The Cookbook Club

by Beth Harbison

  Actually, he was so sarcastically angry that it kind of seemed like he was doing a bit. Ornery millionaire who lost his fortune gambling and now had to work as a gardener for a living.

  “Luga, I’ve told you, I don’t know who those animals belong to, and as for the child—”

  “Excuse me,” Michael interrupted, looking at Luga with interest and not a lot of patience. “Why are you addressing your employer this way?”

  Luga swung to face him, and the Roundup sloshed onto the floor. Aja winced. That stuff was toxic. It would probably take the wax right up. It would also probably turn any vegetables Lucinda was trying to grow into poison.

  “And who are you?” Luga looked him up and down. “I don’t know you.”

  Michael’s face reddened almost as much as Luga’s.

  “This is my son,” Lucinda said, her voice tight. “Michael, I can handle this.”

  Luga snorted. “I should have guessed. Dressed for wine, not for work.”

  “What business is it of yours how I’m dressed?”

  Luga gave a shrug that implied he had Michael, as a type, pegged and thus had nothing more to say to him.

  Worse, he was probably right.

  Lucinda stepped forward. “Now, please, everyone calm down and be civilized. There’s no need to turn this into a—There’s no need to argue. Luga, you’re simply going to have to work around the distractions.”

  He looked at her incredulously. “I will not! Everything I do is undone when I return.”

  “Now, that’s not true, you just don’t like children or animals and you’re exaggerating the perils to your work.”

  Aja looked out the window, half expecting to see a birthday party going on, with balloons, ponies, puppies, and a bouncy house in the middle of the garden. Some oddly placed cats. There was nothing.

  Nothing except the light scent of yarrow lifted in on the breeze that came through the door Luga had left open. Aja could almost imagine the particles of pollen carrying the scent like a great yellow ghost. “The door,” she said to Michael quietly, pointing.

  “What about it?”

  “Pollen.” No comprehension. “Asthma.”

  He nodded and went to close it.

  Meanwhile, there was a greater danger sloshing around in the weed killer container Luga was gesticulating with.

  “I am not working under these conditions!”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to,” Lucinda said simply.

  “I will not! The tomatoes are rotting, the basil is yellow, and the mint is in a wet pile, all thanks to those animals.”

  Michael returned, and Aja felt his whole body tighten next to her, his fury was almost as tangible as steam. She hated this. The stress was disproportionate to whatever was going on. Everyone was being a jerk.

  “Can you tent the beds with chicken wire?” Aja suggested.

  She might have suggested he build a wall out of Play-Doh for the look he gave her. “I do not work with chicken wire.”

  “But it would keep the animals clear and it would be practically invisible.”

  “You are now the expert?”

  She shrugged and felt her face grow hot. “No, but I’ve gardened all my life. My grandfather had a green thumb.”

  Luga looked at her with disgust, clearly not understanding the idiom.

  “Like the tomatoes rotting,” she went on, knowing she should stop. “That’s not animals, that’s root rot. You have to throw away the plants that have it and put some lime in the soil to raise the pH. There’s still time to have a good crop.” She felt Lucinda looking at her but dared not meet her gaze for fear that she thought Aja was being impertinent.

  “The plants are very fine,” he said with derision. “Heirloom. I saved the seeds myself. This is not root rot.”

  “It’s not about the seeds,” she explained quickly. “I’m sure they’re very good. It’s just the soil. Tomatoes need higher calcium content. If you add some limestone, it should be fine.” She looked from him, to Lucinda, to Michael. They all looked blank. All three of them. “It’s no one’s fault,” she finished lamely.

  “Well then.” Luga gave Aja a cold, hard stare before slowly shifting his focus to Lucinda. “It looks like you have found yourself a new gardener. I quit!” He threw the Roundup down and it splashed across the wood floor again. Aja’s first instinct was to run to the kitchen to find something to clean it up with, but she remembered that she was—probably—pregnant. She couldn’t risk touching that stuff.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said to Lucinda. “I didn’t mean to make him angrier. I thought he’d be glad to have a solution, since he was so upset about the plants.”

  Michael put a warning hand on her arm.

  But Lucinda’s mouth, which moments ago had been a straight, angry line, quirked up at the corner. “What is it you do, girl?”

  Girl. “I’m a yoga teacher,” Aja answered, knowing that probably disqualified everything she’d said about plants. “Part-time. I mean more full-time, but it’s not a normal forty-hour workweek.” Why was she overexplaining herself?

  “I see,” his mother said, though she didn’t. “Is that what you’ve always done?”

  “Oh, no, I’ve had a million jobs.” Aja laughed alone. “But actually, I used to work at Potomac Garden Center over on River Road. Before it closed.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Michael said.

  She gave another laugh. He didn’t really know anything about her past, did he? It wasn’t as if he asked a lot of questions.

  “Well, it’s not that interesting. It was just a summer job but . . .” She had no great conclusion. She shrugged. “I learned a few things.” She studied his face, trying to determine just how badly he thought this meeting with his mother was going. Of course he had no way of knowing how critical it was to Aja, but she’d have to tell him before too long.

  His expression was inscrutable, his handsome face as still as a statue’s.

  “Excellent!” Lucinda said, with a clap, drawing both their attention. “You’re hired!”

  Aja looked at Michael, then behind him, wondering if someone else had snuck into the room while she wasn’t paying attention, but, no, it was still just the three of them.

  She had no idea what was going on.

  Clearly Michael didn’t either. “What are you talking about, Mom? Who’s hired? For what?”

  “She is.” Lucinda gestured at Aja, as if indicating where to set a vase. “Anya.”

  “Aja,” she corrected automatically.

  “That’s ridiculous,” Michael said, unnecessarily harsh. “What would you be hiring her for?”

  “I’m not really looking for a job—”

  “To finish the garden! You saw Luga just quit. And your girl certainly seems to know what she’s talking about.”

  His girl. Was that how he’d introduced the idea of her? “No, I’m really no expert, those were just some very basic—”

  “She’s not qualified for that! Mom, she’s a yoga teacher. She doesn’t do . . .” He lowered his voice just fractionally. “Real jobs.”

  Aja heard it loud and clear, and looked at him incredulously. “I don’t do real jobs?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Lucinda said to Michael. Aja’s chest tightened with gratitude before she added, “This isn’t a real job, it’s a task that someone needs to do, and Aria seems to fit the bill.” She leveled that cool blue gaze on Aja. “Don’t you?”

  “I don’t think so,” Aja said, suddenly taken over by a cool resentment. She looked from Lucinda to Michael. “I can’t believe you two are arguing back and forth about how incompetent and . . . and . . . desperate I apparently seem to you. Not that I should have to defend myself to you, but my little job helps a lot of people. Would you have any more respect for me if I was called a physical therapist instead of a yoga instructor? Because that’s basically what I am.” Her anger rose disproportionate to the offense, and she tried to keep her voice controlled. “The hospital thinks so, anyway, a
s they have kept me employed there for five years. They consider it to be a real job when they pay me.”

  For a moment, Lucinda and Michael both seemed stunned into silence.

  “I’ll pay you twenty thousand dollars to get the garden set up,” Lucinda said casually. “Is that not enough? Full disclosure, Luga was getting thirty-five, but with his reputation . . .”

  Aja’s stomach clenched. Twenty thousand dollars? For, what, a month? Was there anyone on earth who couldn’t seriously, seriously use that? Well, okay, there were plenty of people who had enough means to turn their nose up at that, but Aja was not one of them.

  Particularly not with the news of the baby.

  “She doesn’t need your money, Mom,” Michael said. “And I find it highly inappropriate for you to try and poach my guest into doing work for you.”

  “Guest?” Aja echoed, but he didn’t answer, he was looking at his mother with heat in his eyes. Maybe guest was fair. Girlfriend would have felt better, but he probably felt stupid saying that at his age.

  He shot her an impatient glance. Don’t interrupt one argument with another, it obviously said. And he was right, she shouldn’t be chiming in on what was a tense conversation with his mother, although it was about Aja, so how could she not?

  “My schedule during the week is erratic but pretty full,” Aja said, thinking it would probably put an end to the question.

  Michael shrugged. “There, you see?”

  His mother raised an eyebrow. “Works for me. And I can’t imagine why you’d have a problem with it.”

  Aja frowned and tried to read her meaning but she couldn’t. Nor could she read his response, which was only to nod and say, “It’s up to you, of course, but you’re asking her to work a lot.”

  “Oh, it’s not that,” Aja said quickly, not wanting Lucinda to think she was a lazy slug who had a few scattered hours of work stretching during the week and couldn’t be bothered to help an old lady with her gardening during the weekends. “I don’t mind work at all! Actually, I like work, but with my schedule, timing can be tricky. And you’d need to know you’re looking at autumn crops now at best. But, honestly, I’d love to do it.”

  And, okay, the money couldn’t be ignored either, though the project time would be extended to more than a month unless Lucinda was okay with her working odd hours when she could.

  “Excellent news,” Lucinda said, and there was no mistaking the checkmate in her voice. “When can you start?”

  If Michael had issues with women, and Aja felt pretty sure he did, she was getting a fascinating display of their origins right now. She couldn’t tell if this competition between him and his mother was play or not. There was a certain feeling of to the death in both of them.

  But twenty grand was twenty grand, and no one could blame Aja for wanting to save up as much as she could before the baby came, so she spoke with barely a thought beforehand. “I can start this weekend,” she said. “If you can tell me what you want, I’ll go take a look at how far Luga got and formulate a plan and calculate planting and harvest times so they’re staggered.”

  “Are you sure you haven’t done this before?” Lucinda asked, though this time she didn’t sound smug so much as genuinely impressed. “You’re certainly saying all the right things.”

  Aja splayed her arms. “Honestly, it’s not that complicated. It’s just the earth’s rhythms. Everything has different sun and temperature needs, but if you’re willing to shell out a little more for some mature plants, and less for things I can sprout on time for their season, there’s no reason in the world this shouldn’t work out just the way you want. Okay, maybe I’m a little bit of a plant nerd.”

  “Excellent. May I steal you for a moment to discuss it?” Lucinda looked to Michael. “Can you occupy yourself for twenty minutes or so while I discuss the job with Asia?”

  He gave a nod. “By all means.”

  Relief ran through Aja. He wasn’t pissed, thank God. This was just his weird dynamic with his mother. It was nothing to worry about, nothing to do with Aja at all; it was their own weirdness and she was going to stay well out of it.

  Lucinda led her to a gorgeous modern kitchen that looked like it never saw any use at all. Given how meticulous the woman’s own appearance was, Aja imagined she scrubbed the hell out of it every time she made so much as a pack of Minute Rice.

  If she even ate Minute Rice.

  On second thought, she probably didn’t. No white foods, no carbs. She was as thin as a 1970s rock star and her clothes hung on her like draperies, exactly as she no doubt wanted. To maintain a figure like that, people used to live on cigarettes and clear liquor. The occasional salad. Which was, it seemed, where Aja came in.

  They sat at the spotless kitchen table and Lucinda gave a somewhat vague outline of the vegetables that were necessities for her. Tomatoes, squashes, peppers, lettuces of all sorts. She told Aja that more was better but those were her staples, though she wanted vegetables that Aja could “put by” in storage for the winter or the coming terrorist attack, whichever arrived first.

  “And what about herbs?” Aja asked.

  “I don’t know anything in the world about herbs.”

  “For flavor. They can be used in drinks and food.”

  “I know what herbs are, dear, I just don’t know how all of them are used. You can plant a good variety so that the cook can make those decisions himself, how is that?”

  So there was a cook. She should have known. This was not a do-it-yourself house. This was not a do-it-yourself woman. By any stretch. As a matter of fact, in the entire time she’d been with him, Aja had not seen Michael prepare or eat homemade food. They always went out. She’d hoped her cooking adventures with the cookbook club might tempt him into a bit more domesticity, but it wasn’t looking like it would go that way.

  “That’s absolutely fine,” Aja said. “Whatever you want. I can speak with the cook if he’s here on Saturday and see if he has any special requests.”

  “That would be splendid!” Lucinda clapped her hands together. “I’ll see you bright and early on Saturday then!”

  Aja smiled, something like hope stirring inside of her. Maybe everything was working out exactly as it needed to. “I’m looking forward to it,” she said earnestly. “Thank you for the opportunity.”

  * * *

  “You obviously can’t really take on this job,” Michael said as soon as they were in the car.

  Aja felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. “What are you talking about? I thought you were fine with this!”

  He jammed the transmission into reverse and backed out of the driveway, guiding himself by watching the rearview mirror. “I think I made it pretty clear to you both that I’m not.”

  “But why? Why wouldn’t you be?”

  He pulled into the street, put the car in drive, and accelerated a little harder than was necessary. “She wouldn’t even have met you if you hadn’t tagged along today.”

  That made it sound like she was a pesky kid who wouldn’t take no for an answer, but she couldn’t afford to splinter off into a subargument. “But she did meet me and it seems like it was pretty fortuitous timing. Maybe there’s a reason you invited me today of all days.”

  The instant, though small, lowering of his brow told her he’d noticed her wording, and probably took issue with it, but instead he just said, “You’re not qualified as a landscaper, and you know it. You’re going to have to tell her you can’t do it after all.”

  “I didn’t pretend I was a landscaper—”

  “You’re going to embarrass yourself and me. I won’t have it.” He started to say something else but threw his hand up and expelled a breath almost violently. “This is fucking stupid that we’re even having this conversation.”

  “You won’t have—” She didn’t even know which part to object to first. “You think I’m going to embarrass you?” Aja couldn’t believe she was actually saying those words to him. She’d trusted him. She’d slept with him.
For God’s sake, she was carrying his baby! Who had she thought he was? And more importantly, who was he really?

  Tears sprang to her eyes and her throat closed over a lump of emotion, but she didn’t want him to see it. Couldn’t let him hear it. Suddenly it felt to her like this man she’d thought she knew would consider it a triumph if she cried.

  “You worked at a garden center over the summer when you were a kid,” he said, softening his voice slightly, if not his words. “That doesn’t qualify you to take on a landscape contract.”

  “And I don’t need a landscape contract to plant some tomatoes and basil in a suburban backyard!”

  He looked at her sharply. “There’s no reason to raise your voice at me, Aja.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said automatically. “I’m just hurt that you’re talking to me like this. I would have thought you’d have more faith in me. There’s no way I would have accepted that position if I didn’t think—no, if I didn’t know—I could do a great job for her. Better than that crazy Luga guy, I’m sure.”

  “That crazy Luga guy is a professional. That’s how he was hired. You’re an exercise teacher with a lot of free time.”

  This was becoming surreal. The whole tone of the conversation had put her in shock. That was the only reason she was able to keep going, because she’d somehow gotten on this ride and part of her wanted to see it through. “I’m a professional,” she corrected. “With a complicated schedule.”

  “A professional,” he repeated, as if to himself, and shook his head slightly with a laugh.

  “That’s funny?”

  “Aja, you are, put charitably, a . . . Renaissance woman. With about that much understanding of the way the modern world works. You talk about fate, and things being meant to be. I have no doubt you think you can do this because Mother Earth is one with you and yoga and all the other stuff, but the reality is that you need to . . . stay in your lane.”

  She did a quick study of his profile. She’d thought he was so handsome once. Even this morning she’d thought that. But now, looking at him, with his words still echoing in her mind, she noticed the thin set of his lips. Like a knife slit cut in a bag of flour. Not a kind or tempting mouth, just a vessel for his judgment and cruelty.