by Anne Dayton
I turn around and try to smile at Coates. “I, um, found…the stuff.” I gesture at the arugula sign.
“Indeed. Could you get two cups’ worth for me? Just put it in the baggies there,” he says, motioning at a big spool. I suddenly have a hazy memory of my mother doing this once when I was little. This is really her fault. She never cooked either.
I stride over, wrestle with the baggie spool for a while, pull off two bags by accident, and then come back to get two cups of arugula, chopped. But it’s not chopped yet. It’s, well, it’s just kind of big, long, and green and looks kind of like where Cabbage Patch Kids come from.
Coates is watching me, smiling from ear to ear. I won’t let him make a fool of me. I bravely pick up a bunch of arugula and put it in the bag and then try to hand it to him.
“I’m afraid that’s not even close to two cups chopped,” he says.
I lean in to him and whisper, “Are you sure we should be buying it here?”
He looks around and then leans in to me. “Why?” he whispers back.
I pick up another bunch and bring it over to him. “It’s dirty. Do you see that?”
He lets out a big belly laugh. “Jane.”
“What?”
“Where do you think arugula comes from?”
“An arugula tree? An arugula chicken?”
“It grows in the ground. That’s why it’s dirty, as you say.”
I stuff one more bunch into the bag while he guffaws in the greens aisle. What fun being spontaneous is turning out to be.
“We’re making pizza?” I ask, raising my eyebrow at the recipe in front of me. “You do know this is New York, right?”
“Is that right?” he asks, and then looks out his window in mock surprise.
“Hello, McFly. Pizza grew up here. There are probably twelve pizzerias on this block alone. Three of them claim to be the Original Ray’s,” I say, walking past the granite counter into the living room. I see a splash of pink plush and freeze. Judy Garland, my elephant, is in there. In the corner. Just behind his entertainment center. I take a deep breath and turn back to face him. “There is a whole world of good pizza out there,” I say, recovering. “Why bother to make it? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Why indeed,” he says. “Would you please hand me the yeast?” I rummage around in the shopping bag and find the little yellow packets. I toss one to him. He adds it to a bowl of flour and begins to knead the dough with his hands. I watch. Making our own pizza. Who ever heard of something so ridiculous?
“Your turn,” he says, extracting the ball of dough from the bowl and handing it to me. I take it tentatively.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” I look down at the dough and up at him.
“Knead it,” he laughs, sprinkling some flour on a wooden cutting board in front of me. I place the ball of dough gingerly on the board and poke at it with my index finger.
“No, silly,” he says, coming up behind me. I flinch. He wraps his arms around mine and places his hand on top of mine, then guides my hands toward the dough. My heart skips a beat. He smells good. He moves my hands gently, showing me how to push on the dough and work it around. I lean back slightly and feel him subtly lean in to me. Maybe making pizza isn’t so bad after all. We work the dough together. I can feel his warm breath on my neck. Focus, Jane. You hate this man.
“By Jove, I think she’s got it,” Coates says softly, pulling away. He walks to the sink and turns on the faucet, rubbing his hands together under the water. I don’t look up. “You keep doing that for a few minutes, and I’ll get started chopping the arugula,” he says as if everything is normal. I start to breathe again, nodding.
The kitchen is quiet. I can’t meet his eye. I glance at the recipe again so I look busy. “Three-Cheese Pizza with Onion, Sage, and Arugula.” Hm. I run my eye down the ingredient list. “Oh no, Coates!” I say, panicked. He looks at me, smiling calmly. “We forgot the Gorgonzola.”
“No we didn’t,” he says, unfazed, turning off the faucet. He reaches into a cabinet and pulls out a bottle of red wine.
“But it calls for Fontina, Parmesan, and Gorgonzola, and we forgot to buy the Gorgonzola, so how can we—”
“I don’t like blue cheese,” he says, shrugging as he opens the corkscrew. He places the tip against the cork and begins to twist. “All the mold and the veins. I figured we’d just leave it off.” My face must register the shock I feel, because he continues, his face softening. “I hope that’s okay. If you really want it we can get—”
“How can you just leave out an ingredient?” I ask. I may not cook much, but I know you are supposed to follow the recipe. “You can’t do that.”
“Why not?” he shrugs, pulling the cork out with a satisfying pop. He reaches into another cabinet and pulls down two red wine glasses.
“Because,” I stammer.
“This is our pizza. We can make it however we want,” he laughs, pouring ruby-red wine into the glasses.
“But…” I stop. Why not? I look at Coates.
“Come on, Jane,” he smiles. “Spontaneous. You can do it.”
I look at the recipe and back up at him. I look at my hands in the dough.
“Fine,” I say. “It’s totally fine.” I try to sound sure. “It doesn’t matter to me.”
“I knew you could do it,” Coates says, handing me a glass. I reach for it and take a sip, then put my glass down and turn away. He takes a sip and raises his eyebrow slightly. “You know, Matt Sherwin is really not your type.”
My face flushes, thinking about that stupid article. “Thank you,” I say, throwing my hands up in the air. “That’s what I keep telling people. Sure every woman in the world thinks she’d just jump at the chance to date Matt Sherwin, but trust me, spending quality time with that man is like brain drain.”
“Plus,” Coates says, turning on the oven, “I have a policy of never believing silly lies about people.”
“Me too,” I say with a nod. Why couldn’t my boss be this sensible?
“Whether they are published in some silly tabloid like Star Power,” he says, “or even the lofty New York Times.”
He looks at me, and his gaze pierces right through me. Oh. I see what he’s getting at. I knead the dough. But the Times is not Star Power. What they say is well-researched fact. Coates stands close to me.
I bite my lip. Do I want to hear this?
“That article was not entirely false,” he says, but I don’t look at him. “Yes, I am being sued by two previous assistants. Yes, my conversion to Christianity did anger my family.” He takes a deep breath. “Yes, many people over the years have found me—let’s see, what were the words they used?—‘impossible, arrogant, and stubborn.’”
I look up, but I can’t meet his eye. I look at his mouth and focus on what he is saying. The article was true.
“But I have never mistreated someone and not gone back to apologize. I know how I come across at times, and I am working on it. And the two young women who are suing me simply saw an easy mark.”
I roll my eyes.
“Jane, listen to me.” He touches my shoulder. “Just today I got word from my lawyer that the judge threw the case out. They have nothing against me. Their claims are preposterous.”
Oh. I frown at myself.
“Coates, I—”
He raises an eyebrow at me.
I swallow a lump back in my throat. “I owe you an apology,” I say, my mind racing. It is beginning to dawn on me that even while I was convicting Coates for crimes he did not commit, he was arranging for me to get a roof over my head. In my darkest hour, he was the one who knew what I needed most and provided it discreetly with not so much as a thank-you from me.
He shrugs. “Let’s drop it. But I could tell it was bothering you. I handled it wrong when you brought it up before, but forgive me. I had no idea that anyone even believed that article.”
“It was in the Times,” I say, shrugging. “I don’t believe it anymore.”
“Good, then we’ll put both of our allegedly sordid pasts behind us and move forward from this moment on.”
“Agreed,” I say and put out my hand for him to shake. He takes one look at my flour-covered hand and shakes his head. “Of course, the arrogant part is still true.” I plunge my hands back into the flour, pouting.
I see the flour hit his face before I register that I threw it. He looks at me, stunned. He looks so comical, standing there in his well-appointed apartment with his perfect gleaming teeth and a big burst of white powder on his tanned face. There’s only one thing to do now. I laugh and grab another handful from the open bag and launch it at him again. He ducks, breaking into a smile, and the flour falls softly all over his spotless kitchen. He reaches toward the bag, but I block him with my body, and grab another handful myself. Within minutes we’re both covered with fine white powder and laughing hysterically. He’s holding on to my waist as we slump against the counter. I am gulping for air.
We sit next to each other on the floor, and all of a sudden our laughter seems to die. I can hear him breathing next to me and smell the good, clean smell of his detergent on his clothes. I turn my head slightly and look at him. He reaches a hand out and uses his thumb to smudge a little powder off my cheek.
“Got yourself into a little mess, I’d say,” he whispers, resting his hand on my thigh when he’s done.
I smile at him. “The way I see it, it’s not really my fault,” I say at normal volume.
He cocks his head at me. “Really? Shall I refresh you on how all of this started?”
I laugh. “But I was just caught up in the moment,” I say and put my hand on top of his. We lock eyes and fall silent again. A long moment passes.
I look down at my clothes, covered in flour, and I lean forward to him. I don’t think I mean to kiss him, but for some reason, I just want to be closer, to be touching him. He leans in too, and we both pause, our faces an inch apart. I can smell his cologne faintly, and his breath is warm and slow on my cheek. And then I shut my eyes and lean in to kiss him. We kiss slowly, delicately, a still, sweet, longing kiss. I pull back and look at him again.
“Being spontaneous isn’t so bad after all, is it?” he asks as I lean in to kiss him again.
Chapter 21
Raquel, are you okay? How are you doing? How much longer do you think it’s going to last?”
Raquel raises herself onto her arms, takes a deep breath, and winces at me. As soon as she called, I flew out the door and, after a quick trip to the drugstore, caught a cab uptown and raced to her side.
“About seven weeks,” she whines. “Bed rest. Can you believe it?”
“What did the doctor say? Is the baby…?”
“He’s going to be fine.” She smiles. “I just went into labor a little early, but as long as I stay put, they say we’re both going to be fine.”
“I’m so glad.”
“But seven weeks, Jane! I’m going to lose my mind.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, pulling a chair up next to her bed. “Um…here. I brought stuff that might help pass the time.” I reach into the shopping bag I brought. “Clue. I always thought Colonel Mustard was kind of sexy, didn’t you? And Connect Four.” I place the boxes on her bed. “People magazine.” I reach down into my shopping bag. “Let’s see. What else? Berry Smackers lip gloss.” Raquel bursts out laughing. “And this romance novel, Love Is Torture. Well, actually, now that I think about it, that doesn’t sound like a very fun book, but they had a whole rack of romances, and I didn’t know the difference, so I just picked one. And, um, oh here’s the medicine for Olivia. Let’s see…”
“You didn’t have to do all this, Jane,” she laughs, unscrewing the top of the lip gloss and giving it a sniff.
“Trust me, after a few days, you’re going to thank me.”
She nods. “I don’t know what I’m going to do, Jane. I can’t take care of a toddler like this.”
“You know, when I came in, Haven almost looked like she had it under control,” I shrug. “I mean, obviously, she’s not going to be able to do everything you do, but she and Olivia were both munching on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and though your kitchen might never be the same, they looked unharmed.”
“Were they watching TV?”
“Dora the Explorer. Olivia was speaking Spanish like a native.”
“That’s good. That will keep them busy for a while. But I don’t know what I’m going to do when they get bored with that.”
“Do you have to stay in bed every minute?”
“As much as I can. And Jack can’t really take any time off, what with his job uncertain anyway,” she sighs.
“Let Haven try,” I say. “She’s old enough to be able to at least help. I bet if you show her you trust her, she’ll really come through for you.”
“But she’s just a baby,” Raquel says.
“Raquel, she’s not a baby anymore,” I laugh. “Give her a chance to show you how mature she can be.”
Raquel nods uncertainly.
“And I’m still unemployed,” I volunteer. “I’ll be here as much as you need me.”
“Thanks, Jane,” she says quietly, looking down. “That means a lot. Especially…”
“Stop it,” I laugh. “But I have to warn you, I’m a master at Connect Four. You’re never going to win.”
“Duly noted.” She smiles at me sadly. “I have some more news, Jane.”
“What’s that?”
“The Brownie moms had a meeting this morning. I was there. That meeting was probably what sent me into labor. We took a vote. It was 8–4, in favor of having Margaret take over the troop.”
I feel like I’ve just been punched.
“I’m so sorry, Jane. If it helps, Abby’s mom spoke very passionately about the change she’s seen in her daughter and how much Abby talks about you, but it wasn’t enough.” She sighs. “I did my best.”
“I know you did, Raquel.” I take a deep breath. “Thank you.”
“At the end of the year, I’m pulling Haven out of the troop,” she says. “Margaret went on about her new vision for the troop, and well, let’s just say she mentioned manicure parties and a field trip to Toys ‘R’ Us.”
“She didn’t.”
“Oh yes,” she laughs. “And no more camping. Her SUV came back mud splattered and she doesn’t really see the point.”
“Did anyone mention that SUVs are made to go off road?”
“I didn’t dare,” Raquel laughs. “Oh, and get this. They will only be selling low-fat Girl Scout Cookies from now on.”
Hearing this breaks my heart, but I still can’t help it. I laugh until tears are streaming down my face, and Raquel laughs too, smiling wider than I’ve seen her smile in months.
I sit in the café where I used to meet Tyson. I am fuming as Nina walks in the door. It’s not like I wasn’t expecting her, but as she sits down across from me, I’m still livid. How could she? Never mind ruining my life by planting that story about me in Star Power. She is having an affair with Matt Sherwin when his fiancée is pregnant with his baby. This is such a violation of the contract of female friendship that I want to throttle her with my bare hands for poor pregnant Chloe.
I look at her and try to remember who I really am. All I need is for her to agree to issue a retraction and I’ll never have to see her again. “Thanks for coming,” I say slowly, careful to let no errant words of hate escape.
She shoots me an ugly look. “Not like I really had a choice, Jane. You practically forced me, and you’ve got major blackmail material over me right now so I just need to know your price. That’s why I’m here.”
I used the information Lee had to call Nina at home and tell her to meet me here today. I’ve been fretting about this moment all week.
“It’s not about a price, Nina. I want you to admit that you planted that story to distract people from Matt’s real affair with you. All I need is a retraction from the magazine so I can get my job—”. I falter. “M
y life back,” I say, finally.
The waitress comes over and I get a cappuccino, but Nina just shakes her head.
“Sure. I admit it. I started hearing rumors that he was cheating on Chloe, but obviously I wasn’t about to be blamed for it,” she says, rolling her eyes. “And I didn’t really think it would get you fired. So, I guess, sorry about that. Who knew your boss was such a prig?” she says and yawns. That was probably the least authentic apology I’ve ever received. “But I’m afraid I can’t get the retraction. Not only is it not in my power, Star Power never issues retractions. Ever. I’m not risking my neck to fight for something that won’t happen.”
I take a deep breath and think about what Jesus would say to her. He would say, ‘I forgive you.’ But the thought of uttering that makes me sick to my stomach.
What about the affair? This is my chance to stop it, right? And what about her ruining my life? I look at her and smile. If she doesn’t agree to the retraction, revenge is mine. I’ll call up Star Power and get them the real story. Chloe will find out and justice will be served. She’ll pay for what she’s done.
The waitress brings over my drink, and I take a sip of my cappuccino.
Nina looks at her watch. “Can you speed up this whole angry introspection thing you’re doing? I have a job to do.”
I look down. I can’t get revenge. That’s what I’d like to do, sure, but definitely not the right thing to do. I have the urge to reach across the table and slap her hard and scream, Do you know what you did to me? I take another sip of my drink.
Nina sighs dramatically. “Seriously. What is your price? This isn’t that hard.” She digs in her handbag and gets out her checkbook. “I’ll make the check out to ‘cash’ so you can’t use it against me.” I stare at her. “I’m not an amateur like you.”
“Nina, I’m a person who has a strong faith in God.”
“Great,” she says, rolling her eyes. “This is all I need today,” she mutters under her breath.
“I’m not judging you. All I’m asking for is the truth.”
“Really?” she says. “Shocking. I found the first nonjudgmental Christian in the world.” She starts to write “CASH” in very big letters on a check.
