Table for Seven: A Novel

by Whitney Gaskell

  When the pastry was mixed, she turned half of it out onto her special marble pastry slab and rolled it into an irregular circle with a French pin roller. She had to coax the pastry off the marble—it wanted to stick—but finally was able to transfer it whole into the waiting pie dish. She poured the strawberry-rhubarb mixture into the dish, and then began to roll the second round of dough. This time, she cut the pastry into quarter-inch lengths, which she braided lattice-style on top of the pie. Once it was done, and the edges were tucked under and crimped, Audrey brushed a little cream onto the top crust to ensure it would brown nicely.

  Pies were particularly satisfying desserts to prepare, Audrey thought as she popped the pie into the oven. Unlike cakes, which sometimes fell for inexplicable reasons, pies mostly came out the same every time you made them. The only wild card was the fruit. If it was too bland or too ripe, the quality of the pie would suffer.

  As the pie cooked, filling the house with its delicious hot fruit scent, Audrey poured herself a glass of wine and took it into her small living room. She sat cross-legged on the white couch and turned on the television. A few moments later, after scrolling through the four hundred channels and finding nothing to watch, she turned it off.

  What was it going to be like seeing Coop tomorrow? she wondered, and felt a now-familiar shiver that always seemed to pass over her when she thought of him. The last time she had seen him, he’d been naked. Well, not the very last time—not when he’d driven her back to her car—but right before that. He’d held himself over her, absorbing his weight with his arms, his long muscular torso stretched out over her.…

  No, she told herself. No, no, no. I am not going to think about that. If I think about it now, I’ll end up thinking about it tomorrow night when I see him. Then he’ll know what I’m thinking. And what if everyone else senses the tension between us and figures out what happened? It would be nothing short of mortifying.

  Luckily, the phone rang at that moment.

  “Hey, it’s me,” Fran said when Audrey answered.

  “Hi,” Audrey said.

  “Where have you been? I’ve left you a bunch of messages,” Fran said accusingly.

  “I know, I’m sorry. I’ve been busy,” Audrey lied. Well, the being busy part wasn’t a lie—work always kept her busy. But the truth was, she had been avoiding Fran. She didn’t want Fran to find out about her lunch date with Coop, and she was afraid that the whole debacle would somehow come out. Fran would want to know all the details—which Audrey was very much against sharing—and would give her all sorts of unsolicited advice.

  Although that’s just silly, Audrey thought. I’m not sixteen years old. I’m perfectly capable of having a conversation with a friend without talking about a guy.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you and Coop went out on a date!” Fran said.

  Audrey winced. Uh-oh.

  “How did you find out about that?” she asked.

  “How do you think? Coop told me. Although,” Fran added, with what Audrey considered to be unnecessary belligerence, “I was really surprised that I had to hear about it from him instead of from you.”

  Audrey bristled, both at Fran’s tone and implication. Just because she and Fran were friends, and Fran and Coop were friends, that didn’t mean she was obligated to tell Fran every single detail of her relationship with Coop. Not that she had a relationship with Coop, Audrey quickly amended.

  “I didn’t know I had to report in,” Audrey said coolly.

  There was an awkward silence, broken by a long sigh from Fran.

  “I guess I just came across like a total bitch, huh?” Fran asked.

  “You were a bit aggressive,” Audrey agreed.

  “I’m sorry. I guess I’ve been feeling a little hurt that you didn’t feel like you could confide in me,” Fran said.

  Audrey took a sip of wine and considered this. Why hadn’t she wanted to tell Fran? She wasn’t entirely sure.

  “We just had lunch together. It was fine. There weren’t any fireworks,” Audrey lied.

  “That’s too bad. Was it awkward?” Fran said.

  Audrey started to feel guilty for not being more forthcoming. During those bleak, gray days after Ryan died, Fran had been a godsend. She’d accompanied Audrey to the funeral parlor and made the decisions that, in her fog of grief, Audrey had been incapable of making on her own. And then later, after the funeral, when everyone but Audrey had been ready to move on with their lives, Fran had called every morning to make sure Audrey was getting up out of bed, showering, eating. That she was getting on with the minutiae of living her life.

  “Honestly? Coop makes me nervous,” Audrey said, only just realizing at that moment that it was true. “I’m never sure how to act around him.”

  “I know I’m going to sound like a mom when I say this—I can’t help it, I am a mom—but why do you need to act like anything? Just be yourself,” Fran said.

  “That’s just it. When I’m around him, I start feeling unsure of myself.”

  “You do? Really?”

  “Yes, me. Why does that surprise you?”

  “You’re the most self-assured person I know.”

  Audrey laughed. “I am not. Just when it comes to work. In every other area of my life, I’m a mess.”

  “No, you aren’t. Even your lipstick is always perfectly applied,” Fran said. “It’s actually really annoying.”

  “If that’s true, then why, whenever I’m around Coop, do I turn into a pod person?”

  Fran laughed. “A pod person?”

  “Yes. It’s like my body is inhabited by some completely different being. I get prickly and argumentative. And it’s like I suddenly have the hormones of a thirteen-year-old girl,” Audrey said.

  “Oh, really?” Fran said. “I know all too well what thirteen-year-old hormones are like.”

  Audrey flushed and took a quick gulp of her wine.

  “Anyway, the date was a disaster. You were right. Coop and I would be hopeless together,” Audrey said. “But I was thinking, maybe you were also right that it’s time for me to start dating again.”

  “I never get tired of hearing the words you were right,” Fran mused. “I especially like them when they’re followed by and I was wrong. Can you say that?”

  “Anyway,” Audrey continued, “I don’t think it was just Coop. It was me, too. I don’t know how to date anymore, or even how to act around men. I’m out of practice. Actually, I’m not even sure if that’s true. I don’t think I ever knew how to do this.”

  “What are you saying? You want me to set you up with someone you can practice dating with?” Fran asked.

  “Maybe,” Audrey said, considering this, and seeing the genius in the idea. “That way, when I do meet someone I’m really interested in, I’ll be prepared.”

  “But what if you like the man you’re supposed to be practicing on?” Fran asked.

  “I won’t.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because I’m not ready,” Audrey said.

  “You know you sound completely nuts, right?” Fran said.

  “I do?”

  “Yes.”

  “I think it’s a very sensible plan. Practice makes perfect, right? I just need to practice how to date,” Audrey said. “Can you think of anyone you could set me up with?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it. Believe it or not, I don’t know many men who would fit your dateable-but-only-for-practice criteria,” Fran said dryly. “Wait, actually, I can’t believe it, but maybe I do know someone who would be pretty much perfect.”

  “Who’s that?” Audrey asked eagerly.

  “Did I ever introduce you to Kenny? He works with me.”

  “Is he a physical therapist, too?”

  “Yes. He’s a little older than we are, in his fifties, and divorced. He’s very nice, very pleasant, flirty, but not aggressive. The only thing is he’s not super attractive.”

  “That doesn’t matter,” Au
drey said. “This isn’t about attraction. It’s about practice.”

  “So you keep saying. Anyway, consider yourself warned: He’s vertically challenged. And his ears stick out,” Fran said.

  “I won’t wear heels,” Audrey promised. “And I won’t stare at his ears.”

  “They’re not freakishly big. I mean, he’s not Dopey from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.”

  “Good to know,” Audrey said. “Why don’t you bring him tomorrow night?”

  “What? To the dinner party club?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  “Won’t it be weird to have us all hanging around for your first date?”

  “No, I think it would ease the tension. If things don’t go well, we’d both have other people to talk to,” Audrey said.

  “And what about Coop?”

  “What about him?”

  “Won’t it be awkward to have a date with another man right in front of him?” Fran said.

  Audrey felt a twinge of discomfort and wondered if Fran was right. “We just went out the one time. It’s not like we had an ongoing relationship,” she said defensively. “Besides, there’s no harm in asking, right? This guy—what did you say his name is? Kenny?—he might not even be able to come. It is last minute.”

  “Okay,” Fran said, sighing. “I’ll call him. Just …” Fran’s voice trailed off.

  “What?”

  “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “Don’t worry. I do,” Audrey said, with much more confidence than she actually felt. The truth was, she had no idea what she was doing. Or why she was insisting that Fran bring her a date for the dinner party club the next night. She suspected that it all had something to do with seeing Coop again for the first time after sleeping with him. Kenny—short Kenny, who she was now, thanks to Fran, picturing as an older, grayer version of Dopey—was going to be her armor tomorrow night.

  JAIME OPENED HER EYES. The room was unusually bright. Sun streamed in through the edges of the closed plantation shutters.

  What time is it? she wondered, her mind still groggy with sleep. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d woken to a sunlit room. Ava had always been an early riser and rarely slept past five.

  Jaime lifted her head and peered at the clock resting on her bedside table. Eight forty-five.

  That’s impossible, Jaime thought, sitting up. How can it be so late?

  Mark’s side of the bed was empty and as neat as usual. He was an abnormally still sleeper, frequently falling asleep while lying on his back—like a vampire laid out in a coffin—and then staying that way for the whole of the night. In stark contrast, Jaime was constantly restless, turning and shifting and wrestling with her pillows. Her body fought sleep, and she rarely got more than four or five hours even on one of the rare nights when Ava didn’t wake her up every few hours.

  Jaime got up, pulled on her favorite black yoga pants, and headed downstairs, following the wafting aroma of bacon and the sounds of clinking dishware, to find her family. They were in the kitchen, all still wearing their pj’s, seated around the table and eating pancakes. Three faces turned to smile up at her as she entered.

  “Hey, everyone,” she said.

  “Mama,” Ava said, smiling sweetly. Her hair was twisted on top of her head in a tiny pigtail, like Pebbles Flintstone.

  Logan had just stuffed a whole pancake into his mouth and his cheeks were sticking out like a chipmunk’s. “Pancakes,” he said thickly, through his full mouth.

  Jaime suppressed her instinct to tell him not to talk with his mouth full. “I see that,” she said, dropping a kiss on the top of Logan’s head, before turning to smile at Mark.

  Her husband was wearing a navy blue T-shirt and blue plaid pajama pants, and hadn’t yet shaved. A shadow of dark, prickly hair covered his jawline. Mark smiled back at her.

  “I thought you could use the extra sleep,” Mark said.

  “I definitely could. Thank you,” Jaime said. “And you made pancakes. I’m impressed.”

  “Sit down, I’ll get you a plate,” Mark said, standing.

  Jaime sat while Mark set her a place. Ava leaned toward her, and Jaime kissed her sticky face.

  “We’re going to have to hose you off in the backyard,” Jaime teased her daughter, who giggled.

  “Here you go,” Mark said, setting a mug of coffee down in front of Jaime.

  “I could get used to this,” Jaime said. “Sleeping in late, my breakfast made, coffee served to me.”

  “You might want to try my pancakes before you decide to put me in charge of breakfast on a regular basis,” Mark said.

  The pancakes did look misshapen, but Jaime wasn’t about to complain. She happily served herself from the serving platter, adding a strip of bacon.

  “What do you think?” Mark asked after she’d taken a bite.

  The pancakes were floury and undercooked in the middle. “They’re great,” Jaime lied.

  Mark beamed at her, clearly pleased with himself.

  “I thought you could use a break today. I’ve been working late all week, and spending a lot of time at the club with Emily. You’ve been on your own here a lot,” Mark said. “Why don’t you take the morning off. Go do something fun.”

  “Like what?” Jaime asked, confused by this sudden and bizarre transformation of her husband into the perfect man.

  “I don’t know. Go for a walk on the beach. Or get your nails done. Or go to the mall. Do whatever it is you girls like to do,” Mark said.

  “I wouldn’t mind getting a pedicure,” Jaime said. “And Nordstrom is having a sale.”

  “Perfect. A pedicure and shopping. Sounds like your perfect day,” Mark said.

  “Pea-cure!” Ava chirped. She adored having her nails polished, especially in lurid shades of green and blue.

  “Not today, angel,” Mark said, gently but firmly. “Your mama needs some time off.”

  Ava’s lower lips protruded and began to quiver.

  “I’ll put polish on your toenails when I get home,” Jaime promised, heading off tears.

  “Poirple?” Ava asked hopefully.

  “Purple,” Jaime agreed. She turned back to Mark. “Are you sure? I assumed you’d be taking Emily to the club today.”

  “No, it’s fine. Em had a sleepover party last night. I’m sure the girls stayed up all night, and she’ll go back to her mom’s house and crash,” Mark said.

  Jaime remembered how awful those overnight parties were. No one ever slept, riding late night sugar-highs into inevitable squabbles and hurt feelings. And in the morning, everyone’s nerves were raw with exhaustion. She dreaded the day Ava would be old enough for sleepovers.

  “You’re right, Em will probably be too tired to see straight,” Jaime said sympathetically.

  “I told her that if she took a nap this morning and was up to it, I’d take her over to hit some balls later. If you get back in time,” Mark said casually.

  “Sure,” Jaime said, nodding.

  “Great,” Mark said, rubbing her shoulder. “Do you want some more coffee?”

  “No, thanks. I’m going to shower and get going before you change your mind,” Jaime said, swallowing one last, tough bite of pancake and standing.

  “Why would I change my mind?”

  “You just might after you attempt to de-stickify those two,” Jaime said, nodding at their offspring. Ava was rubbing her hands all over her syrup-covered plate and then clapping them together. Logan—who carbo-loaded like a long-distance runner—was still happily stuffing pancakes into his mouth. Mark looked at the children and his expression shifted to one of concern.

  “Too late to back out now,” Jaime said, laughing, and quickly retreated to take a shower and get her morning out started.

  AUDREY LIVED IN A small cottage, set back from the road, with a long porch and a flowering poinciana tree in the front yard. Coop considered pulling in to the driveway, but then decided to park on the street, just in case he needed to make a quick geta
way.

  Coop had given considerable thought to skipping the dinner party altogether. It was going to be awkward seeing Audrey again, and he’d never fully embraced the whole dinner party club concept. It was the sort of thing married couples did when they’d reached the point in their relationship where they were too bored to spend another Saturday night alone together in a restaurant.

  But if he didn’t show up, Audrey would naturally assume he was avoiding her. Why this should bother Coop, he had no idea. Maybe it was just a perverse unwillingness to cede any ground—even the dinner party club—to her.

  Coop steeled himself as he walked up to the front porch and knocked on Audrey’s front door. When the door opened, Coop was relieved to see Fran standing there. A momentary reprieve from having to face Audrey.

  “Hi. Are you the hostess for the evening?” he asked, kissing Fran on the cheek. She kissed him back, although her lips landed just below his left ear.

  “Whoops, sorry about that. Oh, no, I got lipstick on you,” Fran said, looking flustered. She rubbed at the spot with her thumb.

  “You can get lipstick on me anytime you want,” Coop said, grinning at her.

  It was the sort of teasing flirtation he and Fran had always engaged in. He’d pretend to hit on her, Fran would make one of her smart-ass jokes back. It was all perfectly innocent.

  Except that Fran didn’t make a smart-ass remark. Instead, she looked into his eyes and murmured, “Do you really mean that?”

  Coop stared at her, confused and suddenly a little freaked out. Jesus, he thought.

  “Hey, Coop,” Will said, appearing behind Fran, a bottle of beer in one hand.

  “Will! Hey! How are you, buddy?” Coop said, louder and more enthusiastically than he meant to.

  Will looked confused. “Fine. Why are you yelling? And why are you standing on the doorstep?”

  Coop cleared his throat. “No reason. Sorry.” He stepped into the house and held up the bottle of wine he’d brought. “Where’s our hostess?”

  “She’s in the kitchen,” Fran said. She hesitated and exchanged an uneasy look with Will. “But there’s something you should know.…”