“Yeah, and you get a bonus day off, like, five months a year!”
I hadn’t thought about that. “I guess so.”
“Shouldn’t you be a bit happier? If I got extra time off, I’d be over the moon!”
“Look, Lawrence is half a day at most, and not particularly complicated at that.”
“Lucky girl. I’m just jealous. With the café opening next month, we are slammed.”
“I bet.”
“How’s your stuff going?”
I’m too embarrassed to confess about being stymied about the cookbook proposal. “All good.”
My phone beeps. Saved by the bell. “Hey, Marce, that’s another call, can I get back in a bit?”
“Sure! Later.”
I click over. “Hello?”
“Hey there!” It’s Lynne. Which is weird. She never calls, she texts.
“Everything okay?”
“Better than okay. I’m headed to the West Coast for the weekend with Gabriel.”
Lynne’s matchmaker date has become something of a whirlwind romance. I’m trying, in the spirit of our new understanding, to be excited for her. But the conversations feel strange to me. For someone who is normally calculated and quick to find a small flaw that renders something dead in the water, Lynne seems to have thrown herself into this new relationship in a way that borders on manic. On the one hand, I certainly know how amazing it is to meet someone and suddenly want to spend all your time with him. On the other, this feels strange. Especially since she continues to rattle off his fine qualities with focus on who he knows and what he has instead of much about who he is. How he took her to Alinea, to a box at the opera, on a helicopter ride over the city. I just can’t seem to help it, the feeling that she likes the idea of Gabriel possibly even more than she likes Gabriel himself. I’m hoping that she’ll want to introduce us sooner rather than later, so that the reality of him in person will give me a sense of the human qualities he has that have Lynne so jazzed.
“That’s great, Lynne. Should be fun. Are you doing something romantic?”
“Oh, yes, there is a party at Jon Favreau’s house on Friday night, so that should be wall-to-wall celebrities. And then a charity gala for the Guggenheim Saturday night, full red carpet. Angelique is dressing me for both events, and Gabriel asked a buddy of his at Harry Winston to sparkle me up!”
Sigh. “Wow. Fancy. That sounds like fun. Will you get any time to relax?”
“Well, not a ton, but he does want to take me out on his sailboat for a little while on Saturday.”
Of course he does. “Very jet-set. Will you get to see any of your friends while you’re there?” Lynne always talks about her main pals being back in L.A.
“Not this trip, but hopefully, if things continue to go well with Gabriel, I’ll be back there more regularly.”
It seems weird to me that she wouldn’t even try to sneak in a coffee or brunch or something with the ladies she calls her Westies, as in, West Coast besties. But who am I to judge her about that? I moved back to the States permanently and never reached out to Lynne and Teresa, so I can’t really fault her for a sneaky weekend.
“It sounds just great, Lynne, can’t wait to hear all about it.”
“Thanks.” She pauses, and then very deliberately asks, “How’s Shawn?”
“He’s good, thanks for asking.”
“Well, you survived Easter at Jeannie’s. I hear that is quite the event.”
“Didn’t you ever go?”
“I never did. Spring was always just too busy for me to travel—work is insane that time of year. But I’ve heard the stories. Is it true about Uncle Foster?”
“A thousand percent.”
“I don’t know why, but I sort of appreciate that. I always wondered if he exaggerated the details in an effort to pique my curiosity enough that I would have to see it for myself.”
All I can think is that he was probably just trying to share his family with her, to encourage her to accompany him so that she could be completely connected. I think about the day we had, the amazing food, the heartfelt grace, the embracing and ballbusting, the funny family stories, the enthusiastic dancing. Lynne missed out on so much. But a part of me is grateful. Because I don’t have to be compared to her with his family, the slate is clean. Mostly I feel bad for her. “Well, it’s all true, and they are a great family.”
“I bet. I do have an awkward thing to ask you, though. A favor.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, Gabriel is coming back in a couple of weeks and wants to meet you and Teresa. Have dinner.”
“Of course. I look forward to meeting him.”
“Just one hitch. Teresa is going to be bringing Gio—I didn’t want Gabriel to feel like it was the tribunal or anything, and this way he’d have another guy there. But . . .”
Crap. Here it comes.
“But would you be horribly offended if I asked you not to bring Shawn, at least not to this one? They’ll meet at the party, obviously, but that seems an easier thing, with all the other people there. But an intimate dinner with my ex is just, well, eventually, maybe, I hope, but not for a first meeting, not so early in the relationship, you know? Do you understand?”
As much as I think personally that it would be easier on all of us—maybe even better—to just pull off the Band-Aid and get it over with, for the two of them to meet small and quiet, to actually get to know each other a bit, instead of exchanging some small talk at a big event, I can’t fault her. She’s trying, I can see that. She insisted I invite Shawn’s folks to the party, and she has been good about asking me about how things are going and making him a more open topic of conversation, so if she needs this, then I owe her that. “Of course. I understand and I’m sure Shawn will as well.”
“Thank you for that. Really, El, I totally appreciate it.”
“No problem.” To get off the subject I tell her about Lawrence and his new snowbirding life change.
“That is fantastic. Are you going to bring in another client?”
“I doubt it. After all, he’ll still be here over half the year.”
“Yeah, for the first year. I guarantee you, it starts like that and then quickly becomes most of the year. They get excited about the new place and the new people, and then pretty soon they are just here from May through August, and then it doesn’t make financial sense to keep a permanent place here when they’re gone eight months a year, and then it’s bye-bye.”
It’s sad to imagine, but it rings true. A lot of Mom and Aunt Claire’s friends are now spending the majority of their time in Florida and Arizona; they’ve sold their Chicago places and just stay with their kids and friends when they come visit.
“Well, when that happens, I’ll figure it out. But there’s no rush, he hasn’t even closed yet!”
“I’m just saying, you should keep your ear to the ground, keep your options open, right?”
“Sure, I guess.”
“Okay, gotta go. I’ll text you from Cali.”
“Sounds good. Have a really great time, Lynne.”
“You know it!”
I hang up just as my phone rings again. I’m terribly popular today. “Hello?”
“Dinner at Jon Favreau’s house!!!” Teresa screams in my ear.
“I know, T, it’s pretty cool.”
“Did you see Chef? That man can cook.”
I laugh. Chef is a guilty-pleasure movie—I’ve seen it a dozen times and it never gets old. Probably because it is one of those happy food movies that seems to understand how we really think. Plus, he did all his own cooking, and the man has legit knife skills. I fully appreciate that kind of commitment. “Of course I have. I own it on DVD.”
“Lucky girl. I hope she gets lots of pictures.”
“I’m sure there will be plenty of documentation.”
>
“Guess what?”
“What?”
“I took my girlfriends from church to that Ethiopian place you recommended.”
“Demera? How was it?”
“Amazing! I ordered all the stuff you said to, and it was delicious. All the girls were so impressed, and eating with our hands was strangely fun. I really like that injera bread; it was more sour than I thought it would be at first, but kind of addictive.”
“That is really cool, T, I’m proud of you.”
“What else is going on with you?”
I fill her in on Lawrence’s news.
“That is so great! Good for him. Ooh! When he is out of town, we should use your free time to hang out! Go explore more food places, and cook together, maybe make some dinners together for all of us.”
I laugh. “Sure, Teresa, that sounds fun.”
She fills me in on Gio and the boys. And then pauses. “Did Lynne talk to you about meeting her new guy?”
“She did.”
“Are you okay with it?”
“Yeah, I get it. I’d probably do it differently, but let’s be honest, what don’t Lynne and I do differently?”
“That is true. But I’m glad you’re cool about it.”
“It’s a first meeting. And they’ll have a chance to connect at the party. If it becomes a thing after that, then we’ll have to figure it out, but for this one time, I’m going to go with the flow.”
I hear a crash in the background. “Crap. My beasts are up to something. I’ll talk to you later.”
I hang up and head over to the counter to pack up the blondies in a Rubbermaid tub, leaving a couple behind for Shawn and me for later. I’ll take the rest to the Farbers tomorrow. I think Brad especially is going to love them; he’s much less of a chocolate guy than the rest of his family.
While I’m layering them between waxed paper, I think about the three of us, and everyone’s reaction to Lawrence’s news as it relates to me and my life. Lynne immediately saw career improvement potential. Teresa immediately saw an opportunity for more quality time with friends. And me? I didn’t really see anything much at all. It makes me wonder. The whole point of the bet was to shake us up, to light some fires, and it has worked in a lot of ways. But can you really teach an old dog that many new tricks? It’s strange—when I realized that I would have some extra time on my hands, I didn’t think that I could take more art classes or meet new people or have more time for exercise. I certainly didn’t think that it would give me time to work on cookbook stuff. I didn’t imagine anything like what either Lynne or Teresa imagined. Deep down, now that I have a chance to think about it, I wonder how I will handle it when it actually comes. And while I’m not making any real plans until it happens, a part of me hopes that I figure out how to use it in some way that embraces the person that I’m trying to be, even though I clearly still have a ways to go.
Twenty-three
SHAWN IS THE BEST!” Geneva yells, arms in the air, head thrown back. She’s wearing a Cubs sweatshirt with the logo in pink sparkles and has chocolate all over her face.
“Yeah, thanks, Shawn, that was awesome,” Ian says.
“Totally cool,” Darcy says sheepishly.
“Rock star,” Robbie says, reaching up for a high five, unable to actually connect with Shawn’s hand until he lowers it halfway with a wink.
“Shawn, you’ve ruined my kids,” Brad says, grinning. Shawn, having recently patched up an expensive rookie’s ACL, took all of us to the game in a skybox, complete with being able to go onto the field after batting practice to meet and get signatures from the players, many of whom were on the World Series Championship team in 2016. The highlight for the kids was getting to play round-robin catch with Jake Arrieta, and Joe Maddon coming over to coach them up while they did it. Ian had made a huge batch of homemade granola bars, packed with all sorts of high-protein ingredients, that he was able to take into the dugout, and the guys made them disappear in short order, all of them praising his skill and saying that if they won today, they would call them Ian’s Secret Weapon Bars and he’d have to make more of them for tough games. He was beaming, and told them all about getting onto the show, and they said they would be rooting for him and watching the show for sure.
“Yeah, thanks a lot, buddy, how do parents top this?” Shelby beams at him.
“It was my pleasure, nothing better than a beautiful day at Wrigley, complete with a win! But yeah, you guys are screwed, because I’m going to do this to them for the Bulls, Bears, and Blackhawks later this season.”
“WE LOVE SHAWN!” Geneva screams, hopped up on sugar and her own brand of almost-five-year-old mania. She spent at least four innings sitting in Shawn’s lap and having serious conversations with him about anything and everything. Watching him with the kids melted my heart. He’s a natural with all of them. I heard him talking to Robbie about colleges and telling Darcy about being a percussionist in the band in elementary school and how sad he was that he had to choose between football and music in high school. He confessed to her that, while he was really great at football, he was an enthusiastic but terrible drummer.
“I love you guys too. You made it a really fun day, so thanks for coming. Eloise and I would have been very lonely in that big box by ourselves.”
“Well, we’re always here for you,” Ian says seriously, making us all laugh.
Geneva gets a very serious look on her face and waves Shawn down to her to whisper in his ear. He listens intently, and then gets a lovely smile on his face. “If it’s okay with your folks, it’s okay with me,” he says seriously, and when he stands back up, I can see that his eyes are bright and shiny.
“MOM! CAN WE CALL HIM UNCLE SHAWN? HE’S SO MUCH BETTER THAN UNCLE GEORGE!” George is an old college buddy of Brad’s, and something of a buffoon, the kind of guy who has no idea how to talk to kids and is always either talking down to them or boring them to death.
Shelby laughs, and smiles warmly at Shawn. “If he doesn’t mind, we certainly don’t.”
“UNCLE SHAWN UNCLE SHAWN UNCLE SHAWN!” Geneva spins in a circle, and Shawn reaches for my hand and squeezes tight.
“Your fault, man, you said they could get anything they wanted from the dessert cart,” Brad says, shrugging at Shawn.
“I’ll take it,” Shawn says.
We get to the parking lot, and after a lot more hugs and thank-yous, Shelby and Brad start loading the kids into their car.
“UNCLE SHAWN!” Geneva yells from the backseat while Shelby is buckling her into her car seat. “CAN I BE THE FLOWER GIRL WHEN YOU MARRY ELOISE?”
Shelby looks aghast, and Brad slaps his forehead.
Shawn laughs. “Absolutely. But only if you promise to wear a tiara.”
“I’M A PRINCESS IN SHAWN AND ELOISE’S WEDDING!” She claps happily, while the rest of the kids grin and shake their heads.
Shelby winks at me.
We walk over to Shawn’s car and he opens my door for me.
“Tiara?” I ask.
“Well, I’d prefer you don’t wear one, but c’mon, that face?”
I lean in to kiss him. “I love you. Uncle Shawn.”
“Uh-uh. Uncle is for the kids only, Miss Eloise. But you can call me Big Daddy if you want,” he says with a wicked grin, slapping my butt lightly as I get in the car.
“As long as you don’t call me Mommy!”
“Nope, only our kids get to do that,” he says, casual as can be, as he closes the door, and I manage to shake off the happy tears before he makes it around to his side of the car to drive us home.
• • •
So, what, it’s like a when and not an if? Or is it just play talk?” Marcy asks, biting into her enormous burger at the Orbit Room, juice running down her wrist.
I pop a tater tot into my mouth and chew. “Yeah, I sort of think it is. I mean, we talk abo
ut what we’ll do, and he is really open about the kid thing. I think in part he started that because of what happened with Lynne—you know, he wants to be really up-front with me that he sees himself as a dad. But while we’ve never said the word ‘marriage’ specifically, it is sort of implied in a lot of our conversations.”
“Wow,” she says, dunking a lump of fried onion strings into ketchup and dangling them into her mouth. “Mama Eloise. I like it.”
“I like it too, I have to say. The more time I spend with Teresa’s family and Shawn’s family, I just think it feels right.” I’m still worried about whether I’ll be as good a mom as I want to be, but Shelby made me feel better about that, and Teresa said that if I questioned my ability to be a good mom it was the ultimate insult to my own mother, who has been the best possible role model. Ever since she said that, I feel like she’s right, and that even though I may not really know it, the tools are all there already.
“Damn, that will be a good-looking baby. Huge, but good-looking.”
I laugh and waggle my pickle spear at her. “Careful, munchkin. I can squash you.”
“True enough. How’s the bet coming along? You’ve only got, what, three more weeks?”
“I’m in good shape,” I say, lying through my teeth. “Three out of five are done, and I only have two more things to do for the social thing, and I’ve got one tomorrow night, a cookbook signing at the Book Cellar.”
“Well, I’ve got another one, with a possibility for some ongoing connection,” she says. “Why don’t you come with me to my Dahms event next week?”
“Dahms? What the hell are Dahms?”
She laughs. “Les Dames d’Escoffier,” she says in an exaggerated French accent.
“The Escoffier Ladies?” I ask, my rusty French kicking back in.
“Yeah. The Chicago chapter. I’ve been a member for a couple of years, and they are a great bunch of women. All areas of wine, food, and the hospitality industry, from chefs to food writers to culinary instructors to event planners. They raise money for scholarships for culinary programs and do community service and social programs. There’s even a book club that reads culinary fiction and stuff. Ever since you’ve been getting more social, I’ve been thinking you could come to a couple of events and get to know the ladies, and if you like them, I could work on getting you nominated for membership.”
How to Change a Life Page 30