How to Change a Life

by Stacey Ballis

  The past few weeks have been both wonderful and confusing. Wonderful because Shawn and I have fallen into a lovely and comfortable routine. Most weekday evenings he will come over and we’ll either make dinner together, order in, or go out for something easy. We’re discovering our favorite casual places, the places every couple needs as a go-to. Opart for Thai food, Buona Terra for Italian, Mythos for Greek, Hachi’s Kitchen for sushi. We’ll eat and hang out; we’ve been discovering that our tastes in television are pretty similar, and have been introducing each other to our favorites. He’s got me hooked on some of the darker, more obscure British procedurals like Happy Valley and Broadchurch, and I’ve turned him into a true fan of The Great British Baking Show. We’ve been bingeing on alternate nights, cuddled up close on the couch with a big bowl of popcorn, Simca snuggled in her new favorite place, next to Shawn with her head in his lap. I think she is as in love with him as I am.

  He’s taken to going home most weeknights, unless we really get into some hot and heavy bedroom play, just because it’s easier for early mornings. But he always stays over on Tuesday nights so that we can get up and do the Wednesday pool class at East Bank together. On weekends we alternate planning dates and events. I’m still knocking social activities off my list, so we have gone to a trivia night, a special reception and showing of Gone with the Wind at the Studio Xfinity space, and a Friday night art opening at the Museum of Contemporary Art. We’ve had dinner with Teresa and Gio, my mom and Claire, and two couples that are friends of his, one of the other doctors in his practice and her husband, and an old college buddy and his wife. Both women pulled me aside to tell me that they are so thrilled for us and that they have never seen Shawn happier, so that made me all warm and fuzzy. And we are talking about planning our first joint dinner party, which should be fun—except I want to invite Teresa and Gio, and that would mean leaving out Lynne, which feels crappy, especially because not inviting Lynne would be something of a relief.

  Everything couldn’t be better or easier or more fun, and I’m less and less nervous about meeting his parents in a couple of weeks. But the other day Marcy brought something up that afterward kept bugging me. We were having brunch on Sunday, just the two of us to catch up, and she asked about the Shawn and Lynne thing.

  “Here’s the thing I can’t stop thinking about,” she said over scrambled eggs with chorizo and cheddar at Toast. “I know that Lynne was going by Linda in California, so you wouldn’t have known who he was talking about when he mentioned her. But what about her mentioning you to him? Eloise is not a common name, and he knew she was originally from Chicago. You would have thought that when he met you and heard your name, he might have asked if you by chance knew a Linda? Chicago is a small town, and Chicagoans love nothing more than connecting the dots. Why didn’t it ever occur to him that you might be the Eloise his ex had told him about?”

  I didn’t have an answer, and it nagged at my brain. I hadn’t ever thought about it before, but it did seem odd. I’m almost forty, and I’ve literally never met another Eloise. It did seem strange that he could be married to her and never question if the Eloise he met in Chicago might be the Eloise he had heard about from his ex-wife. After a couple of days, I decided to be an adult, and just ask him.

  “She never mentioned you,” he responded. “Trust me, if I had known she had a best friend named Eloise and met you, I would have asked if you knew her.”

  “Never mentioned me? What about Teresa?”

  “Nope. She never really talked much about her Chicago life at all. I knew she grew up in Hyde Park, but that was about it. I’m five years older than you guys, so it wasn’t like we would have had any peers in common; I was already in college when you started high school. To be honest, she was always very much about the present, who she knew and was spending time with in the moment, and the past was just not a part of her life.”

  Never mentioned me or Teresa. I couldn’t tell if I was more relieved that he hadn’t had a reason to suspect the connection, or more hurt that our years of friendship hadn’t warranted so much as a mention to the most important person in her life. When I called Marcy, she was perplexed.

  “Wow. That is weird, no?”

  Despite my wounded pride, I couldn’t seem to help myself; I was compelled to defend Lynne. “Well, by the time she met Shawn, it wasn’t like we were in touch. I wasn’t exactly going to be invited to the wedding. It’s not like she was obligated to reveal every friend she ever had in high school.”

  “Maybe. But I still think it is a little strange. I knew you for two days before you told me about Teresa and Lynne, your best buddies from high school. Just like you knew about Jackson and Tracy and Lily from my high school days. Casual mentions, but mentions nonetheless. Look at how you and Teresa have picked it back up, even though you are rediscovering each other as grown-ups—there is still that energy between you, that dynamic that says that you are super special to each other, with long and deep history.”

  “And I don’t have that with Lynne?” This was more of a statement than a question, but my voice went up at the end anyway.

  “Well, do you? Tell me this: Since she came back into your life, have you found her to be added value? Is she bringing anything into your world that is good or important?”

  I thought about this. “The bet.”

  “The bet?”

  “Look, I’m a formerly competitive person who lost her competitive edge over the years. I was perfectly contented in my life as it was, but that doesn’t mean that there weren’t things I wanted to be different. I was just paralyzed by inertia. So yes, the bet, the stupid bet, it got me off my ass, back into the world. Forced me to be open to meeting Shawn. And the bet would never have happened if she hadn’t said so. When we were in high school, if Lynne didn’t want us to do something, we didn’t do it. She could shut down an idea in a snap. So yes, I have to say, whatever else she is or isn’t, she could have said that the bet was just a dumb idea, Teresa and I wouldn’t have pushed back, and we all wouldn’t have agreed to do it—and look at how different and better my life is now!”

  I didn’t even realize that I felt this way, but in my gut I know it’s true. We always went to the movies and concerts Lynne wanted to see, hit the parties she wanted to go to, and if either Teresa or I had an idea for something to do, if she thought it was stupid, we’d just let it go. I was always most comfortable with a guiding hand. I was a coach’s athlete: tell me what to do and when and how and I would do it, no pushback, no questions asked. I was a good kid at home: if Mom and Dad set a rule, I was pretty good about following it. My professors in culinary school loved me: I followed all their teachings to the letter, turned out the food they wanted just as they wanted; I was never the hotshot in the back of the room altering recipes or tweaking techniques.

  “I’ll give her that, grudgingly. But I still think that she is sometimes awful to you, in ways that she doesn’t appear to be awful to Teresa, and there is nothing wrong with saying that whatever she was to you back in the day is not something she can or should be to you now.”

  I didn’t have an argument for that.

  I’m pulling the chickens out of the oven to rest when the full cadre of Farbers come flying into the house.

  “HE DID IT!” Geneva screams in her epic voice. “Ian is going to be a huge star on TV!”

  Ian looks at me with a sheepish grin on his face. “They want me,” he says, and then throws himself into my arms. I sweep him up into the air, heavy as he is.

  “I’m so proud of you, bud, really, really proud. I knew you could do it.”

  “He was a champ,” Brad says, beaming with pride. “You should have seen him, cool as a cucumber.”

  “He did you really proud, El,” Shelby says, swatting at Robbie’s hand as he reaches to open the cookie jar.

  “He did himself proud, I’m just the coach,” I say, so happy for him.

  “Ye
ah, he was pretty good,” Robbie says.

  “I was super impressed, and my friends are going to freak,” Darcy says. “We all got to give interviews and stuff, so we might be on TV too!”

  “It was so cool,” Ian says. “First they did all these interviews with us and our families, and then we did a technical challenge and it was making pasta from scratch!”

  “Right in your wheelhouse!” I say.

  “You have to call Teresa and tell her—I did it all the way she taught me, and Roberto Fiorini told me it was just like his grandmother’s!” Roberto is one of the judges, a third-generation New York Italian chef, who is known for his gruff exterior and pulling no punches with the kids. So that is a huge compliment.

  “That is amazing, Ian, really, he is a hard one to please!” I say.

  “I know, right? And then they had us do a team prep challenge, and I got to work with Audrey and we killed it. Had to prep artichokes, supreme oranges, separate eggs, and fillet a fish! Beat the other teams by three whole minutes! Audrey has some serious skills, and she knew she could do the fish and oranges and I did the artichokes and eggs. She is so cool. And she made it through too! We said we have to go all the way to the finale together.”

  I love how supportive he is of his new friend. “That would be amazing. I’m glad she made it through.”

  “Yeah, it was really fun.”

  “Okay, team, let’s get it together. Eloise made a great dinner for us and it’s getting cold.” Brad hustles the gaggle of kids to the front hall to get out of outerwear.

  “Really, Eloise, thank you so much for all you did for him. You are a big part of why he made it.”

  “It’s all his hard work. But I’m really pumped for him.” I turn on the steamer to get the asparagus done, then pull the potatoes out of the oven and start to transfer them to a serving platter.

  “The show films in New York over the month of July. How would you feel about being his chaperone?”

  My hand stops in midair. “What?”

  “Well, you know that summer is all hands on deck around here . . . Robbie has sports camp and Darcy has School of Rock camp, and Geneva has day camp, but only half days. Ian needs an adult to be there with him for the duration, and frankly, I think Ian would be more comfortable with you, for quality time with his coach. If you can’t, or don’t want to, we get it and of course we will figure it out, but to be honest, after seeing how important it was for him to have you go with him to the audition instead of one of us? He would be relieved to have you there with him.”

  “That is so sweet.” My head is reeling. New York for a month? On the one hand, what a wonderful opportunity, so many things to do and see and places that have been on my list to eat at for years that I’ve never gotten to. On the other hand, a month is a long time to be gone. What would Shawn say? What about Simca? What about Lawrence?

  Shelby seems to read my mind. “Talk to Shawn. We would be delighted to fly him out to be with you for the weekends. We’ve got plenty of time, just think about it.”

  “Will do.”

  “And, Eloise? If you think it would be too much of a hardship to be gone, we get it, there are backup plans we can pursue. Truly, don’t think you can’t say no.”

  And while six months ago I would never have considered putting myself or my life or my needs first, today I know that if no is the best answer, then that is the answer I will give. “Don’t worry. If it isn’t doable for me, then I will be honest about that.”

  “Great. Now get out of here. I know you have evening plans that are much more interesting. We’ll clean up.”

  I almost say no, but then stop myself. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Apparently this old dog is learning new tricks all the time.

  • • •

  Despite the spring chill in the air, I decide to walk over to my mom’s house for dinner. Shawn is meeting me there later. He has a late surgery, but says he isn’t going to miss an opportunity to get good mom and aunt gold-star points, so I figured no need for us to have two cars there. By the time I let myself in, my face is frozen and my ears are tingling. March in Chicago is always deceptive; after the below-zero days of winter, it gets up into the forties and we all lose our minds and start to think it isn’t really cold anymore.

  “Goodness!” my mom says, kissing my icy cheek. “Did you walk over?”

  “Yeah. It’s chillier than I thought.”

  “Well, come in and warm up. We have to celebrate Ian’s victory and his intrepid coach!”

  Aunt Claire kisses me and hands me a Manhattan, the perfect warming cocktail, and I sit with her at the kitchen table and fill them in on Ian’s day while watching my mom work on dinner. She is a good, solid home cook, nothing fancy, nothing innovative, just super normal, and the tiniest bit dated.

  “Whatcha making?” I ask, sipping the drink, letting the smooth bourbon work its magic.

  “Chicken Marbella,” my mom says, and I stifle a chuckle. The ubiquitous 1980s dinner party favorite from The Silver Palate Cookbook is as old-school as it gets. Even I have to admit, it has its nostalgic charms. The savory chicken, punctuated with briny capers, salty olives, and sweet prunes, is one of those dishes that might not be ripe for a comeback, but it doesn’t disappoint. It was always the recipe my mom pulled out when she wanted to do something impressive or celebratory, and it means the world to me that she is making it for Shawn.

  “Yum. Haven’t had that in a while.”

  “Well, I brought some to Glenn, and I had forgotten how delicious it is, so I thought Shawn would like it.”

  “When did you go to Glenn’s?”

  “Last week. I try and bring him dinner at least once a week; the man eats like a deranged college kid. You’ve seen his fridge—all cold cuts—and his pantry is full of cereal and canned soup and cookies.”

  “That is so nice of you.”

  “Well, it’s only fair,” Aunt Claire says. “After all, he takes you to dinner every time he comes to work at the after-school program with you.”

  I had no idea my mom and Glenn were spending so much time together, but it is nice. I assume the two of them have a lot to commiserate about, and it makes me happy that they are both getting out a bit. “That is so nice, Mom.”

  “He’s a good man, and it is a sad time. No need for him to go through that alone. I had Claire to prop me up, and you and Helene. Seems like the right thing to do.”

  “Whatever the reason, it is very lovely.”

  “He wants to meet Shawn. If the two of you don’t have other plans, maybe the four of us can meet up after we are done at the center one day next week? Grab burgers at the Orbit Room?”

  Aunt Claire clears her throat loudly. My mom laughs.

  “Sorry, the five of us.”

  “Thank you,” says Claire, winking at me and plucking the cherry out of her glass. She pops it in her mouth with a grin.

  “We can ask Shawn when he gets here.”

  My mom opens the oven and bastes the chicken, the sweet-and-sour scent wafting into the room. I notice the second pan in the oven and realize she has made her famous herb and onion stuffing, the perfect thing to soak up the sauce. She’s really gone all out and it makes my heart swell with love.

  “How is everything else going? The girls?” Aunt Claire asks.

  I think about this for a minute and then tell them about Marcy’s concern and my discovery about Lynne not ever mentioning us to Shawn when they were together, and my struggle with how I feel about her, how much I credit her with my recent growth, and my disappointment that it has been so difficult to really reconnect.

  “That seems odd. Why do you think she was so secretive?” Mom asks.

  “I dunno, to be honest. I mean, she changed her name, she stopped talking about her past. I have no idea what would have made her feel like she had to do that.”

  “Reinvent
ion is an exciting thing,” Claire says. “Wiping slates clean, becoming the person you always imagined yourself to be. If you’re all the way across the country, not having to be face-to-face with your past on a day-to-day basis, it would be a little easy to fully commit to that new reality.”

  “I guess, but why? I mean, it isn’t like she had some awful childhood to escape.”

  “Doesn’t have to be escaping something bad, it can just be embracing something new,” Claire says.

  “Seems weird to me,” I say.

  “Me too. And frankly hurtful,” my mom says. “As close as you three were, the years you spent together, you were like sisters. To erase that? As if it never happened? That feels cruel to me.”

  “It stung a bit,” I say. “The whole thing is making me question whether it is worth it to even maintain the friendship.”

  “Oh, it’s worth it,” Claire says.

  “I don’t know, Claire. You know I like to see the best in people, but look at how Lynne has behaved. She’s not really being a good friend,” my mom says, ever my defender.

  “I disagree,” Claire says. “I think it is important that you keep her in your life, that you figure out what place she has.”

  “Why? I mean, I completely agree about Teresa—it has been so terrific to have her back in my life, easy and fun and, to quote Marcy, added value. But Lynne? She’s been prickly and complicated since the beginning, and now, with the Shawn connection, and the fact that is it becoming completely obvious that she doesn’t really consider our history together to be terribly important, why bother? I mean, I have to be honest, if I met her today at a party or something, I wouldn’t choose to become her friend. So why should I keep putting in the effort just because we have some history?”

  “Because we live in a disposable society,” Claire says. “We lead busy lives and it is too easy to cut out people who challenge us or who are complicated personalities. I agree, if you met her today she maybe wouldn’t be who you would choose. But you didn’t meet her today, you met her twenty-five years ago, and for those years, she was one of the most important people in your life. Like it or not, she is a big part of who you are, of who you have become, and I think it is important for you to figure out how to keep her in your life in a meaningful way, despite the parts of her that are difficult. There are so few people who know us from those years, who remember who we were, who were a part of our becoming. She doesn’t have to be your best friend or the first person you call, but I hope you’ll really think before you discard her altogether. I believe that in the long run, you will be better off for having her in your life.”