by Gina LaManna
“Oh, one more thing.” Meg broke away from me and stuck one hand over the threshold of the classroom. She extended a closed fist, and I realized what she was doing just before she opened her hand and let an invisible microphone drop. “Boom. Meg out.”
CHAPTER 36
“Nora, what are you doing? Put that down.” I swatted for her to drop a piece of garbage she was examining back to the ground. “You’re taking this Sherlock gig too seriously.”
“I’m just investigating the clues,” she said, dropping a cigarette butt just outside of the car. “I can’t let anything go unturned.”
“That’s gross,” Meg said. “You don’t know whose mouth was on that.”
“Maybe it’s important.” Nora tried to spin her hat around her head, but it blew away in the wind. I spent the next few minutes watching my grandmother and Meg chase a hat across the girls’ school parking lot. Just as they’d get close, a gust of wind would whisk it up and blow it further away.
A security guard came to stand next to me. “What are they doing?”
“They only get a couple hours free from the looney bin each week.” I shrugged. “I let them spend it how they want.”
“You’ve got the patience of a saint,” he growled, then went on patrolling the lot, looking for tardy students and other hellions who weren’t my grandma.
Nora and Meg returned, each of them holding one side of the hat, their faces flushed and their cheeks red as they grinned from ear to ear. I pointed to the car. “Get in. Time for cooking class.”
On the way out of the parking lot, I gave a wave to my new friend, the security guard.
“Who’s that?” Meg asked.
“Nobody important,” I said. “But we understand each other.”
The security guard gave a nod that only made me feel a little bit guilty about leading him on about my grandmother’s mental state. But then Meg and Nora decided to sing a duet the entire way across town that was so out of tune my ears nearly bled, and all remorse disappeared.
“This is it?” Meg said as I parked the car. “Looks much fancier than I expected.”
“I booked the best for us. Lacey cooking a crappy meal for her boyfriend isn’t going to get me grandbabies sooner. No, for this, we’ve got the best in the business.” Nora climbed out of the car, coming around to my side and elbowing me with her bony arm.
“We’re learning about Mexican food,” I said. “The class is called Fiesta Fun. It’s not meant to be gourmet. We’re cooking tacos; it’s supposed to be simple and tasty.”
“Don’t be so sure about that.” Nora winked. “Like I said, this place is top of the line.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Meg said. “I’ve eaten a lot of tacos in my day, and I can tell a good one from a bad one, that’s for sure.”
“A bad taco?” I shuddered. “Sounds dangerous.”
Meg puffed out her chest. “It can be, unless your stomach is made of steel and frostbitten intestines like mine. Speaking of, let’s get inside. I smell margaritas.”
Nora, Meg, and I trounced into the small storefront in downtown Minneapolis. Among the skyways and skyscrapers, the cooking facility was one teensy, tiny storefront among giants. If it weren’t for three sets of eyes staring deliberately around, looking for the FOODZ canopy above the building, we would’ve missed it entirely.
Despite the small exterior, the inside of the place shone bright and sparkling. All stainless steel appliances and sharp black countertops, the modern design could’ve been photographed for a ritzy cooking blog. If such a thing existed. I was more of a microwavable burrito sort of girl rather than a caviar connoisseur, so I couldn’t be sure. In fact, I couldn’t even spell the word connoisseur. Fancy spellings were for fancy words.
“Welcome, are you here for Fiesta Fun?” A petite, polished blonde grinned at us from the front of the room. Her voice tinkled with sweetness, and her smile gushed naiveté. Even her eyes shone with a gleam normally reserved for special occasions. “I’m Candace, and I’m the owner and instructor here. I built it from the ground up with my husband’s help, until…” She trailed off, and her face clouded over. “Well, it’s my baby, and I’m excited to show it off to y’all.”
“So you’re our Julia Roberts?” Meg asked. “You’re gonna teach us how to Eat, Pray, and Love?”
To her credit, Candace didn’t even flinch, though I did wonder about the husband comment that’d made her smile fade. She recovered quickly, her bright blue eyes blinking in surprise. Then she giggled. “Well, my hero is more of a Julia Childs, I’d say. But that’s only if we’re going the movie route.”
I forced a grin. “She’s joking.” I nodded towards Meg. “In fact, I think my grandma reserved space for two, and this one decided to tag along at the last minute. Do you have extra space? We’ll pay, of course.”
“Oh, sure. It’s a small group today.” Candace waved us into the classroom, a smaller, cozier space with two long tables facing each other. On each table were a few burners, a stack of ingredients, and empty wine glasses. “We normally only have eight students, but today we’re only expecting three others. So we’ll have six. Lots of special attention!”
“Special attention, huh?” Meg waltzed right up to one of the tables and picked up a bottle of wine. “I’ll give this baby some special attention.”
“Oh, that’s…that’s just for seasoning.” Candace rushed forward with the first of what I feared would be many wrinkles of worry flitting across her face. Once she recovered the bottle from Meg’s hands, however, she relaxed and brought back the cheerful smile. “It’s very expensive, so we don’t usually drink it.”
“What’s the point of not drinking fine wine?” Meg put a hand on her hip. “Isn’t that what life’s all about?”
I stepped up to Meg’s side and hooked my arm through her elbow. I flashed another smile at Candace. “She’s kidding. Again. Thanks again for accommodating an extra guest at the last minute.”
Candace nodded, though her eyes flicked over Meg with the slightest bit of hesitation. “No problem. Now, if you’d like, you can start reading over the menus. Also, we do have wine meant for drinking over there, if you’d like.”
I followed her pointed finger towards a wooden table in the corner of the room. Three variations of red wine sat out, while one bottle of white wine chilled in a fancy bucket. Candace hadn’t even lowered her hand before Meg grabbed a wine glass and filled it to the very tippy top.
“Nice,” she said, taking a sip. Then she eyed the expensive bottle of wine on the table. “But probably not as nice as that one.”
I recognized that glint in her eye. A glint that said Meg was tempted. Moving quickly, I had her in another arm-lock before she could move an inch. Normally, Meg could’ve wiggled right out and sent me flying, but she wouldn’t risk spilling her glass of wine.
She glanced at the wine glass, then at me. “I’m not gonna take the good stuff.”
“I saw that look in your eye,” I hissed. “And you heard the instructor. That wine is for seasoning, not drinking. Do you understand?”
“I understand.” Meg nodded. “I certainly understand.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “What’s the catch?”
“I understand what she’s saying, but I think it’s silly.” Meg sipped her glass. “Why leave that there when we could be enjoying it straight into our mouths?”
“Now is not the time.” I shook my head. “If you drink that wine, or disobey the instructions, you’re gonna regret it. I’ll…I’ll make you pay for the class with your own money.”
Meg frowned. “But it’s a business expense. We can write it off.”
“Exactly.” I latched onto her logic. “It’s a business expense because we’re here for Nora. We’ve got to do everything in our power to keep her happy and distracted. This is her one hour of freedom before we’re back to the estate. Which means back to Nicky, back to thinking about the girls, back to tears.”
“I thought we were here
for you.” Meg took another sip of her wine, this one so large it bordered on a gulp. “You know, so you can impress Anthony enough that he’ll put a ring on it.”
“My cooking is not what’s going to convince Anthony to put a ring on it.”
Meg raised her eyebrow. “What is, then?”
“My…” I paused. “My sparkling personality.”
Meg snorted. “Really.”
I looked away, since I’m pretty sure a little bit of wine shot out of her nose. “Yes! I have a, uh…a nice personality.”
“Yeah, I think so,” Meg said. “But a lot of people have a nice personality.”
“What are you saying?”
“I dunno. I’m agreeing with you, I suppose. Your personality is nice.”
“But you don’t think it’s nice enough to make Anthony want to marry me?”
“Maybe.” Meg gulped again.
Two more strangers filed their way into the room, but I was so distracted I forgot to give them a quick nod of greeting. I tugged on Meg’s sleeve until she followed me to the opposite corner of the room, away from the wine, and away from the strangers and Nora, who were speaking quite animatedly over how full a wine glass truly should be poured.
I hardly noticed as Candace demonstrated the “proper” amount, which was at least a third of the amount of liquid in Meg’s glass. Meanwhile, Meg selected a different bottle of red wine from the counter and proceeded to refill hers to the tippy top. At least four times the proper level.
“What if I don’t want to get married?” I asked. “Why is it up to Anthony?”
“What are you asking me?” Meg raised her shoulders and lowered them. “I don’t care if you get married or not. I’m just saying it’s obvious that you do, otherwise you wouldn’t be asking about it. Look at me, for example. I don’t want to get married, least not right now. So I’m not sweating it.”
“Yeah, but you and Clay are brand new. That’d be weird if you wanted to get married right away.”
“Look, if you really want to get married, ask Anthony if he’s interested. I’m not a relationship genius, so it’s probably not doing you a whole lot of good to talk to me about it.”
“But you just said we were here so I could learn how to cook so Anthony will put a ring on it.”
“I don’t know what makes a man put a ring on it!” Meg raised her glass and took a few Paul Bunyan-sized gulps. “I’m just blabbering on and on so you don’t notice how many times I’ve refilled my wine glass.”
“I don’t care about your wine glass,” I said, realizing I was speaking to a half-empty bottle waving around in Meg’s hands. “I’m curious. Do you think learning how to cook would help Anthony decide if he wanted to marry me?”
“It can’t hurt.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, if I had to choose between two guys and they were equal in all things: handsomeness, finances, and sexuality, I can’t see anything wrong with choosing the one who can cook better.” Meg bit her lip. “You’re gonna be together the rest of your lives, right? Why not do it with good food?”
I looked at the ground. “But I can’t cook. Not well, at least.”
“That’s why we’re here.” Meg pointed towards the tables. “You can learn how to make the spiciest burrito out there. Maybe that’ll be your claim to fame. Who knows? Maybe Anthony’s turned on by spicy foods.”
I considered Anthony. Mr. Healthy, who sometimes ordered pizza, but only if it came down to eating Nora’s cooking or eating nothing at all. I’d never once seen him touch anything resembling a pepper, a jalapeno, or a burrito. “We’re doing this all wrong,” I groaned. “I don’t even think Anthony likes spicy food. What if he doesn’t want to marry me because I can’t cook?”
“Cheer up, buttercup.” Meg lightly punched my shoulder. “I’m sure there are other domestic things you can do that’ll help move the engagement process along.”
“Like what?”
Meg rolled her eyes towards the ceiling, and I saw her lips mumbling through a variety of domestic activities.
“Well?” I prompted. “Any thoughts?”
Meg gave me a wide-eyed stare. Then she sipped her wine glass. Then she looked back into the light fixture on the ceiling. “Hold on, I’m still thinking.”
I threw my arms up. “See? There’s nothing.”
“No, there’s gotta be something,” Meg said. “Laundry?”
“I can do laundry.” I nodded. “I even worked at the Laundromat, but he’s got a housekeeper that does his laundry right now.”
“Cleaning?”
“Housekeeper.”
“Shoveling the snow?”
I shrugged. “Somebody does it. I don’t think it’s him, and I know it’s not me.”
“The gnomes,” Meg said with conviction. “I’ll bet it’s the gnomes.”
“See? I can’t do anything that would make Anthony want to marry me!”
“What about…uh, dishes?” Meg shook her head. “Let me guess, housekeeper.”
I gave a melancholy nod. “Same with the organizing, the grocery shopping, and the making of his bed.”
“Dang,” Meg said. “He should marry the housekeeper.”
“That’s not making me feel better.”
“I didn’t mean that,” Meg backpedaled. “I just meant…well, hell, I’d marry that housekeeper. Do you know where I can get one of the male variety?”
I gave a weak smile. “Let’s go join the rest of the class. I think they’re starting without us.”
“Okay, gang. Let’s get a little oil sizzling in our pans. There you go.” After giving an introduction to the class and making sure everyone – except for Meg – had a full glass of wine, Candace strolled around the room and watched as we sizzled away.
By the time I noticed that I had a wine glass, too, Meg had nearly drained it. I glared at her, but she was ultra-focused on watching her neighbor peel an onion, so I let it go. I didn’t need the wine, anyway. It’d only make me more depressed, which is exactly what I didn’t need while trying to figure out which domestic activities I could contribute to the home in order to make me an attractive candidate for marriage.
To distract myself, I checked my phone, hiding it behind Meg’s sizzling skillet. No messages from anyone. I’d texted Anthony and Clay to let them know the preliminary handwriting results of our visit to Miss Nice Apples. They’d both responded that they were “on it,” but that was the latest update I’d received. Turning my attention back to Candace, I focused wholeheartedly on learning the safest technique to chop an onion. Maybe Anthony did know best, and maybe it was best we all be distracted for a little while.
However at the moment, the only thing distracting me was the man across the table who kept winking at Meg. While she was oblivious, unfortunately, I was not.
“Hey buddy, do you need something?” I asked, as the man leaned so far over his cutting board that his T-shirt brushed against his onion.
He looked up, startled, and one of his tomatoes rolled right off the counter and onto the floor. “Uh, no,” he said, bending down and setting the semi-squashed tomato on the edge of the table. “Just saying hello to your friend.”
“Well, there are words for that,” I mumbled. Mostly, I was frustrated that I couldn’t cook, and Mr. Winky over there wasn’t helping matters. He was in the wrong place, at the wrong time, winking at the wrong girl, and therefore he became an easy target for my annoyance.
“There a problem?” Meg asked.
I shook my head and lowered my voice. “Not really. He just kept winking at you, and it was weird.”
“Oh, honey, that’s normal.” Meg did a little shake of her hips. “I put the butt in butter knife. I’m used to the stares.”
I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly cried. Either that, or the onions were getting to me. “Right. I should’ve known. You like that sort of attention.”
“I never said that,” Meg sniffed. “I’m just used to it.”
“Yo
u love it,” I said. “You thrive on it.”
“I don’t hate it. It’s just a hazard of the butt.”
“Isn’t this fun?” Nora poked her head around. She had a pair of safety goggles strapped to her face so tightly I worried it was cutting off circulation to her brain. The goggles themselves were so big they extended from her forehead almost entirely down to her chin. “These Googles are great.”
“Goggles,” I said. “Google is a search engine.”
“No, I meant Google,” Nora chirped. “On account of my eyes are my personal search engine. So these are my Googles. Get it?”
Meg pointed her knife at Nora. “You, girlfriend, are a genius.”
I rested a hand on Meg’s wrist, carefully lowering the knife. “Alright, Kung Fu Panda, let’s focus on your parsley over there.”
“It’s chives,” Candace said, coming up behind us. “Those are chives.”
“Whatever, they’re all green,” I said. “It’s all the same.”
“Technically, they’re not the same,” Candace said.
I got busy zoning out as she went into a ten-minute long discussion about why parsley and chives were not the same. At the end of her lecture, they both still looked green to me, and the biggest difference I could decipher was that one started with a “P,” and the other a “C.”
“Now, let’s scoop all of our parsley into a small pile.” Candace watched me carefully.
I had an internal debate over which was parsley and which were chives, and I’m only slightly ashamed to admit that I stalled by taking a tiny sip from Meg’s wine glass and peeking at my neighbor for the correct answer. Thanks to Mr. Winky, I was able to determine that the parsley was not the super-straight, spiky green things. I smiled proudly at Candace. She sighed.
“Okay, now, while our pans heat up, I’d like to go around the room and talk about our reasons for being here.” Each time Candace flashed her signature “welcome” smile, it seemed a little less shiny. A little more difficult to muster. “Some people come here to learn how to cook healthy, others to make a special meal. Others come here to…uh, yes? Do you have a question?”
