On Any Given Sundae

by Marilyn Brant

  Of course not. He could just imagine how Elizabeth had decided not to come and very politely extricated herself from anything to do with his family now and forevermore. He was probably in for the lecture from hell tonight on the subject of How Men Are Stupid Beings And Don’t Know How To Keep Their Women Happy. But, he wanted to know what Mama knew—all the better to be prepared—so he said, “Why?”

  Mama gave him a you-must-be-joking huff and lowered her voice. “Well, because she’s already here.”

  Rob jumped up, threw the Porsche into gear and hightailed it back to Wilmington Bay.

  ***

  He smelled garlic, oregano, basil and simmering tomato sauce when he walked through the door, but Mama didn’t rush over to greet him as usual.

  He set the wine down on the table and was about to head into the kitchen when Tony appeared out of nowhere and snagged his shirt from behind.

  “Don’t go in there,” his brother warned. “We’re not allowed.”

  “Why not?”

  “Just listen.”

  Over the din of Madonna’s early hit “Borderline,” he heard the distinctive bubble of feminine laughter. Four voices. Four very different timbres. Mama. Maria-Louisa. Camilla. And—his heart hurt to hear it—Elizabeth.

  He shot Tony a sideways glance. “What’s going on?”

  “Female bonding.” Tony paused. “They’re cooking…I think. At least that’s what they told me they were doing when I arrived with the boys, though it’s just as likely that it’s some kind of spell-conjuring witchcraft. And they’ve been at it for hours. But—”

  “Hours?”

  His brother shrugged. “Oh, yeah. There’s something weird in the air tonight, bro. My wife’s been edgy with me since we got here. The few times I was allowed to talk with her, that is. It’s kind of a goddess thing, I think.”

  Rob stared at him for a long minute. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Well, you know. Women getting in touch with their inner power and all that New Age stuff. I figure they gain energy in groups or something. Most of the time, when Maria-Louisa does it, I don’t have to see it. She’s at Hauser’s or out shopping with her cousins. So by the time we talk the next day, she’s pretty much back to normal.” He gave a long-suffering sigh. “Tonight’s gonna be a different story.”

  “Terrific.”

  Tony squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. A high-frequency wave of women’s laughter vibrated through the swinging kitchen door.

  Oh, man.

  About a half hour later, young Camilla emerged as the emissary of the female delegation and announced that dinner was about to be served. So, everybody had better wash their hands and sit down quick because the ladies weren’t going to stand for any “dallying.” Her words.

  The kid was serious, self-possessed and every inch a Mystifying-Woman-In-Training. Rob got a no-nonsense glimpse of what Camilla would be like as a teenager and it didn’t make him envy Tony. Not one little bit.

  Except…she was absolutely beautiful, even when spouting off orders. She radiated capability and intelligence and personal strength. And—despite differences in age, height and family background—she reminded him very much of Elizabeth. His Elizabeth.

  Then the woman he was thinking of came out. She held a platter of hand-rolled ravioli and was followed by Maria-Louisa bearing an enormous tray of chicken Parmesan. Camilla disappeared and then returned with a basket of hot garlic rolls and a large mixed green salad tossed in a spicy vinaigrette dressing. Mama brought up the rear with a casserole of grilled vegetables and sirloin cubes covered in a zesty Sicilian sauce.

  All the Gabinarri males, young and not-so-young, stared at this display, and Rob knew they all must be thinking the same thing: How did we get so lucky?

  The ladies served everyone, moving from place to place as if of one mind. When Elizabeth got to him, she looked deep into his eyes and his pulse almost stopped.

  “H-Hi,” she whispered. “Ravioli?”

  “Yes, please.”

  She spooned several plump pasta squares on his plate and ladled the hardy meat sauce over it.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “You’re welcome.” She glanced around the table, as if to ensure no one was listening, then said, “I’m sorry about yesterday.”

  He forgave her in an instant and wished he could kiss the worry and sadness off her lovely face, but he also wondered still about what he’d heard that morning. With Jacques. He was proud of the fact that he knew enough not to say anything about it, though. At least not here.

  Instead, he just smiled at her and whispered, “Can we talk after dinner?”

  She nodded, although reluctantly, he thought, before moving on to Sammie’s plate. Tony sure was right. There was a charge in the air. Something different, and he found himself watching the interplay between the women very closely. They seemed to be in agreement on every point, so much so that when the subject of marriage came up Rob couldn’t have been more surprised by the commentary.

  “I’m not sure marriage is for every man,” Mama said with an earnestness that made him want to reach out and feel her forehead for fever.

  “Oh, I agree,” the ever-so-calm (except when drunk) Maria-Louisa added. “Some men are far too self-centered to handle the obligations that are a part of such a commitment. Not just the household duties inherent in sharing a life, but also the emotional responsibilities.” She paused. “Tony, of course, has done okay with it.”

  Rob eyed Tony who, apparently, knew it was his job to take the half-compliment in silence because his teeth were firmly clamped onto his bottom lip.

  Camilla added solemnly, “Yeah. Daddy’s a pretty good guy.”

  Tony stuffed a forkful of chicken Parmesan into his mouth and chewed hard.

  Mama nibbled on a bread roll. “I think Elizabeth has got the right idea, waiting before settling down. A woman can’t be too careful these days.”

  Rob almost choked on his ravioli.

  “Oh, are you okay?” Elizabeth asked sweetly. “Do you need some water? Hot tea, perhaps?”

  He shook his head, coughed a bit more and downed half his glass of red wine.

  “Yes,” Mama said. “It’s not worth it to be stuck with a man who can’t handle commitment. Your father—” she looked pointedly at him and Tony, “was a remarkable man, bless his soul. But, he had his faults, too. It probably would’ve been better for him if he’d been given another few years to grow up before we got married.”

  “R-Really?” Rob managed to say. Tony kicked him under the table but he didn’t retract the question. This was the first time he’d ever heard his mother suggest that getting married wasn’t the end-all, be-all relationship experience. And that his own father had lost points in Mama’s eyes for not doing it exactly right. What the hell was the world coming to?

  “Oh, yes,” Mama stated, as though she weren’t completely contradicting everything she’d ever said to him in the past ten years. “I loved your father, but every day I wished I didn’t have to be the one to teach him all the basics. When to give me some space. How to express his own feelings. When to do a household chore. How to really listen.” She shrugged. “That was kind of exhausting.”

  To his surprise, he saw both Elizabeth and his sister-in-law nodding as if these complaints about men were common knowledge. Tony kicked him again and, this time, he held his tongue.

  Just before Mama brought out the biggest and most delectable tiramisu ever, Elizabeth said to Maria-Louisa, “So, are we still on for tomorrow night?”

  “Yep. Hauser’s Grill and Ale. Seven o’clock sharp. Be there or be a tee-totaler.”

  The ladies laughed. Rob, remembering Elizabeth’s last margarita night, felt uncharacteristically queasy. He shot a panicked look at Tony.

  His brother mimed pressing his lips together and shook his head in warning. Though Rob hated to admit it, he suspected his kid brother was pretty wise. He wondered if his other married siblings had amassed this level of perception
. Maybe he ought to give the rest of them a call. Collect some serious advice.

  As Mama dished up the dessert, she said, “I’m so pleased Elizabeth came up with this idea of us women cooking together. So much better than just bringing different dishes to pass.” She nodded at the ladies. “Although, next time, it’ll be the men’s turn of course.”

  At this, even Tony had to really fight to keep from commenting aloud. “Think pizza,” he whispered in Rob’s ear when he passed him a bowl of tiramisu.

  Rob nodded. Yeah, everything good required some kind of work in return, didn’t it?

  When dinner finally ended, he walked Elizabeth to her car.

  “I’ll be done with my shift at ten-thirty as usual,” he told her. “Can I come and see you afterward?”

  She gazed at his mother’s house for a moment before turning those green eyes back on him. “I have some work I should finish,” she said. “I spent a lot of time here today, and it was great, but I didn’t get any writing done and my deadline’s in two weeks.”

  “Oh, okay,” he said, feeling a pang of disappointment in his gut, but what could he say? “Got any time tomorrow?”

  She shook her head. “I’m so sorry, Rob, but I really don’t. Your mom already knows I can’t come to dinner tomorrow night, since I’m meeting Maria-Louisa and the gang at seven, and before that I’m revising and then helping Gretchen make one of her trickier truffle parfaits.”

  Dammit. She was avoiding him. It must be because of someone else, namely the wily, torte-making Frenchman. Man, he was going to pulverize that guy tomorrow.

  “Are you and Jacques…involved?” he asked her directly, applauding himself on his immeasurably cool demeanor.

  But she looked at him as if he were demented. “What? No! What kind of a—I mean, where on earth would you—” Then she was utterly speechless for a minute. “Jacques and Gretchen are in love, Rob. They’re sorting that out tonight and I—well, I’m really sorry I jumped to c-conclusions about you and Gretchen yesterday. I misinterpreted what I saw, and I guess I g-got jealous, and it was all very foolish of me.” She stopped and regarded him with another of her regretful looks.

  He had to repeat one sentence, though, just to clarify. “Jacques and Gretchen are in love?”

  She nodded and the relief he felt was palpable. Thank God for small miracles, like other people’s irrational emotions.

  She glanced at her watch. “I know you’ve got to go, so I won’t keep you. Maybe we can meet up again in a few days, grab a cup of coffee or something.”

  A few days?

  He pulled her into his arms. She let him, but he could feel her holding herself back, not allowing herself to sink into his embrace. That restraint just about killed him. “What’s really going on here, Elizabeth? What have I done wrong?”

  She looked everywhere but at his face. “You haven’t done anything wrong. It’s just…I-I’ve been thinking and…” She sighed in a way that indicated whatever she’d been thinking wasn’t good news for him. “You were upfront with m-me from the beginning, Rob. You told me, and you were really clear on this, that you w-wanted to go back to Chicago. That you didn’t want to stay in Wilmington Bay after our uncles got back from Europe. That’s still true, right?”

  He wasn’t exactly sure if it was still true but, since he had no idea what other options there were yet, he sort of nodded.

  She blinked a few times then gazed directly into his eyes. “See, here’s the problem. I’m in love with you, Rob.” She paused and let her words sink in. His heart soared for a split second. “But—” Never a good word to hear after an I Love You.

  “But what?” he managed to say over his hammering pulse.

  “B-But you and I want different things. We’re very different people, w-which I know isn’t a newsflash. And I’ve been getting really attached to having you around, even though I know in a few weeks you’ll be g-gone.” She put one soft hand on his cheek. “I don’t regret a single thing that’s happened between us. Not one thing that we’ve shared. But I think you were right from Day One. We’re friends. And, as much as I’d like it to be otherwise, that’s probably all we should be.”

  He opened his mouth to speak. He didn’t know what he could say in response, but that was a moot point because not a single damned syllable came out.

  “Remember how you said last month that before you left Wilmington Bay you’d tell you mother you broke up with me, you know, s-so I wouldn’t be the ‘bad guy’?” She gave him a weak smile. “I don’t think you should do that. I th-think you should tell her the truth. Tell her it’s my fault. Explain that I can’t handle a long-distance relationship, but that I want to stay good friends. And please tell her that I’ve loved being with her and your family nearly as much as I’ve loved being with you.”

  He swallowed hard but he still couldn’t talk. He bobbed his head a little, though, which she took as his answer.

  She kissed him lightly. “Thanks,” she said. Then she got in her car and drove away.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Rob spent the next week feeling as though he’d lost a lot of yardage in the relationship game and had been benched indefinitely. He could see a bunch of action happening on the field with his teammates, but he wasn’t allowed to play. Elizabeth—head coach of their organization—had given him one helluva time out.

  Jacques and Gretchen, by contrast, were starters in every play. With their newfound relationship out in the open, they laughed like psychotic hyenas. They tangoed in Tutti-Frutti’s backroom. They sipped from each other’s milkshakes. They made a general nuisance of themselves with all their damn humming and smiling. Rob considered locking them up in the dry-storage pantry. On several occasions.

  They had it too easy, what with living in the same town and everything. There was no real challenge involved because—come on—if they had to deal with what he and Elizabeth had to deal with, they’d suffer under the intense pressure of indecision, too. Wouldn’t they?

  Sure they would.

  Still, for the first time in a long, long time, he didn’t feel like distracting his insecure self with social interactions and chatter. Not even in debates with himself. It hurt too much to watch Elizabeth breaking away from him, setting her sights on another man who could deliver what she needed.

  The fact that this new man hadn’t yet materialized was little consolation to him. A perfectly respectable, unattached Wilmington Bay male would appear in record time to snatch her away for good. And, because Rob had nothing permanent to offer her here, he couldn’t do a thing about it.

  But then the phone rang. Elizabeth.

  And, after days of moping, something finally happened that gave him a shred of hope.

  ***

  The phone rang.

  Elizabeth picked it up only to hear Camden’s distraught voice on the other end of the line.

  “Darling, darling, please—before you kill me—let me explain,” he said.

  She was going to kill him. He was due in town two hours from now. Everyone had worked like maniacs to get the food ready for the shoot. “C-Camden—”

  “Oh, I know. You hate me. You never want to speak with me again let alone work with me on any big project. I’m a scourge amongst men. My presence is a blight upon your otherwise flawless writerly existence. I—”

  “Cut the dramatics, Cam. What happened this time, and where the hell are you?”

  He breathed heavy on the line. “Oh, my dear, I’ve made you swear. I am so screwed.”

  “You bet you are. My deadline is in eight—count them—eight days. You promised me you’d be here. Why aren’t you?” Worried she’d snap the receiver in half, she loosened her grip on the phone just a notch, but she didn’t even try to unclench her jaw. She was going to KILL him.

  “I’m in the hospital. I’m very, very sick.”

  Oh, God, please forgive me. She said a short prayer that his condition wasn’t terminal.

  “I have the measles,” he said. “My parents, darlings
that they were, were hippies in the seventies who didn’t think you should ever trust the government or the establishment or any other ‘-ment.’ Not a bad philosophy. But they also didn’t believe in vaccinations. I just found out this morning what an unfortunate thing that was for me. I’m in San Diego. I’m highly contagious. I’m under quarantine and not allowed to go anywhere.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh, Cam…”

  His voice softened. “I am so sorry, honey. I know you were counting on me. I can try to get released in a few days, but there’s no guarantee they’ll let me fly anywhere or that, even if I could, that I’d be able to do everything we need to do in time. I can call your editor and explain and maybe—”

  “No. Look, you just concentrate on getting well. I—I’ll see what I can figure out here. Maybe I can find a local food photographer on short notice.” Well, this was doubtful, but she didn’t want Camden sitting and worrying in his hospital bed. “Otherwise, we can get the deadline extended a week or two. It’s just, I’ve never worked with anyone besides you, so…”

  “Whatever you decide to do, it’s fine with me. If you can get someone else to take the shots, he or she should get the credit in the book. If the editor will let you wait for me, I’ll make sure—no matter what—that I’m there. You just do what you need to do, okay?”

  “Okay,” she said, pretty sure the world was on its way to disintegrating before her eyes. She hadn’t told Camden this of course, but her editor had been very firm on this deadline. With the cookbook’s release date being in mid-December, they were cutting it close as it was. If they were late getting the photos in, the book wouldn’t make it to production on time and its release would have to be delayed until another spot opened up.

  Jacques, Gretchen and Nick stared at her in fury, shock and horror respectively. She herself could barely see in color. One of them, she couldn’t tell who, whispered, “What are we going to do? I don’t know any professional photographers?”