’t know, Lenora. I only know that it will be a difficult birth and you should deliver in a hospital, not at home
.”

“
So, maybe she’ll need a cesarean section?” Annette asked
.

“
Yes, maybe that is it,” I said, though I had no idea.

“
My sister had a C-section with her youngest,” Jacqueline said. “She was in labor for something like twenty hours and they finally had to do the cesarean to save the baby. She was born perfectly healthy. And at ten pounds, my sister was grateful for the scar. She doesn’t even mind not wearing a bikini anymore
.”

And so the discussion turned to birth stories, both their own and their friends and what they’d heard, and Lenora calmed down. But I felt her eyes on me
.

Something was brushing Holly’s cheek. She opened her eyes to find Antonio’s tail resting against her face. She’d fallen asleep, her grandmother’s diary facedown on the rug. She glanced at the clock: 12:47 a.m. She turned off the lights and settled back under the blanket, wondering what became of Lenora Windemere’s baby, if this was the same child who Francesca Bean had mentioned had died young, but not wanting to know at the same time. She had a feeing it was and wondered
what her grandmother’s connection was. Something she’d “foreseen”? Whatever it was, it was something Lenora had clearly held a thirty-year grudge over.

Just before she fell asleep, she also wondered if the fact that Mia was her apprentice would cause trouble with her new friend, a Windemere. She wouldn’t be surprised if Madeline Windemere, of the “We’re letting you in our exclusive M Club because we like your hair and your name starts with
M
,” was as mean as her mother, Amanda, and her grandmother, Lenora.

She reached for her white satin pouch of stones and clutched it in her hand, hoping it would reveal something in her subconscious as she slept.

Nine

Please, please, please let Daniel Dressler ask me to the Fall Ball,” Mia wished into the mixture of ground beef, egg, and bread crumbs in the bowl on the center island. “Extra please with please on top,” she added, measuring out a teaspoon of salt and tapping it in.

Class number two of Camilla’s Cucinotta’s cooking course was off to a great start, the meatballs and spaghetti to wow Simon’s daughter (he planned to attempt it himself that weekend, when she’d be visiting), almost ready for their pots.

“Even though Madeline Windemere thinks he’s a loser,” Mia whispered in the bowl.

“Why does Madeline Windemere think he’s a loser?” Tamara asked, once again in her meet-men uniform of a pencil skirt, fitted sweater, and knee-high boots. Someone definitely had a date tonight, Holly thought. She added the parmesan cheese and the half teaspoon of pepper.

Mia bit her lip. “She said he thinks he’s all Edward Cullen because he acts so serious and wears cool vests over T-shirts and
carries around a book we’re not even supposed to read for class. But those are three of the reasons I
do
like him so much.”

“Should I be embarrassed that I know who Edward Cullen is?” Simon asked, winking at Mia. He and Juliet were on garlic mincing duty, and the smell in Camilla’s Cucinotta was so delicious that Holly knew the meatballs would be a hit even before they were formed.

“Mmm, this smells so good and it’s raw,” Mia said, stirring in the garlic and watching the basil tumble in the bowl. “Daniel isn’t some freaky weirdo, he’s just a loner type and does his own thing. He doesn’t care what anyone thinks about him. Isn’t that awesome?”

“It is awesome,” Holly said. “I’m beginning to see why you like this boy so much.”

“He’s so cute too,” Mia said. “Today at school I almost crashed into the water fountain because I was staring at him. “
That
would have been embarrassing.”

Tamara nodded. “I had a date last night, and the guy did just that while checking out another woman with huge boobs. Well, he didn’t crash into the water fountain, but into the wall on the way to the men’s room.”

“I assume there’ll be no second date?” Simon asked.

“Definitely not. And anyway, I don’t have time for second dates because I have a first date set up every night this week. I’ve decided to take back charge of my own love life. Not because my family makes me feel pressured and like a troll for being single—but because
I
want to find Mr. Right. And fine, there’s no way I’m showing up single to my younger sister’s
wedding and having my relatives say, ‘Maybe if you straightened your hair or stopped being opinionated, your prince would come too.’” She pulled her iPhone out of her bag and touched the little screen. “Tonight, Mark, nine p.m., the bar at 555 in Portland. Tomorrow night, eight p.m., wine tasting at Gem’s wine bar. It goes on and on all week.”

“Where are you getting all these dates?” Holly asked. “Fix-ups?”

“Ugh, no way,” Tamara said. “Been there, done that. I’m engineering them myself online. At least I can decide—and usually wrongly—that I might be attracted to someone or have something in common with someone. My last blind date, my best friend Amy fixed me up with her boring accountant for two reasons only: he’s single and he makes a lot of money.”

“Why would your best friend fix you up with someone boring?” Mia asked. “Just because he has money?”

“I guess she’s just trying to help, since he’s a single guy and she’s happily married and wants me to find what she has.”

Mia rolled a meatball, squashing her first attempt but scoring on her second. “Well, my maybe best friend, Madeline Windemere, has a cute, popular boyfriend and thinks I should like his friend, Seamus, but I can’t stand him. He’s always bragging about how great he is and I’ve heard him say really mean things about girls in our school. I hate that Madeline thinks the guy I’m madly crushing on is a loser. I can’t even talk about him with her because she’ll just roll her eyes and say ‘ew.’”

“Don’t tell anyone I said this,” Tamara mock-whispered to Madeline, “But the Windemeres don’t get to decide who’s a
loser and who’s not.”

“That’s right,” Simon said. “My ex was a Windemere type and I think she’s turning my daughter into one. Apparently I was right about why she doesn’t want to stay over for our weekend. She told her mother that the room I made for her is all wrong and makes her feel like she’s sleeping in a hotel, even though it’s her dad’s apartment. I bought a pink blanket and put up a poster of Dora the Explorer, so I don’t know what else to do.”

“Dora’s for three-year-olds,” Juliet said, pulling her long cardigan tighter around her slight figure.

Once again, everyone was so surprised that Juliet had actually spoken that they all stopped what they were doing and stared at her.

“My daughter loved Boots, Dora’s monkey best friend.” Juliet burst into tears, her hands covering her face, and just stood there and cried.

Oh, no,
Holly thought.
No, no no.

“Why are you crying over that?” Mia asked, rolling another meatball, her gaze darting to Holly’s.

Juliet took a deep breath. “Do you know what I wish?” she said, taking the plate of meatballs from the island and carefully placing them one by one in the pan on the stove, the hot oil pinging up with each drop. “I wish my daughter didn’t die.” Holly rushed over and took the plate of meatballs just as Juliet burst into tears again. She didn’t run from the room; she just stood there by the stove, sobbing. “But I can wish all I want and it’ll never change.”

“Oh, Juliet, I am so, so sorry,” Tamara said, taking her hand and rubbing it. Simon moved to the other side and took her other hand.

Juliet sucked in a breath. “I wish I could go home and find her in her room, playing with her stuffed Boots and singing the ABC song. I wish she was still here.”

Mia glanced at Holly, then said, “Um, Juliet, is it okay if I ask how she died?”

Juliet pulled her sweater tighter against her and tucked her chin to her chest. “Something awful called bacterial meningitis. One day she was very sick and her little body couldn’t fight it. She was only three.”

Simon rushed over to the rolltop desk and grabbed a box of tissues and handed it to Juliet, who clutched it against her.

“That’s so, so sad,” Mia said, biting her lip. “I’m really sorry.”

“We’re all sorry,” Holly said, taking Juliet’s hand. “Would you like a cup of tea?” she added, as though that could fix anything.

Juliet stared out the window for a moment, at the huge oak with the trio of bird feeders. “I’d like a bottle of vodka. But I’ll settle for a glass of red wine, if you have.”

Holly nodded and reached into the cabinet where her grandmother kept her bottles of wine. She chose a red and opened it, pouring a glass for the adults and some soda for Mia.“Why don’t we go into the living room and just sit and talk,” Holly whispered to Juliet, her heart breaking for her friend. Holly knew how much the loss of a loved one could hurt. But she
couldn’t imagine the depth of the pain Juliet was in.

Simon nodded. “Yeah, we can finish up and call you in when it’s time to try our masterpieces.”

Juliet shook her head. “That’s all right. I want to be here. Right here in this kitchen. I’m glad I finally said it aloud.”

“What was her name?” Mia asked.

Juliet took a breath, her lips trembling. “Evie.”

“Evie,” Mia repeated. “That’s pretty.”

Juliet reached out and squeezed Mia’s hand, then took a sip of her wine. “So, what’s the next step?” she said, glancing at the spaghetti boiling on the stove. At that moment the timer went off, and Juliet laughed. “Well, who’s on strainer duty?”

Tamara placed a large silver colander in the sink, then came over with two oven mitts to lift the heavy pot. Holly, Juliet, Simon, and Mia watched the steam rise before Tamara brought the spaghetti over to the center island and transferred it into a large bowl.

“I propose a toast,” Juliet said, raising her glass of wine. “To this class. To cooking. To talking. To wishing and remembering, even when it’s very, very painful.”

Holly wanted to hug Juliet, but she sensed her old friend needed a bit of space, needed to move from the subject of her dear daughter, at least publicly.

All raised their glasses in the air.

“Can I try the wine?” Mia asked.

“I don’t think your dad would appreciate my giving an alcoholic beverage to his tweenage daughter,” Holly said.

Twice that past week, Liam had come in for pasta and sauce.
Alone. No pink woman. He’d been friendly, but nothing more, didn’t bring up their hour-long adventure of looking for Mia. Holly had thought there had been something in that final gesture of his outside her house, something in the way he held up his hand in an
okay, you’re safe, I can go now
wave, but reading into a man’s wave was ridiculous.

“Speaking of dads,” Juliet said after a bracing sip of wine, “Simon, I think eight-year-olds are into Hannah Montana. A girlfriend of mine has a nine-year-old and she’s nuts about Hannah Montana.”

Mia nodded. “I was too. I still am, well, not so much Hannah Montana, but I like Miley Cyrus.”

Simon let the garlic press drop on the counter. “I just don’t know what I’m doing. I get the feeling that even if I go buy a Hannah Montana poster and hang it up, she’ll walk in and look at it and then just sit on the bed and stare at the floor. It’s not the room, you know? But it kind of is. I think if I could just get that right,
really
right, she’d feel more comfortable or want to be in there and then maybe she’d open up a little. She hates me since the split, and I’m not the one who left. I think my wife—my almost ex-wife, I should say—wants me to fail at this, wants Cass to hate me.”

“That’s sad,” Juliet said. “And wrong.”

“We’ll help,” Tamara said. “One thing we all are is girls. I’m an interior decorator. Show us your space, and then we’ll descend on Target and whip you up a girly paradise bedroom on a budget.”

“Really?” he said, clearly touched. “I do need help.”

“Then you might want to never wear that shirt again,” Mia said, eyeing his loud, plaid button-down. “I mean, my
eyes.
”

He laughed, and even Juliet smiled. And just like that, they had plans as a group to meet at Simon’s apartment the next night at six p.m., as though they were … friends. Holly liked that. A lot.

When Holly arrived at the Gellers’ the next night to pick up Mia, her eyes were almost blinded by the shiny white Prius, with a Maine license plate reading
JODIE
, parked next to Liam’s navy-blue SUV. Mia couldn’t be happy about providing her father and the bobblehead—
Jodie,
Holly corrected herself—privacy for a couple of hours by having plans. And Holly had to admit her own heart had sunk at the sight of the name with its extra
e.
Everything about Jodie was extra.

Holly took a deep breath and rang the bell, three baroque chimes, and Liam answered the door, looking gorgeous in a dark green long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans. “Hey, Holly,” he said. “Mia, it’s time for your field trip,” he called toward the stairs. He smiled at Holly, and for a moment all thought went out of her head except for an urge to kiss him. Full on the lips.

Until she heard a certain girly voice. “Now Mia, honey, are you sure you don’t want me to write down my suggestions? Pink, pink, and more pink. Glitter too. My eight-year-old niece has a princess bedroom that’s even been photographed for a local magazine, and I helped decorate it.”

At the sight of Jodie coming around the corner with Mia,
Holly felt a little gray cloud pass overhead.

Mia glanced at Holly and surreptitiously rolled her eyes. “Uh, thanks, but Simon said his daughter isn’t really princessy. She’s—Holly, what’s that word?”