Together at the Table

by Hillary Manton Lodge

  Sophie’s eyes pressed shut. “You’re awful.”

  “That smooth, modern, cylindrical design. Just wait. So sleek, so modern—”

  “So full of corn.”

  I shrugged. “If they can empty the barn of cows, I’m sure there’s an empty silo to be had.”

  Sophie took a sip of her drink. “You’re a monster, I hope you know that.”

  “It’s possible.” I winked at my sister. “Don’t worry. I’ve spent enough time in polyester satin to appreciate the advantages of central air.” I saw Caterina’s boys dashing around and Chloé ducking upstairs. “I think there’s a game of hide-and-seek afoot. I’ll see if I can catch up with Chloé.”

  “Tell her to make good choices.”

  “I’ll give you a full report as I’m able.”

  I followed Chloé up the stairs. There were a number of places to hide on the second floor of the restaurant. Aside from the catering kitchen where Alex worked, there were two private event rooms upstairs that, after the recession, had become storage rooms and never quite transitioned back. As the economy improved, the catering business picked up, but the banquet rooms gathered dust.

  I climbed the stairs quietly, though not before Luca caught up with me. I assured him that I hadn’t seen Chloé and suggested that possibly he might wish to check the downstairs again.

  There was a sturdy old wardrobe that my mother had placed in the upstairs hallway for guests’ coats, once upon a time, and we’d found Chloé inside it more than a few times, occasionally asleep while trying to enter Narnia. My mother, a C. S. Lewis fan, had once gone so far as to hang a couple of fur coats inside.

  “Knock, knock,” I said as I approached. “Chloé, honey, are you in here?”

  “I’m hiding from the boys” came a voice from the wardrobe.

  “Room for two in there?”

  A slight scuffling noise. “I think so.”

  I slipped off my sandals and opened the wardrobe door. “Hallo.”

  My niece grinned up at me. “Hi.”

  “Are you playing hide-and-seek because you wanted to play, or because you needed to hide?”

  Chloé lifted a slight shoulder. “Bit of both.”

  “How are you?”

  A heavy sigh. “High school is crazy.”

  “Getting around all right?”

  “I just feel…young.” She wrinkled her nose.

  “Freshman year’s rough.”

  “Aunt Juliette?”

  “Yes?”

  A deep breath from Chloé. “How do you know when you’re in love?”

  “Oh…I don’t know that I’m the right person to ask,” I answered as soon as I could string a sentence together.

  “But you love Adrian, don’t you?”

  “He’s very special to me,” I hedged.

  “So how did you know?”

  “The man you love—he’s the one you prefer to all others. The one you compare all the others to.” I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “The one that suits you, whom you can see sharing your life with, making sacrifices for.”

  “Did you feel that way about Neil?”

  “Not enough,” I said. “In the end. Why do you ask?”

  “He was nice.”

  “He is.” I waited a beat. “Is there…a boy at school?”

  I didn’t need much light in order to see Chloé’s flush. “He’s very nice.”

  “Good. He should be.”

  I could feel her head nod against the back of the wardrobe. “He’s nice. He texts me and stuff.”

  “Cool. Just…just remember that having a boy like you—or not—doesn’t make you any more or any less special.”

  Another nod.

  “I mean high-school boys think that Axe body spray is cool. So their taste can’t always be trusted.”

  She snorted. “He doesn’t.”

  “I’m relieved.” I put a hand on her knee. “Don’t worry about falling in love. Those things have a way of working themselves out one way or another.”

  In my case, it had so often been “another.” But I wasn’t worse for it—and I didn’t want Chloé to feel pressured.

  “I should probably head back downstairs,” I said, nudging the wardrobe door open with my foot. “If you’d like to come down, I’ll protect you. There’s some really good food down there.”

  Chloé climbed out with me. “I think Adrian loves you. He made a lot of food.”

  “He did. But he is a cook too. It’s kind of his thing.”

  She looked up at me, doubtful eyebrow raised.

  I sighed. “You are the spitting image of your mom,” I said. “Let’s go get plates.”

  Downstairs, I drank the spiced cider, made small talk, and caught up with Linn, whom I’d seen all too infrequently since the restaurant opened. At the same time, I kept an eye out for Chloé and made sure her cousins weren’t pestering her too much. My shoulders were just beginning to loosen when Adrian tapped his fork against his glass.

  Everyone quieted—even Nico.

  Adrian raised his glass. “Thank you, everyone, for coming and helping me celebrate this amazing woman. Juliette D’Alisa, you’re the kindest, strongest, most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. I’m honored to be in your life, and I’m honored to have gotten to know the people you share it with,” he said, acknowledging the other guests. “To Juliette!”

  “To Juliette!” everyone echoed back.

  Adrian took a long drink from his glass, holding eye contact with me all the while. He lowered it with a sly wink, then set the glass on the table and reached into his pocket.

  “And it’s because you’re so special,” he said, his voice only a shade quieter, “and smart and lovely—and one of the best cooks I’ve ever met.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck prickled.

  “Juliette Carolina D’Alisa,” he said, kneeling in front of me and pulling a small box from his pocket. “Would you…would you do me the honor of marrying me?”

  I froze. A diamond solitaire glinted in the fragile November sun; Adrian’s eyes shone with emotion.

  Oh. My.

  I will marry you if you promise not to make me eat eggplant.

  —GABRIEL GARCÍA MÁRQUEZ

  My gaze flickered from Adrian to Caterina and back, with a side trip to Chloé, whose face echoed an “I told you so” that resembled her mother’s.

  I didn’t know what to say; none of their faces held any answers. Adrian’s, at least, hoped for one in particular.

  But it was one I didn’t know if I could give.

  I looked down at the ring again.

  It would be so easy. Almost.

  I could see our future unspooling, like the longest strand of angel-hair pasta. He and I could marry, could work at the restaurant together during our work days, fall into bed together after hours. We’d have the life my parents had, raise our children amidst the hustle and bustle of restaurant life, teaching them to negotiate life from both sides of the swinging kitchen door.

  I saw it; I could understand it.

  So why did my mouth feel so very dry?

  “That is so romantic,” Caterina’s voice trilled at the edge of the room. “Let’s give the lovebirds some privacy, shall we?”

  “Juliette?” Adrian asked in a softer voice this time, a voice meant for us and us alone. “Juliette, baby, you’re making me nervous here.”

  “We never”—I cleared my throat but couldn’t seem to manage above a whisper—“we never talked about marriage. We never…I didn’t expect…”

  Adrian’s face paled. “We love each other.”

  “We—we do.” Didn’t we?

  “I love you, Juliette. And I think we make a great couple. We want the same things out of life. I want to spend my life with you. I thought…I thought you wanted the same.”

  “I don’t know what I want,” I admitted with a raspy voice.

  “What?”

  “I—” I cleared my throat again. Adrian reached over to the table
and handed me a cup of cider.

  “Drink this,” he said, his voice soft and controlled. “I think it was Sophie’s, so it’s very clean.”

  I would have accepted it if it were Gigi’s water dish. I downed the contents, grateful for the tart liquid against my dry mouth.

  When I’d emptied it, I set the glass aside. “Stand up,” I said. “I feel strange talking down to you.”

  He stood, snapping the box shut but keeping it in his fist. “This was a mistake.”

  Perhaps we had both made mistakes. “I thought we were happy as we were.”

  “You don’t want to marry me.” It was a statement rather than a question.

  “We’ve only been dating a few months,” I said with a shake of my head, bewildered that I had to point it out. “And everything with my mom, and I’m just now almost beginning to feel like I’m getting my feet back under me. I’m not ready for…for this. And I’m sorry I must have communicated otherwise.” I looked into Adrian’s stricken face. “Really, I am.” My voice hitched, and my eyes welled with tears. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  “No, I’m sorry. Look at me, making you cry on your birthday.” His arms reached for me, and I accepted the embrace.

  “Do you ever think you’ll want to marry me?” Adrian asked. “I wish I didn’t need to know, but…I just…I have a ring and I need to know what to do with it.”

  Once again, I envisioned a life with Adrian. There was nothing wrong with it—possibly everything right with it, even. But nothing in my being said yes. No internal cue, no heavenly intervention.

  “Is it Neil?” Adrian asked before I could formulate an answer.

  “We haven’t known each other that long,” I repeated. “I don’t think Neil factors into this.”

  “Are you sure?”

  And then I saw it, finally. Saw what I should have caught instantly. The insecurity in his eyes. I didn’t doubt how he felt about me—I never had, with Adrian. But this moment? It wasn’t about his love for me.

  It had everything to do with his fear that he’d lose me to Neil.

  Neil, who’d be leaving for Georgia in a matter of weeks.

  “Neil has a different life, I have a different life,” I told him. “You know that.”

  Adrian tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m not sure it’s that simple.”

  I caught his hand and held it in my own. “Look, my feelings, they’re complicated, and don’t make me explain why. But the fact of the matter is that Neil and I didn’t work and we broke up.”

  He fingered the ring box. “I don’t like feeling like this.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you.” My eyes squeezed shut. “I might still love him. I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter, because we broke up. Even if he’s not over me either—”

  Adrian drew himself up taller. “Did he tell you that?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Of course it matters!”

  I flinched but stood my ground. “Not enough. And you know why? Because it wasn’t ever enough. We didn’t choose each other, he and I, when things were difficult. It would never have worked out.”

  My eyes and nose filled with moisture, my voice sounding impassioned and nasal all at the same time. “There are too many feelings to sort out, so I try to remember the facts. He and I are not in a relationship. You and I like each other. And as far as the future, I’m sorry. I need more time.” I sniffed. “I’m sorry.”

  Adrian stuffed the ring into his pocket. “I need to go for a walk.”

  There was a time when I would have cringed at the thought of my family witnessing a marriage proposal gone wrong. And while I knew there would be other wince-worthy events in my future, the post-party breakdown wasn’t one of them.

  Caterina took the lead, yet again, announcing loudly that I wasn’t allowed to help with cleanup because it was my birthday, and then promptly bundled me up and loaded me into the car along with Gigi and the boys.

  “We’re going to the park,” she said. “It’s dry out, it’s not dark yet, and the boys aren’t tired enough. I suspect this will be a good evening to aim for an early bedtime.”

  “I like the way you think,” I said, “but what’s going on at the house?”

  “Sophie’s running point. Nico’s entertaining the nonfamily guests until they leave. Everybody else is following Sophie’s bidding.”

  “That’s impressive.”

  “We formed a plan inside.”

  “Everyone was watching?”

  “Just focus on the fact that there was a plan.”

  I shook my head. “Cat, what am I going to do?”

  “Do you want to marry Adrian?”

  “We’ve only been dating for three months. I was still trying to figure out what to give him for Christmas.”

  “I knew I wanted to marry Damian after two weeks.”

  “I’m not ready—for heaven’s sake, there’s been too much going on. I haven’t even been thinking about marriage.”

  “Then don’t marry him.”

  “I don’t want to hurt him,” I said in a small voice.

  Caterina’s lips twisted into a sympathetic smile. “That may not be possible. You can mitigate the damage, but usually once you decline an offer of marriage…”

  “I know.” I covered my face with my hands. “Sister cone of silence?”

  “Sister cone of silence,” Caterina affirmed.

  “I look at Neil, and all of it comes rushing back. Not all of it, actually. All of a sudden, I can’t remember why we broke up. I look at his face, and I don’t want to look away.”

  “I got that. There was some Aragorn and Arwen realness when I walked in. Trust me when I say I think it’s mutual.”

  “We were good at being together and terrible at being long distance. And now that he’s here—I don’t want to let him go. Which is so, so stupid because he’s only here temporarily, and he’s not mine. What is wrong with me? I can remind myself of every valid reason why we shouldn’t be together and still…” I waved a hand in frustration. “Why didn’t I feel like this when we were actually together?”

  “Maybe…maybe your mango wasn’t ripe.”

  I squinted at Cat. “I’m not following. You’re going to have to take me there.”

  “There’s a part in You’ve Got Mail when Kathleen and Joe have been hanging out together. Joe knows their online identities, but she doesn’t. And they go to the farmers’ market, and before parting ways she says, ‘I hope your mango’s ripe,’ and he gives her this considering look and tells her that he thinks it is.”

  “That is a very obscure reference.”

  “The point is, the mango was a metaphor for their relationship. He’d waited until she’d grown and softened under the sunlight, and once she’d gotten there, he made his move—both before and after revealing his identity.”

  “It says a lot about Tom Hanks that none of this is creepy.”

  “True.”

  “So you’re saying that Neil and I weren’t ready yet.”

  “Maybe not. I mean, I just met him for the first time, but maybe you needed the extra time. Maybe you weren’t ready yet.”

  I shook my head. “And I needed to lose Mom and date Adrian to be ready?”

  “I didn’t say it was a perfect metaphor. Don’t blame the mango.” She tipped her head. “So, sister cone of silence. Are you thinking of breaking it off with Adrian?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “It’s not his fault.”

  “You didn’t run off and buy a ring.”

  “He felt insecure. That’s my fault.”

  Caterina exhaled slowly. “Not really. He’s still an adult, responsible for his own feelings and actions.”

  “What am I going to do? This is such a mess. This,” I said, my voice rising in volume, “this is why I insisted on never dating a sous-chef ever again! And I did it anyway! And look what happened!”

  “That really is your superpower, isn’t it? You’re irresistible to sous-chefs.”<
br />
  “I know it’s funny, but it doesn’t feel funny.”

  “Oh, it’s funny. Trust.”

  “You’re not helping.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “I want to get away,” I said, not realizing until the words were out how much it was true.

  “So get away.”

  “Thanksgiving is around the corner.”

  “Get away after Thanksgiving.”

  I toyed with the thought in my head.

  I could, really. I could leave. Mallory could run the front of the house, and I could handle any administrative tasks remotely. Gigi could stay with Alex so she’d have a person to hang out with when he wasn’t on a catering gig…

  “You know that if I get away, I’m going to land in your guest bedroom,” I said, testing the waters.

  Caterina cocked her head. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “I’m giving you the opportunity to say no.”

  She snorted. “As if.”

  “Fine. I’ll talk to Nico and Mallory. If Mallory can fill the hours, I will pack a suitcase.”

  “Yay! When?”

  “I’ll see if there are seats left on your flight.”

  Caterina inhaled sharply. “I’m so happy right now.”

  “You’re happy to have an extra set of adult hands to help with the twins.”

  “That hadn’t even occurred to me.”

  “Liar.”

  She shrugged. “You’re right. It totally did. But can you imagine—I might be able to have a three-second, sentient conversation with Damian during the flight. And if I got to have a three-second conversation with you too, I’d be living the dream!”

  “Nico would kill me.”

  “Nico’s a big boy and he owes you.”

  I grinned. “I’ll see what I can do. I’m due for some time away anyway. I’ve been meaning to get back to trying to find Gabriel’s brother Benjamin, or one of his children.”

  “Still trying to find Mom’s secret twin? Alice?”

  “My gut says she’s out there somewhere. I feel we’d know if it weren’t true.”

  “A lot of things happened during the war that we don’t know about, and that generation didn’t discuss them,” Caterina countered. “It’s not good, but it happened.”