“Thought you weren’t going to look in the mirror,” Aidan said in a sleepy voice, standing in the doorway of the bathroom.
“Distract me, quickly, please, so I don’t cry. If I cry it will hurt and I already can’t breathe through my nose.”
“At least your glasses didn’t break,” Aidan said.
“My life is so pathetic.”
“Sibby, Sibby, wake up!” someone called.
“No,” I muttered, my eyelids attempting to flutter open.
“Sibby!”
“Stop shaking me!” I finally opened my eyes and looked into the concerned face of Aidan. “Why are you looking at me that way?”
“You’re having an allergic reaction,” he stated.
“Huh?”
“To the pain pills you took last night. You were scratching your arms in your sleep.”
I looked down at my body. Red bumps covered my arms and legs. “Oh, God. My face! Is it on my face?”
He nodded solemnly. I sprang up from the bed and rushed to the bathroom. I let out a wail when I looked in the mirror. My cheeks were red and splotchy. I started to itch.
“What do I do?” Aidan demanded. “Tell me what to do?”
“You can’t panic. I’m already panicking. Too much panic!” I hobbled out of the bathroom and went to the coffee table. I grabbed my phone, and without thinking, I hit speed dial number two.
My father answered on the first ring. “Hello, my absent daughter,” he said. “Where have you been?”
“Around,” I said.
“That sounded slutty,” Aidan whispered.
I glared at him. “Dad, what do I do if I took Vicodin and I’m now having an allergic reaction?”
“Why did you take Vicodin?” he demanded. “That’s some heavy duty stuff.”
“I hurt myself,” I evaded.
“Ankle? Wrist?”
“No—my nose. I broke my nose.”
“How did—”
“Swinging door. I’ll fill you in later. Right now, I need to stop the itching and the bumps.”
“Benadryl should do the trick.”
“Really?”
“Really. Let me know if it works—and I want the full story when you’re up for it.”
I sighed. “Okay. Love you, Dad.”
“Love you, too.”
I hung up with my dad and went to the bathroom again, opening the cabinet. I found Benadryl, read the label, and popped a few.
“Why did you call your Dad?” Aidan asked from the doorway of the bathroom.
“He’s a doctor.”
“You going to tell him the truth about stuff?”
“Some stuff.”
He sighed, reached out, and stopped my hands from rubbing my arms. “You can’t scratch. You’ll scar.”
“How do I stop?”
“You sure you’re going to be okay?” Aidan asked, heading for the front door.
“Relatively,” I said. “You have to go to work.”
“I could call out.”
“Then everyone would know.”
He sighed.
“I’m just going to sit at home and maybe bake. It’s all I can manage on Benadryl.”
“Bad idea. Order food. You shouldn’t be cooking. Seriously.”
“Okay.”
Aidan gently kissed me on the forehead and my heart melted like a stick of butter. “Call me if you need anything, okay? Promise?”
“Promise. Thanks, Aidan. For taking such good care of me.”
He kissed me again and I waved my oven mitts at him. He’d taped my hands up so I couldn’t scratch. I felt like a kid with chicken pox.
I ordered some food and sat on the couch until my buzzer buzzed. I hit the intercom button and said, “Yes?”
“Delivery for Sibby Goldstein.”
I buzzed the deliveryman in, thinking it was my takeout. I waited to hear his footsteps on the stairs and then struggled to open the door. The man’s face was hidden due to the large bouquet of flowers he was carrying.
“You look like you’re being attacked,” I teased as I took them from him. “Thank you.” I made it back inside before he could see the mess of my face.
I closed the door and took the large, fragrant, colorful bouquet to the coffee table, wondering who could possibly be sending me flowers. I managed to open the envelope by using my teeth and read the note, ‘Get Well Soon!’ Everyone from Antonio’s, even Julian, the crazy French chef, signed it.
“Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry,” I said, knowing I’d be stuffy for hours if I gave in. I wondered how the hell I was going to occupy myself for the next week or so until my nose was healed enough to work—and I didn’t scare customers. Halloween had already come and gone. Too bad. I could’ve gone as a zombie.
Maybe it was time to get serious about this romance novel writing idea. I had time. I had a flexible job. What was I waiting for?
It was only day four of being locked up in my apartment, but I was already going stir crazy. I thought about painting the rest of the walls just to have something to do—instead, I forced myself to sit down and outline a book idea.
After an hour of getting nowhere, I decided to try out a new fudge recipe. My phone buzzed with a text from Zeb. He and Natalie were on their way over to cheer me up.
“You look like hell,” Zeb said as a way of greeting.
“If you talk to me that way, I won’t let you into my apartment.”
“He doesn’t mean it,” Natalie said.
“Bullshit. She looks like a horror film extra.” Zeb held up a bag. “Besides, I’ve got the wine.”
“You should’ve seen me a few days ago—the pain meds gave me hives.”
“How… Your life… Man…” Nat said.
I waved them inside.
“It smells like Willy Wonka’s Chocolate factory in here,” Nat said in amazement. I closed the door and took a few of their bags and put them on the kitchen table.
“I made fudge,” I explained.
“God, you get so much done,” Zeb said.
“I’m house bound,” I reminded them. “What else am I going to do?”
Once we were seated at the table, wine and food ready, Nat finally asked, “Okay, so can you tell us what the hell happened?”
“I broke my nose,” I said.
“Obviously.” Zeb rolled his eyes.
“What did Aidan tell people?”
They exchanged a look. “Not much,” Nat admitted.
“You are so lucky,” Zeb groused.
“Uhm, really? How do you figure?” I demanded.
“You go to the hospital and Aidan goes with you? Hot.”
“You’re sick,” Nat said.
“It wasn’t like a date, you know. I saw my ex boyfriend—out with a dude, by the way. Like, finally out-out.” Two pairs of eyes blinked at me. “I didn’t want Matt to see me, so I headed back to the kitchen. Rudolpho was coming out of the kitchen and I was going in. Cue swinging door. Next thing I know, I’m on the floor and Aidan is there with me.”
Silence fell between us and Nat opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. Zeb, on the other hand, had no such trouble with his filter. “Holy shit. You turned a guy gay?”
I glared at him. “You don’t turn a guy gay. He was gay, he just…didn’t know it.”
“Until you,” Zeb pointed out. “Show me a picture of him.”
“Why? You think you can tell when I couldn’t?”
He nodded. “Gaydar for gay boys is different than gaydar for girls.”
I whipped out my cellphone and scrolled through my photos, showing him one of Matt and me standing at the top of the Empire State Building. “Oh, honey…”
“What?” I demanded. “How can you tell?”
He put two fingers to his head like antennae. “Beep…beep…beepbeepbeep!”
“You are so not good at this supportive friends’ thing,” I said heatedly.
Zeb said, “You ever think about seeing a shrink? Might help
you work through some stuff.”
“I don’t need a shrink. I need wine. Pass me the damn bottle.”
“Catch me up on all the Antonio’s gossip,” I demanded when we were well into the bottle of wine.
“What did you miss, what did you miss,” Zeb muttered. “Oh! The other night Julian yelled at Katrina because she didn’t get a fifteen top’s order in before the rush and then they had to wait forty-five minutes for entrees.”
“Julian yelled at Katrina?” I asked in shock. “No.”
“Yep,” Nat agreed. “It was a sight to behold. She went all Mother Russia on him. Started throwing plates—at him.”
“Cursing too. Damn, that chick can curse! I’m pretty certain she threatened her mafia connections on him.”
“Antonio’s is a regular melting pot, huh?” I shook my head. “I missed all that? Damn it!”
“The only way to calm her down was to offer her a tray full of cookies.” Zeb smirked.
“Holy crap.”
“Aaron came in wearing a new tracksuit. Purple velour. Looked like a Soprano’s extra,” Nat said. “What else, what else?”
“I think that’s it,” Zeb said.
“No,” Nat said, “that isn’t it. Julian came into the restaurant happy yesterday. You didn’t work so you didn’t know.”
“Julian? Happy?” Zeb shook his head. “Nope, don’t buy it.”
“He was whistling.”
Zeb and I exchanged a glance. “He either got laid, or he got a dog,” I said.
“That was pretty much my line of thought,” Nat said.
“Maybe he got both!” Zeb suggested.
“Don’t get carried away,” I said. “This is still Julian.”
“Yeah. The happiness won’t last,” Zeb said. “It never does.”
Chapter 14
Fegato Alla Veneziana [FEH-gah-toh ah-lah Ven-eh-see-ahn-ah]:
1. Calf’s liver and onions.
2. I don’t do organs.
“Your fudge is amazing,” Aidan said later that night after Zeb and Nat had left. He reached for another piece.
“Thanks. So, have you noticed anything interesting about Julian the last few days?”
“Interesting? No.”
“Nat claimed he was—happy.”
“Happy?”
“Whistling when he came into work the other day.”
“Julian. Whistling? She must’ve been hearing things.”
I peered at him. “You know something.”
“Nope.”
“You do!”
“Can’t tell you,” he said. “Top Secret.”
“You suck. You really can’t tell me?” I muttered.
“I really can’t. Seriously.”
I sighed and changed the subject. “I washed a few your t-shirts and stuck them in the top drawer of my dresser.” I looked up at him. He was staring at me with a smug smile. “What?”
“You did my laundry?”
“I didn’t do your laundry. I did my laundry and some of your clothes just happened to need washing. Seemed like a waste not to do them.”
“And the drawer?” Aidan asked.
“What was I supposed to do? Dump your clean clothes on the floor?”
“Can I ask another question?”
I picked up a piece of fudge and stuffed it into Aidan’s mouth. “Try.” He mumbled some words around the fudge, but they were indecipherable. “I’ll give you one hundred dollars to whistle right now.”
Aidan’s blue eyes twinkled as he chewed and swallowed. “You’re really not going home for Thanksgiving?”
“How can I? I have to be back at the restaurant the next day.”
“So what are you going to do for Thanksgiving if you’re not going home?”
“I don’t know. I was thinking of spending it with Annie. She’s gotta work this year. Her boss is throwing a Thanksgiving dinner for twenty-five. I’ll probably pretend to help in the kitchen, but actually just sit and peel carrots while drinking.” I was babbling. Sugar comas did that to me.
He looked at me. “You okay?”
“It’s the sugar,” I explained.
“I haven’t gone home for Thanksgiving in a few years,” Aidan said. “But this year, I have a few days off before the holiday and I was going to head home.”
“Where is home?” I asked, realizing in all the time we’d been…spooning, I didn’t know where he was from.
“Few hours Upstate.”
“What’s Thanksgiving like with your family?”
“My dad shoots the turkey himself if that gives you any idea.” A bubble of laughter came out of my mouth and Aidan looked sheepish and adorable. “My mother’s pecan pie is so sweet no one can eat more than a single piece. My two older sisters will be there with their husbands and kids. It’s loud, and always a full house. I always end up sleeping on an air mattress. But my youngest sister will stay in California. She’s a free spirit. Doesn’t believe in holidays when holidays happen.”
“Jeez, sounds like a lot goes on.”
“Yep.” Aidan grinned. “Do you wanna come?”
I blinked. “Huh?”
“Great response.”
“What are the holiday rules for naked friends?” I demanded.
“I have no idea. Do you want to come Upstate with me or not? And before you give me all these reasons why you can’t—”
“I’d love to go home with you,” I blurted out.
“Yeah?”
“Yes,” I nodded. “Sugar makes me crazy, apparently. But, yes, Aidan, I’d love to spend Thanksgiving with you and your family.”
It was two days before Thanksgiving and Grand Central Terminal was a zoo, even though it was only ten in the morning. Everyone was in a hurry, looking harassed and frazzled. Holidays did that to people, especially in New York. I stood by the clock, waiting for Aidan as he bought our tickets.
“You’re insane,” my best friend said over the phone.
“Yeah, I know.”
“You’re going to Aidan’s home with a broken nose and two black eyes.”
“My eyes are dark purple now,” I interjected. “Besides, he already told his mom what happened. No one will be surprised.”
“Wear concealer. That’s all I’m saying.”
“How’s the turkey coming?” I asked, changing the subject.
“You mean the twenty-five pound frozen carcass I have defrosting in the sink? Great. Heather is driving me to drink.”
“Flask?”
“Yep.”
“Vodka?”
“Yeeeep.”
“Happy defrosting!”
“Happy—whatever the hell it is you’re doing. Call me when you’re back in the city.”
I saw Aidan as he wove his way through the herd of people. He adjusted his shoulder bag and took my wheeled suitcase before I could protest.
“Thanks,” I said, hoisting up the bags full of wine. I wanted to make a good impression on his family—and thank them for having me. Six bottles of wine might have been overkill though.
“They might kick me out of the family and adopt you instead.”
“Have you ever brought a girl home for a holiday?” I asked when we were settled in our seats.
“I had a girlfriend freshman year in college. I brought her home. She didn’t make it to the next Thanksgiving. My family scared her off.”
“Then she wasn’t worth it.”
The train pulled away and Aidan looked at me.
“What?” I asked.
“You’re not that much of a mess, are you?”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Just an observation.”
“You don’t seem to be a mess either. And that is a compliment.”
His oldest sister waited for us at the train station. She was covered in flour and sugar and I thought I saw a piece of stuffing in her hair. Her smile was bright and she seemed to take in my battered appearance in stride.
“Janet, Sibby. Sibby, Janet,” Aidan introduc
ed the two of us.
“Nice to meet you,” I said. “Sorry about my face...”
“Oh, honey, please. I have three boys. I’ve seen worse,” Janet said.
I relaxed immediately; I managed to hold on to my feelings of comfort when we entered Aidan’s parents’ house. As Aidan set down our bags, he was attacked by a monsoon of nieces and nephews.
“All right, you ruffians!” an older woman called, coming out of the kitchen, brandishing a wooden spoon. “Run out back and go play with the dogs.”
I assumed she was Aidan’s mother because he looked just like her. I saw where Aidan got his blue eyes and dark hair. His height must have come from his father, because Aidan’s mother was pint sized—smaller than me, which said something.
“Nice to meet you, Mrs.—” She cut me off with a hug.
“Call me Nancy.” She pulled back to look at my face.
“It looks better than it did,” I blurted out awkwardly.
“You sure?” she teased. “It looks pretty terrible.”
“I got into a fight with a door—the door won.”
“I’ll say.”
Aidan took me around the house, introducing me to his other sister, Melanie, and a bunch of kids whose names I’d never remember. “Where is your dad?”
“Hunting the turkey with the boys.”
“You weren’t kidding,” I whispered to Aidan. To Nancy, I said, “Can I help with something?”
“Yes,” she said. “Will you chop the pecans? Melanie!”
Melanie popped her head into the kitchen. “What’s up?”
“Will you get Sibby something to drink?”
Melanie smiled, went to the stove, and ladled out something hot. I tasted apple and rum. It was delicious. Before I knew it, I was on my second one, laughing and talking with the women of Aidan’s family, feeling accepted and welcomed.
“Your family can drink,” I mumbled that night as Aidan and I got ready for bed. His mother insisted we take the sleeper sofa, and though I’d raised my eyebrows at our sleeping arrangement, Aidan seemed unfazed.
“We’re good at it,” he agreed.
Tales of a New York Waitress Page 12