Just joking. It’ll be hot and humid, so…I don’t know what that translates into as far as women’s wear. You might want a sweater or two for the evenings.
As far as the mosquitoes go, you may want to pack repellent.
I’d like to take you out on a date (or two), so whatever you’d wear on a date, bring that. And we’ll also be going to dinner with my parents at a nice restaurant.
Don’t think that I’m worried about what you’ll wear. I know you’ll look fantastic. You could walk around in chef’s whites (that’s me, using kitchen terms) and you’d still be the best-looking woman in the room.
Do you have time for a phone call tomorrow? I love your e-mails but I miss your voice.
Neil
~ MEYER LEMON WITH FARFALLE ~
Both creamy and zingy, the pasta sauce for this dish comes together quickly after a little prep work. It works well as a side dish or a light meal, but for a heartier version, feel free to add sautéed chicken, shrimp, salmon, or scallops. If you do decide to add a protein, increase the mascarpone from 1 cup to 1¼ cups.
1 cup pine nuts, toasted (see instructions)
Juice and zest of two Meyer lemons
8 ounces mascarpone
¼ teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1 pound farfalle, or other short pasta
10 ounces fresh spinach, roughly chopped
½ teaspoon fine sea salt
Freshly ground pepper to taste
To prepare the pine nuts:
Place the pine nuts in a large skillet and toast over medium-low heat, shaking and stirring occasionally until the majority of the nuts develop a golden brown shade. Remove from heat and set aside.
To prepare the sauce:
Zest the lemons into a small bowl, and then juice. In a medium-sized mixing bowl, stir together the zest, juice, mascarpone, nutmeg, salt, and pepper. Set aside.
For the pasta:
Boil in salted water for 11–13 minutes, until al dente. Prepare a strainer in your kitchen sink; place the spinach at the bottom of the strainer. Pour the hot pasta and water into the strainer and spinach. Return the pasta to the pot along with the spinach; stir in the sauce, followed by ¾ cup of the pine nuts. Serve immediately, garnishing with remaining pine nuts and a grind or two of additional pepper.
Serves 4–6.
That’s something I’ve noticed about food: whenever there’s a crisis if you can get people to eating normally things get better.
—MADELEINE L’ENGLE
I awoke in the dark to the buzzing of my phone. Alex. “Hey, what’s up?” I asked groggily.
“Dad’s taking Mom to the emergency room,” he said. “I’m following in my car.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked, dread coiling in my gut.
“She was running a fever. Cancer patients have to go straight to the ER if they have fevers.”
“Right. I remember that,” I said. If only it had been food poisoning—I would rather have sent a restaurant full of diners to the emergency room, braved a dozen terrible Yelp reviews before opening, than have my mother face a cancer complication.
“The only reason they told me is because I’m in the garage apartment. I’m following just behind. Would you mind calling Sophie?”
“I can call her, yeah.”
“I’ll try Nico next.”
I sat up in bed. “Nico might still be in my living room.”
“You guys know how to after-party.”
“I had to give up around one. If he’s here I’ll wake him up, if not I’ll call him for you. Are you sure you want all of us down there?”
“Sophie will want to be there,” Alex reasoned.
“Gotcha. I’ll be there soon to run interference.”
“Thanks.”
I hung up, ignoring my aching muscles as I rose and dressed. After securing Gigi in her kennel, I flipped on the hall light and investigated my living room’s occupants.
Nico lay stretched on the floor, on top of an assortment of throw pillows with my yoga mat for a base. To his left, Adrian slept on the couch, his arm thrown across his eyes.
I knelt beside Nico and gave his shoulder a gentle shake. “Nico. Wake up.”
“What? Why?” he groaned.
“Alex called—Dad’s taking Mom to the ER.”
Nico’s eyes flew open. “What’s wrong?”
“Fever. Other than that, don’t know yet. Alex is calling Sophie, I’ll meet them down there.”
“Should we call Cat?”
“Yes, but let’s wait until we know something. It’s not worth waking her until there’s information to share.”
“I’ll go with you,” he said, pushing himself onto a sitting position. “Your camping mat is terrible.”
“It’s for yoga.”
“Explains the color.”
“Shut up. When can you be ready to go?”
“As soon as I find my shoes. What time is it?”
“Three.”
Adrian sat up suddenly, blinking at the light coming from the hallway. “Everything okay?”
“My mom’s sick, headed to the ER,” I said. Adrian’s curls were sleep-tousled and uncomfortably attractive. I looked away.
Adrian swore under his breath. “Sorry. You guys are meeting them there?”
“Yeah,” I said, pulling out my phone just long enough to text Alex to tell him that Nico and I were on our way. When I looked up, Adrian was on his feet, walking to my kitchen.
I fished my shoes from the hall closet before writing a quick note for Clementine with a request that she take Gigi out in the morning if I hadn’t gotten back yet. From the flush down the hall, I gathered that Nico would be ready to leave momentarily. I placed Clementine’s note on the table and turned toward the kitchen.
I’d planned to gather a few snacks for the duration, but Adrian was ahead of me. He’d found my New Seasons grocery bag and had loaded it with items from my snack stash—the cookies left over from my Friday night baking spree, dried fruit, and roasted nuts, as well as some protein bars.
“Thanks for that,” I said, uncertain what else to say.
“No problem. Do you think you’ll need anything else?”
“Tea,” I said, reaching into the bin on the right side of my pantry. “I can’t solve the coffee issue, but I can make sure that no one has to drink Lipton.”
“Noble goal.”
Nico stepped into the kitchen doorway. “Ready to go?”
“Yeah.” I grabbed the bag by the handles. “Thanks for this, Adrian.”
“You’re welcome. Text me if you need anything else, okay?”
“I will,” I agreed. “And you’re welcome to stay,” I added. “You don’t have to leave just because of this.”
“Thanks. Your couch is pretty comfortable.”
“More comfortable than a yoga mat,” Nico grumbled, and with that we traded the warmth of the apartment for the damp dark of the morning and the uncertainty that lay ahead.
Nico and I made it fifteen feet into the emergency room before we heard the voices.
“There they are,” said Nico.
I didn’t respond. Didn’t need to. Sophie’s voice rang out loud and clear. “What do we have to do to get a warm blanket around here? She’s shivering!”
“We’re here,” I said, stepping through the curtain toward my mother. She lay on the bed under three thin hospital blankets, IV fluids running through narrow tubes into the central port on her upper arm.
Papa stood beside her, holding her hand, his face drawn and gaunt.
My heart clenched tight in my chest, and for a moment I couldn’t breathe at all. But I summoned every last shred of courage I could find long enough to take her hand in mine.
She gave it a weak pat. “You didn’t have to come. Alex shouldn’t have called everyone. I hope no one told Caterina to board a plane. I’m fine, it’s only a urinary tract infection.”
“He was right to call,” I said. “I’m glad to be here.”
�
��Pish. You must be so tired after your opening.”
“I’m fine,” I said. Sophie and I exchanged glances. She looked exhausted, her fine blond hair tied in a careless topknot, worry carving new lines in her face. We both knew that even small infections could be disastrous, no matter how much our mother wanted to make light of them.
“I brought tea with me,” I added, holding up my bag. “I’m sure there’s hot water somewhere. Would you like me to make you some? I have chamomile. Rooibos too, you can choose.”
“Oh, cherie, chamomile would be nice.”
“Good. I have cookies too.”
Maman brightened just the tiniest bit. “Cookies?”
“Chocolate chip.”
“I could probably nibble on a small one.”
I opened the bag and handed her a cookie before offering the bag to my father and Alex.
“I’ll be right back with the tea,” I said, nodding to Sophie. The tea would help keep Maman warm in the meantime, and I’d try to track down more blankets while I was out.
I wished Neil were here, somehow. He’d charm Maman, soothe Sophie, and figure out how to get the best care out of the staff. I considered texting him, but what good would it do? I’d have to use my own resources.
Five minutes later I returned with a paper cup full of tea and a hospital staffer willing to provide blankets. We tucked them around Maman while she sipped her tea.
An hour later the doctor stopped in; if he was surprised to see the four of us stuffed into Maman’s little curtained room, snacking on cookies and tea, he didn’t show it. He told us the tests had confirmed a UTI and that she would be on a heavy round of antibiotics to prevent the infection from spreading to her kidneys.
Sophie grilled him for additional details, extracting every last bit of information out of him that she could. She could be a handful, my sister, but she was also a crackerjack patient advocate.
We waited another hour for the discharge papers; I passed out snacks while we waited, making two more tea runs.
By the time we left, a damp dawn stretched across the sky. Each of us kissed Maman good-bye; Alex followed them back to the house.
Sophie and I hugged good-bye, and I climbed into the passenger seat of Nico’s car.
Nico turned on the heat; I folded my arms tight across my chest.
“You okay?” he asked, not looking away from the road.
I realized then that he’d hardly spoken while we’d been at the ER. “You?”
“This is bad,” he said, his voice raspy. “I hate it.”
“I know,” I said. “Me too.”
“I’m tired, but I can’t sleep.”
“Me neither,” I said. “I was thinking about going to the early service.”
Nico mulled that idea for a couple of minutes and then nodded. “Sure. Mind if we stop off at my place? I’d like a change of clothes.”
“Of course.”
We got back to my apartment around seven, with Nico freshly showered and dressed and me feeling like one of Gigi’s chew toys.
I pushed open the door to the apartment to find Gigi napping on the couch and Adrian and Clementine cooking—and arguing—in the kitchen. At least it sounded like arguing, but it stopped the moment the door squeaked open.
“How’s your mom?” Clementine asked, eyebrows knitted together in concern.
“Bacterial infection.” I knelt to pet Gigi, letting her sniff the hospital scent on my clothes to her heart’s content. “It’s treatable.” I elbowed the snack bag, now half-empty. “Thanks for this,” I told Adrian.
“Yes,” Nico agreed. “No lives were lost in the pursuit of food.”
“You’re looking spiffed up,” Adrian commented, taking in Nico’s clothes and still-damp hair.
“We’re off to church this morning,” Nico answered.
“After your night?” Clementine’s eyes widened.
I straightened. “It’s not as if I’d be able to sleep if I went back to bed. You’re welcome to join us,” I said, my gaze widening to include Adrian. “Both of you.”
Adrian shrugged. “Sure. Why not? When are you leaving? I have clothes in my car. Mind if I use your shower?”
I nodded toward Clementine. “It’s her shower, she’s the one you should ask. I’m off to get cleaned up, you guys. I feel…gross.”
Thirty minutes later I’d showered and dressed, applied enough makeup to not look like a tuberculosis poster and pinned my braided hair to my head, rather than dry it.
Clementine sat in the kitchen, coffee in hand.
“That is a good idea,” I said. “I think it’s time for coffee.”
“I’m not sure about this church thing,” she said, looking away from me and out the window.
“Fair enough.” I reached for the coffee beans. “This church might surprise you, though. Or it might not—I don’t know what kind of churches you’ve been to.”
Clementine drained her coffee cup. “I figured they were all pretty much the same.”
“Every church is different,” I said, searching for the right way to explain. Living in Portland, Clementine had a native’s resistance to the brand of Christianity that either made media news or was shouted at her as she walked down the street. “You know how Memphis barbeque is different from Texas barbeque, and both are different from Carolina barbeque or St. Louis–style barbeque, but somehow they’re all barbeque?”
“Missing Neil much?”
“Yeah,” I admitted sheepishly. “I guess my point is that there are all kinds of barbeque, but they’re all the same thing at the essence.”
I supposed that if I wanted to take the metaphor a step further I could make a point about how chicken dredged in barbeque sauce, baked in the oven was in no way barbeque, even though a lot of people still thought it was, but I figured we’d had enough kitchen apologetics for one morning.
“That sounds kinda Universalist. And yes, I know what that is,” Clementine added.
“Mm, a Universalist would say that we could call creamed corn barbeque. Which it’s not.”
Clementine studied my face for a full moment before giving in to laughter. “You’re weird.”
“Also uncaffeinated.”
“So what kind of barbeque is this church?”
“Portland barbeque. Which means there’s either coffee or beer in the sauce.”
She laughed again, which I decided was a good sign.
Adrian emerged dressed and bathed a few moments later, which I concluded must have had less to do with any desire to be timely, and more with the fact that the hot water heater wasn’t by any means robust.
A cup of coffee and a bowl of muesli later, I gathered my purse and jacket. The four of us folded into my Alfa, which was somehow the largest of the four available vehicles.
I felt like I was back in college, squashed into a car bound for World Market.
We made it to church safely and emerged in a fashion that I hoped looked more adult and less like a clown car.
Despite the odd start to the morning, we’d arrived in enough time to file in before the music started. Somehow I found myself seated between Clementine and Adrian. I shifted in my seat to make sure my gored A-line skirt didn’t somehow wind up in his personal bubble.
Which…would assume that he had a personal bubble.
I had no idea about Adrian’s personal faith, but as we began singing I found myself impressed with his baritone singing voice. And then hating myself.
What was wrong with me? I was days away from flying to Memphis to see Neil, a man I professed to love. Was my admiration of Adrian’s singing an objective appreciation of beauty? I wanted to think so, but doubted it. Was it simply a symptom of being parted from Neil for so long, or something more?
I did my best to focus on the lyrics and then the sermon. Friends, family, and loved ones were greeted and parted with.
Adrian looked around at the sanctuary’s interior. “I like it here. I may have to change churches.”
“Oh?” I
asked, trying and probably failing to mask my surprise.
“With my work schedule, I don’t make it to church all the time. But this has a good feel. Friendly.”
I nodded. “I like it,” I said. “I’m going to go and, um, get a drink of water.”
After promising Clementine I’d come right back, I strode out of the sanctuary as fast as I could.
I felt so ashamed. Because of Adrian’s flirtatious, occasionally smarmy attitude months before, I’d assumed he couldn’t be a person of faith.
As if. I’d certainly met my fair share of churchgoing guys who fancied themselves ladies’ men—even if being a ladies’ man, to them, meant inviting two different girls to coffee in a given week—with the attitude to go with it. And here was Adrian, smiling around the sanctuary, commenting on its friendliness—hours after helping me pack food to take to the ER—when I’d been waltzing around, assuming he had to be a faithless heathen.
Good one, Juliette.
I took a drink of water, filled my lungs with oxygen, and prayed for my blackened soul.
I spent Sunday afternoon prepping meals for my parents. I made a gingery Tom Kha Gai soup and a black bean soup, and added a sturdy kale salad, and when I tucked it into the fridge for later, I began work on the quick-cooking cassoulet.
While the bean, sausage, and duck confit dish wasn’t exactly health food by any dietician’s standards, it was also my mom’s version of comfort food. What it lacked in antioxidants, it made up for in spirit-healing properties.
I packaged each meal, freezing the soups and half of the cassoulet.
Family dinner that night felt like any other night—with the volume turned halfway down. My parents looked exhausted, though glad to see their children.
Adrian and Clementine joined in tonight, and I wondered at the extent the family had begun to fold them in. Some families became more insular during times of stress, but ours seemed to grow and expand as loved ones pitched in. Clementine, of course, I had no qualms about making one of ours. But Adrian…he was becoming more complicated than I wanted.
“Such a good daughter! Truly I am a blessed man,” my father said at the end of the night, pulling me into a hug and kissing both of my cheeks, European-style. “You know, you did not have to bring food.”
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