by Sheri Langer
Fordham toyed with the box and offered Abe another doughnut.
“Now what?”
“I’m having a dinner party. I know you haven’t wanted to go out much since you lost Harriet, but I’d really like you to come.”
“You cook?” he asked.
“I garnish. My mother cooks.”
“Your guy coming?”
“Yes.”
“Ah, now I understand,” Abe said. “Your mother doesn’t like him, does she?”
Fordham wasn’t sure how to answer that question. Maybe Dorie didn’t like Aaron, or maybe she didn’t trust that Fordham could make a good decision when it came to men. Regardless, Fordham didn’t want to ruin her day by starting off with a conversation about either possibility.
“Will you come?”
“Sounds entertaining.” Abe looked into the distance as if imagining the scene. “Okay, I’ll come. Even without the coffee and doughnuts.” He winked.
She returned to her office, glad that Abe was being so agreeable. It would be easier to work now that she was given more control. Everything was headed in the right direction. Around lunchtime, there was a knock at her door.
“Come in,” Fordham said, standing at the file cabinet, searching ferociously for stats on their last book about relationships. She glanced at the door and found a woman wearing a Blake Lively blond wig and a tight neon-lime minidress with sequins studding the deep neckline. She was also wearing matching fishnets and black stilettos. Fordham cringed at the thought that she was there to deliver a new singing telegram from Aaron. But then the woman spoke, and Fordham realized who it was.
“Evie?” she asked with a modicum of uncertainty.
“In the flesh.”
“You could say that. Has there been a career change you’d like to tell me about?” Fordham tossed a file on her desk. “Why are you dressed up like you jumped off the cover of Debbie Does Dallas?”
“What’s wrong with it? I lost six pounds!”
“And you are clearly thinner. But as a dental hygienist, you’re marketing a whole new look for a cavity search.”
“Fordham, you don’t get it. When I look in the mirror, my face doesn’t look happy to see me.”
“Right now, your face doesn’t even know you.”
“I’m thinking of having some fat from my butt injected into my lips,” Evie said.
“Why? So you can laugh out your ass?”
Evie was getting teary. Fordham knew she’d have to switch gears, or they were going to end up arguing. She realized Evie’s whole getup was another way to try to deal with the sudden onslaught of extreme middle age. As a friend, she would have to be more supportive.
“So Dylan is having a baby. That doesn’t mean you have to dress like a newbie at the Playboy Mansion.” With no reaction from Evie, Fordham floundered for the next thing to say. “You’re already beautiful and sexy—because you’re you.”
“You still don’t understand.”
“Of course I do. I just don’t think you need to handle it this way.”
“I have to go.” Evie sounded hurt, bordering on angry.
“Evie, wait. I’m sorry.” Fordham stepped in front of the door. “I’m having a dinner party, and I need you there no matter what you feel like wearing.”
“Is Aaron coming?”
“Yes.”
“Has your mother seen him yet?” Evie asked.
“No.”
“I’ll be there.” And with that, she tossed the wig onto Fordham’s desk.
Chapter Seventeen: Bless Who’s Coming to Dinner
Fordham paced nervously through the supermarket. This evening was going to determine her future. She picked up a bag of romaine lettuce and inspected it for signs of wilting and bruising. Just because she felt like damaged goods didn’t mean she had to serve any at her party. Her stomach kept growling as if to ask her why she had chosen to do this. She had no real answer other than to burp and continue pushing her shopping cart up and down the dizzying aisles.
She stopped when she got to the mushrooms. Mushrooms. Aaron loved her stuffed mushrooms. She’d prepared them for a New Year’s Eve party at Marv’s house, and everyone, including his mother, asked her for the recipe. Aaron was proud and told her that he was so lucky to have found a girl who had it all—beauty, brains, passion, and a touch of Julia Child. He found out it was a pretty small touch when she attempted lo mein a couple of weeks later, but until then, she was nothing short of a goddess, a role she didn’t know she would ever have to relinquish.
She picked up the last box of gourmet whites and tossed them into the cart. Her stomach growled again. She was pretty sure it was telling her to just deal. This dinner party was going to be the pivotal moment of introducing Aaron back into her life. There was no better way than in one fell swoop. Evie and Abe would be open-minded, Whitty would see his potential, and after spending time with him, Dorie would understand why this was destiny at work. Fordham took a second glimpse at the box of mushrooms, hoping to see the word magic printed somewhere on the package.
The deli counter wasn’t as crowded as usual, and for the first time in nearly two years, when her number was called, Brandon didn’t jump to serve her. As a matter of fact, he ignored her. Guess the sperm-donation idea is off the table. She understood. Rejection wasn’t an easy thing, and each person had a particular way of handling the disappointment.
Brandon’s disappointment emerged from the back kitchen as a tall, thin, pretty brunette whose deli jacket tag said she was Olivia-Sue and whose T-shirt clearly stated in red capital letters that she was Property of Brandon. She asked Fordham for her ticket and her order. Her friendliness suggested that Brandon hadn’t said anything to her about their date, and to his credit, he never gave anything away during the interaction. He seemed happy. Fordham briefly wondered if he had forgotten about her altogether, but he gave her a wink as she left the counter with her pickles and chopped liver.
She was amazed at how easy it was for kids these days to mend their broken hearts. Here she was, decades later, still trying to get over how badly she’d been hurt after Aaron had broken up with her. Her crushing heartache had been unbearable, leaving her vulnerable to anyone who could make the emptiness go away—the kind of pain that had led her to marry Gil just to forget how little she must have meant to Aaron for him to have dismissed her so cavalierly. Fortunately, that was a memory she could now forget. Aaron was being nothing but attentive, and she had no reason to question his intentions, though she had yet to figure out what they were.
The drive home was a blur. Sometimes, she wanted to smack herself. Those days were long over, and she was obsessing as if there was something she could do to change history. She had to remind herself that the upcoming dinner wasn’t about bemoaning the past but was about acknowledging the present and guiding the future. As a hostess, she had to be a good poker player, assuming a confident air while keeping her anxiety hidden.
As soon as she walked through the door, her spirits were lifted. The house was enveloped in the sweet, aromatic smells of garlic, onion, and basil—plus a touch of vanilla, courtesy of a candle set on the end table next to the couch. Feeling inspired, she went into the kitchen and began preparing the mushrooms. She didn’t remember if it had been the heavy amount of Parmesan cheese or the extra minced anchovies that had earned Aaron’s raves. Since she wasn’t sure, she added a little bit of both for good measure. When the mushrooms were all stuffed, she proudly placed them in the oven.
Dorie’s roast had been in the oven for hours. The vegetables were cut up and ready for the skillet. The mashed potatoes were just about done, and all the hors d’oeuvres and cold appetizers were neatly arranged. Everything was going according to schedule. Maybe this evening was about changing history—not to alter what had happened but to show what might have happened had a different path been taken.
And if she had taken a different path, maybe she wouldn’t feel like a sweaty bundle of nerves. If she hadn’t already downed t
wo glasses of wine, she might have popped a Valium, something she hadn’t done since she had a slipped disc at fifteen. There was no reason for her to be so anxious. Everything was in order. The house was decked out in fine crystal, china, and candlelight, and except for the mothballs, it smelled like her grandmother’s apartment in the Bronx on a Friday night.
Fordham went over to the CD player and tried to decide what to play. She settled on Gato Barbieri’s Caliente, figuring the saxophone would be romantic, unobtrusive, and subliminally sexy.
Whitty bounced in wearing an oversized T-shirt, jeans, and a Yankees cap, whining, “I know it’s an old game, but the Yanks are sucking.” She threw her cap in the air, caught it, and stuck it back on her head. “Kinda like this music. Mom, why do you listen to boring stuff that doesn’t have words?”
“It’s a dinner party. We’ll be using our own words. And it is not boring. It’s jazz.”
“Yeah, yeah. So where is everybody?”
“Should be here soon. Is that what you’re wearing?”
“What’s wrong with jeans? I see you’re wearing outfit number two with a new necklace. Nice.” She snatched a few crackers and went back to her room.
Fordham checked herself out in the hallway mirror. She liked outfit number two. It was jet-black, comfortable yet sexy, and most importantly, slimming. It was the outfit she’d planned to wear on Oprah to promote Flowers from the Heart: The Oprah Addict until the segment was cut due to some legal technicality. The change of plan was a disappointment to this day because Fordham believed she and Oprah were kindred spirits and would have become besties. For the dinner part that night, Oprah would have brought her signature gourmet key lime Bundt cake.
She went back to the kitchen to see what was left to do. Dorie was meditating over the pot-roast gravy while adding squirts of ketchup à la Aunt Fanny. Fordham checked the vegetables and was tossing the salad with her hands when the doorbell rang.
“Mom, my hands are oily. Please get that.”
Dorie grabbed a sheet of paper towel and wiped her hands. “With a little luck, maybe he’ll slip right through your fingers again.”
“Mom, please behave.” Not trusting her mother, Fordham peeked out of the entrance to the kitchen as Dorie opened the door to Aaron, who was wearing a long black leather jacket and holding a large cake box.
“Hello, Aaron.” Dorie’s reception was underwhelming as he handed her the box from Ferrara’s, the sweetest spot in Little Italy. “Thank you,” she said, eyeing him up and down as he hung his coat on the rack.
He was wearing an expensive-looking charcoal-gray Italian suit with a matching turtleneck. Dorie quickly inspected him again. She seemed unimpressed, as if she could have sized him up with a thimble.
“It’s a Napoleon cake. I remember you and Fordham used to fight over the icing.”
“We did,” Dorie said, “and I remember you and Fordham used to fight over—”
“Mom-Mom, did you see Ella’s squeakie? I looked everywhere.” Whitty had appeared out of nowhere, still wearing her baseball cap and jeans. She was holding Ella and scanning the room.
Fordham, still manning her post, almost cheered at Whitty’s timing.
“Aaron, have you met Whitty, Fordham’s daughter?” Dorie asked, ignoring Whitty’s plea.
He shook his head.
“Whitty, this is Aaron, Mommy’s friend from high school.”
Aaron sneezed, sending Ella jumping out of Whitty’s arms and out of the room. Whitty wasn’t shy about studying him from head to toe. Fordham could tell Whitty was about as impressed as her mother. Her eyes kept rolling from his perfectly gelled hair to his pointy leather shoes. Whitty wouldn’t understand corporate casual. He should have worn jeans. No, I should have told him to wear jeans. She let out a long sigh. So much for first impressions. Unless she could find a way to turn things around, it was going to be a long night.
“Hi, Whitty,” Aaron said. “Nice to meet you.” He sneezed several times, making Whitty step away. “Sorry. Small allergy, big cat.” He took out a packet of pills. “Dorie, may I please have some water?”
“Of course. I’ll be right back. Why don’t you and Whitty get acquainted?” Dorie giggled.
Seeing Dorie coming, Fordham quickly hopped back into the kitchen. “Well?” Fordham asked, pouring a glass of wine. “What do you think?” She drank a few healthy sips.
“I think too much alcohol will make your skin sag.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.” Fordham took another swig. “What do you think of Aaron?”
“I think he’s allergic to cats. What do you want me to say? He looks like Aaron... he sneezes like Aaron. He’s Aaron.” She scrunched her face. “Is something burning?”
Fordham checked the oven and freaked. “Oh Christ—I burned the mushrooms. I burned the mushrooms! Dammit! They used to be Aaron’s favorite.”
“Well, now salsa and chips will be his favorite. Relax, honey. It’s only food.” She got Aaron’s water but was sidetracked by the bland potatoes.
“Thanks, Mom. When I’m cooking, it’s only food. When you’re cooking, we’re in Iron Chef’s stadium.”
Fordham took out a bag of tortilla chips and a big colorful never-used ceramic bowl she and Gil had gotten as an engagement gift. “Mom, where’s Whitty?”
“Talking to Aaron.”
“Talking?”
“You know, that thing people do when words come out of their mouths.”
“Funny, Mom,” Fordham said, alternately shredding a block of cheddar cheese and slicing jalapenos. “You know Whitty hasn’t exactly been open to the idea of meeting anyone I’m seeing. I just don’t want her to give him a hard time.”
“He’s a big boy, sweetheart. If he can’t handle her at hello, this dinner party may as well be a tasty bon voyage.” Dorie changed to a more supportive tone. “Honey, I’m sure everything is going just fine. Relax. Nothing is worth crow’s-feet.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Fordham went back to the kitchen doorway to see how Aaron was going to handle her mother and Whitty without her intervention. Perhaps it was a sneaky move, but it was also one of the primary reasons she was having this dinner party.
Dorie entered the family room with a glass of water for Aaron. Whitty was perched on the arm of the couch like a bird ready to fly. Aaron was a few cushions away and didn’t seem to mind the distance.
“Here you go, Aaron,” Dorie said, handing him the glass.
“Thanks,” he said, struggling to smile.
“How are you two doing?” Dorie asked indifferently.
“Great. Just getting to know each other.” Aaron swallowed his pills with a loud gulp.
“Good. I have a call I must make. I’ll be right back.” Dorie went into her room, and Fordham continued to stand like a prop against the kitchen doorway.
“So you’re a Yankees girl,” Aaron said. “Isn’t the season over?”
“Duh, we have the YES channel.”
“Ah, got it,” Aaron said. “I’m kind of partial to the Mets, but a New York team is a New York team.”
“No fans I know would ever say that.” Whitty crossed her hands defensively. “What do you do?” she asked not bothering to feign interest.
“I help women get pregnant.”
“Eeew! That’s a job?” she screeched.
Fordham chuckled. Whitty did indeed have her sense of humor. She continued watching as her daughter jumped off her perch and got some pretzels from a bowl on a table nearby. After scanning the room, Whitty sat on a chair away from Aaron and turned on her tablet.
Dorie returned and headed to Aaron, who was sitting stiffly on the couch as if awaiting his next misstep. “She’s something, that girl,” Dorie said with pride. “Can you believe she’s only ten?”
“I can certainly believe she’s a Price girl. Maybe I should ask Fordham if she needs my help.” Aaron stood up.
“I wouldn’t.”
The doorbell rang. Fordham decided to let Dorie continue t
o work the front of the house. She hadn’t finished setting up the default food, and she wanted to give Aaron a chance to feel what he was getting into. If he still wanted to pursue her after this experience, she would be more inclined to take him seriously. As much as she needed to prepare, she needed to watch what was going on even more. She eyed the snacks on the counter and continued to stand by the kitchen door to watch this chapter of the evening unfold.
Dorie opened the door to Evie, who was dressed like her usual self but with more makeup. Fordham was impressed. Her look was chic and confident. She and Dorie hugged cheek to cheek, leaving room for the enormous cookie platter in Evie’s hands.
As Dorie took the platter, Evie’s eyes shifted to Aaron. “Oh my God! Aaron.” Evie gave him a welcoming hug. “It’s been... I don’t know... forever and a half?”
“Something like that. So tell me Evie, how are you?”
“Still married, but Marv is working tonight.”
“How are the kids? You have two, right?”
“No, just one. And another on the way.”
“Really?” Aaron said, studying her as if trying to figure out how far along she was. “And you didn’t even need me.”
“Oh, no, not me. My daughter!” Gratitude for Aaron’s error brightened Evie’s entire face.
Fordham accepted that as her entrée into the evening and came in with the chips and salsa. She noticed Whitty quietly taking in the whole scene and seeming genuinely amused. She was in a room full of adults, and her life was likely more stable than anyone else’s. Whitty ate with more poise than gusto, making Fordham wonder if this would be the moment she would always remember as her daughter’s passage into full-fledged adolescence. With a push, maybe Whitty would even let Aaron in at least a little bit.
Aaron appeared relieved to see Fordham. Still, he gave her a kiss that didn’t need to be censored. He was pouring her a glass of wine when Whitty accidentally grazed his arm, sending the liquid all over his suit.
“Oh shit!” Aaron grabbed a handful of napkins, but they were about as effective as trying to extinguish a forest fire with a water gun. “You have to watch where you’re going, Whitty.”