I called Gilly the morning of the second day, and she said that I had to forgive myself, I was only human, and if Nadia couldn’t forgive me, then it was her loss. I put off getting together with Nate, claiming exhaustion and needing to work on stuff for the delivery business, which is scheduled to launch full force right after the Fourth of July, just two weeks off. I work and try to not call her, to not e-mail her, and just to let her be. The apartment is eerily quiet.
It’s been three days and I’m just heartsick that perhaps I really may have lost her forever. That I’ll have to eventually explain to Kai and Delia why she’s gone, that I’ll have to figure out how to look at Nate and not blame him for ultimately my own weakness of character. I’m closing out the register when there is a knock at the window. I look up to see Daniel waving at me. I cross the room and unlock the door for him.
“Hi, um, Mel.”
“Hi, Daniel. Please, come in.”
“Thank you.” He comes in and I relock the door.
“Can I get you anything? Are you thirsty? Hungry?”
“No thank you, I’m fine.”
There is an awkward silence. I have to break it. “Is she okay?”
“She’s surprisingly good, I think.”
“Does she hate me?”
“I think she is struggling with her own demons. It isn’t totally about you, Mel, it’s about Nadia.”
“Do you think she’ll forgive me?”
“Right now I’m working on getting her to forgive herself. She’s frustrated, Mel, I’m not going to lie to you. You saw her as trying to hide her past. She was trying to forget her past and move forward. You see her as a product of that past, and she is trying to be a product only of her present. She wasn’t trying to be dishonest or manipulative or secretive, she was trying to exert control over who she is, the face she wants to put into the world, the person she is trying to become. The past was an anchor for her that she was trying to rid herself of, and you knowing it means that when she sees you, she feels the weight of you knowing. I think she wants to get past it, but also wants to get back to a place where the past is just that. She knows you weren’t actively trying to hurt her. She knows that you care about her. She also knows you don’t think ill of her. I do think, however, that she will never forgive Mr. Gershowitz, and she isn’t sure how that impacts your future friendship, since obviously he is very much a part of your life, and if she is also going to be a part of your life, the two of them are likely to intersect.”
I had no idea he could be so articulate, and not only is it clear that he cares about Nadia, but I’m starting to understand what Nadia sees in him as well. “Daniel, what do I do? Do I have Nathan call her to apologize? How do I make it right? What does she need me to do? What did she say to tell me?”
“I’m not here on an errand. I’m here because when you get home tonight she is going to be there. I’m here because I think that you are an important and positive person for her to have in her life, and I want the two of you to make up. I’m here because I love her and want her to be happy and healthy, and I think you are a part of that right now. I can’t give her everything. I can’t be her only support system. She loves her job, she loves you and Delia and Kai, and she doesn’t want to have to leave. But she also needs to not be smothered. When you are maternal with her, it reminds her that she never had a mother. If you are overly solicitous, she will feel that your relationship has changed. Go home, Mel. And try as much as you can to follow her lead. Try not to give into your desire to apologize all over yourself and make it up to her, as you say. Don’t do special things for her to win her back. Just let her be, and try as hard as you can to be no different from how you were before you knew what you know, and it will be okay. And if possible, don’t let your boyfriend come around her for a while.”
I hug this strange boy, a bag of bones in my arms. “Thank you, Daniel. For loving her and taking care of her and coming here to help me.”
He blushes deeply, and pushes his glasses up his nose, hair falling over his eyes.
“Do you know? The details of her past, I mean?”
“I know that when she came over the other night so upset, and told me that she had some terrible things in her past that you had found out about, in part because she was so secretive that it made you suspicious of her, she was equally worried that I might be concerned about what she had chosen not to share with me. I told her I wasn’t concerned at all. She asked if there was anything I wanted to know about her. I said I only wanted to know if she loved me. She said she does. That was all I needed to know, and all I frankly want to know. I don’t care who she was, who she is is plenty for me.”
“You are a very good man.”
“Well, then I do hope you’ll try to stop telling her she can do better.”
I blush. But then he laughs. And I laugh. And suddenly everything feels truly much better. And for the first time in three days, I can’t wait to go home.
I turn the key in the lock, steel myself, Daniel’s words ringing in my ears, and go inside. Nadia is sitting on the couch.
“Hi,” I say, trying not to put too much emotion in my voice.
“Hey,” she says, looking up from her magazine. “Did you eat?”
“Nope, not yet.”
“I was thinking of picking up Athenian Room for dinner; want to split a Greek chicken?”
“Sure.” I pause, thinking about how I can be normal, how I can assure her that things aren’t different. So I say the only thing I can think of. “You fly, I’ll buy.”
“Deal.”
“Deal.”
Nadia calls in our order, and heads out to go pick it up. And when she is gone I let the tears of relief fall, and let my shoulders unclench, believing that possibly, just possibly, everything is going to be okay.
I make plans to meet Nate at Toast for breakfast Monday morning, having avoided him all week. I finally told him about the fight and reconciliation with Nadia, and while he seems to not truly understand why the whole thing was such a big deal, why I felt so bad and why she was so upset, he certainly seemed glad that we were mending the rift, and understood that it wasn’t a good time for him to come around the apartment. I am trying very hard not to blame him for the rift, not to punish him for acting on his concern for me, however misbegotten an exercise it turned out to be. And I’m so relieved that Nadia and I are finding our way, that I’m trying not to imagine a time when I might have to choose between them, and what it might say about me if I don’t choose him.
I grab a table for us in the window and order a tea while looking over the menu.
“Hey, beautiful,” Nate says, kissing me on the top of my head and taking the seat across from me.
“Hey, you.”
“You are a sight for sore eyes.” He nods to the waitress when she waves the coffeepot at him.
“Back at ’cha. Crazy week.”
“You aren’t kidding.”
We order: scrambled eggs, fruit, and an English muffin for me, and a cheese omelet, bacon, potatoes, and rye toast for Nate.
“I got an offer for a film,” he says, once the waitress leaves the table.
“Great! What’s the project?”
“It’s fascinating really. It’s about the new young professional class in Russia, the money they are making and spending, the lifestyles they are leading. The production company has found a dozen possible candidates to film, they are going to pick the best four and have four crews follow them for a year. They want me to oversee the whole project, coordinating with the different crews, and working with the editors to make sure the whole thing comes together. They want to fly me out in a couple of weeks to interview the twelve candidates and help narrow them down.”
“It sounds fascinating. But what does that mean in terms of you? Would you have to be in Russia the whole time, or just checking in periodically?”
“I’d need to be there essentially the whole time.”
Wow. He’s talking about leaving to move to Ru
ssia for a year as if it is no big deal. “That’s pretty major. Do you want to live in Russia for a year?”
“I think the project is interesting and compelling, and the company I’m working with has a great reputation. It’s the first project I’ve done that would be qualified to be under Oscar consideration. Would I prefer it was Paris? Sure. But my family is from Russia originally, so there is a sense of history that is attractive about it.”
I poke at my tea with my spoon. I’m not going to be the one who asks what this means for us. “Well, congratulations, Nate, that is amazing and I’m really happy for you.”
“Thank you. Wanna come?”
I almost choke on my tea. “Come where?”
“To Russia. With love.” He grins.
“To visit?”
“For the year.”
“Oh, Nate, be serious.”
“I am serious. The money is really good, not just documentary good, really good. Housing and living costs are covered, as is transportation.”
“What the hell would I do in Russia while you are running around making a movie for a year?”
“I dunno. Take Russian cooking classes. Teach American cooking classes. Come hang out with me while I work.”
I suddenly feel like this man has no idea who I am at all. “Nate. I can’t just up and leave for a year. I have a business, a business that is expanding; I have a home and responsibilities. I appreciate that you have the thought of wanting me there but you have to see it just isn’t feasible.”
Our food arrives. Nate takes a big bite of his omelet. “Well, never let it be said I didn’t ask.”
“Are you upset?”
“No, honey. Not really. I just don’t know what to do. I want this job, it’s what I do, and it’s a great project. I’m not in a position to turn it down because it’s inconvenient for you and me. And I do love the idea of coming home at night to your smiling face and your home cooking. I knew it was a long shot. And I’m not upset that you don’t feel you can come. But I am concerned about what it means for us.”
“You mean whether we wait or not.” I can’t imagine that in one breath he is going to invite me to come to Russia for a year and then break up with me when I say no.
“Mel, here is what I know. When I’m making a movie, I’m involved in the movie. Absorbed. Not easily distracted. I don’t want to lose you, and I love the idea of us communicating through e-mail and phone calls, and picking up where we left off when I get back.”
“The store keeps me pretty busy. It doesn’t sound too bad . . .”
“But . . .”
Oh shit. “But?”
“But. You and I have only been together a few short months. It seems weird to ask you to wait for me for a time that is exponentially longer than the amount of time we’ve been together. And I have no idea what other projects this film will bring. If you say yes, you’ll wait, I want to know that it’s with full understanding of who I am and what I do and how uncertain the future really is.”
“You sound like you don’t actually want us to wait for each other.”
“No, honey, it isn’t that. I want to stay together. I want to have you come visit me, and to sneak back a couple of times to visit you. I want to exploit the current advances in communication technology to sustain us. But I don’t want you to lose out on any of your life waiting for me, I don’t want to come back in a year to find that we have another few short months together before I ship out again, never getting enough sustained time to see if we should be together forever.”
“Maybe you should make a film about a former fat girl who opens a healthy café instead.” I’m trying to be flip, but I know that ultimately this decision is going to fall to me. And I don’t know that I can wait for someone who may never be ready to be fully mine. And I don’t know if I am ready to lose him so soon.
“Maybe next one.”
The waitress comes back. “Everything okay? Can I get you anything?”
“Yeah,” Nate says. “I’ll take another order of bacon, please.”
I look down. I have eaten all of his bacon without even thinking about it.
“Make it two,” I call after her.
I pick up the phone and dial what seems to be an endless string of numbers.
“H’lo?” Yikes, that is one groggy voice.
“Gilly, it’s me. I’m sorry, I know it’s late there. . . .”
Her voice is immediately awake, lucid, and clear. “What is it, what’s wrong?”
“I’m a mess.”
“Tell me.”
And I do. Everything. It pours out of me, all my anguish, all my fears, every piece of the backstory I never shared with her about Nathan and about my money troubles and Nadia. I tell her about how scared I have been, how conflicted about myself and my relationships with the people closest to me. I tell her about Nathan’s offer and how much I love him and don’t want to lose him, and yet, that there is a part of me that is somewhat relieved at the idea of him going away for a few months.
She listens. She prods here and there, but mostly umms and ahhhs in the right places. When I finish, she is quiet for a very short time.
“Can you hang in there for two days?”
“Gilly, it isn’t like . . .”
“It is like. It is exactly like. And I don’t want to do this over the phone. I don’t want to give you pat answers or trite axioms. I want to think about it, process it all, and be present for you. Two days. I can be there Sunday. I’ll come, and we’ll stay up all night and hash it through, and we’ll have Fakesgiving on Monday and hopefully have stuff to pretend to be thankful for.”
“Gillian. I just needed to share, to vent. You’re coming in the fall . . .”
“Either I’m coming there, or you’re coming here. Full stop.”
“Tell me what time your flight gets in Sunday and I’ll come fetch you.”
“I’ll call in the morning with my travel stats. In the meantime, deep breaths and don’t make any decisions, don’t have any important conversations. Just do that thing from Finding Nemo.”
“That thing from Finding Nemo?”
“Yeah. That Ellen fish thing. Just keep swimming.”
I laugh, remembering the blue fish called Dory, endearing in her simplicity: “Just keep swimming.”
“You got it. Love you, sis. I’m there in two days.”
“I love you. Thank you.”
“And I want your real stuffing, not that low-fat shit you make for your customers. And the brussels sprouts with the bacon.”
“Done.”
I hang up the phone and my neck unclenches.
Gilly is coming.
STUFFING
I was lucky in that my mother didn’t relegate stuffing to a Thanksgiving side dish. She included it pretty regularly in the rotation of starchy side dishes we had for dinners. Mom believed strongly in the basic food groups, and dinners followed a pretty clear pattern. Salad with our choice of dressings. A protein with a starch and a vegetable. Steak and baked potatoes and broccoli, pork chops and stuf fing and green beans, chicken and sweet potatoes and asparagus. I loved stuffing nights. Usually it was just boxed mix, but I didn’t care. It was soft and salty with tiny bits of melting onions and crunchy pieces of celery. I used to love sneaking the leftovers out of the fridge, squishing it against my teeth, the slight gritty sense of the melted butter resolidified. Nothing beats a stuffing sandwich at midnight, snuck under the covers with your latest book and a flashlight.
“Hello, big sister.” Gilly throws herself into my arms. She is a slip of a thing, lithe and sophisticated in her sleek traveling clothes, her hair is blonder and shorter than the last time I saw her, and it flatters her creamy skin and wide blue-gray eyes.
“Hello, little sister. You’re looking wonderful.”
“I’m looking knackered. Let’s get home and order in and hunker down.”
“Deal.”
Kai is watching the store, and Nadia is staying at Daniel’s tonight, so it is jus
t the two of us for the evening. We’ve already prepped all the food for tomorrow’s feast, the turkey is brining, the cranberry sauce is done, the stuffing is already assembled. We’re doing it at the store for ease. My apartment is too small, and since Nadia has agreed to attend in spite of the fact that Nathan will be there, I think it will be easier on her to have it in a place that she feels strong and secure. I’m also seating her and Nathan at opposite ends of the table with Delia and Kai and Phil and Daniel buffering the space between them.
Gilly fills me in on her life in London, her fancy new office, and the nightmare of finding a decent assistant. She tells me about her best mates, about the guy she is sort of dating, but is thinking of dumping because the sex is only mediocre. We get to my place and I show her around, and she makes all the right noises at the changes since she was here last.
We order in sushi from Hachi’s Kitchen and sit on the floor of the living room eating and talking.
“So you love him, but not enough to wait?”
I sigh. “I think that if we were further along, if it weren’t still so close to my divorce, that maybe waiting would make sense. But the more I think about it, the more I think that my impulse to wait for him is a way of protecting myself. Because if I’m waiting for him, then I don’t have to be open to the idea of anyone else. It makes it safe and keeps me cocooned in work, and I feel like, I don’t know, it’s just too soon to be limiting myself, you know?”
“I think if there is anything making you question the idea of waiting for him, then that is your answer.”
“Yeah. I guess it is.” The tears begin to come.
“But it doesn’t mean that not waiting doesn’t suck a little bit . . .” Gilly hands me her napkin, and I blow my nose.
Good Enough to Eat Page 21
