I’m so tired.
Anyway, I leave the day after tomorrow. Neil drove me home, of course, after dinner. We didn’t talk much. I could call him…but I don’t know what to say.
Cat, we’re so good when we’re together. I can see us having a life, a long life together. We’re easy together. He’s smart, he’s stable, he’s interesting—Neil is the complete package.
I feel angry at Neil’s parents for treating us like two teenagers who think they’ll stay in love forever even though they’re seventeen and headed to two different state colleges, but I can’t stay angry because they’re not wrong.
And then I’ll get on the plane, and I’ll cry, and I’ve done this all before, and I’m tired of being unstable and emotional. Mom is sick, the restaurant is opening SOON, and I don’t have time to be sad over my boyfriend.
And yet…it’s Neil. I don’t know what to do, Cat.
Juliette
P.S. I’m writing instead of calling because I’m at Callan and Tarissa’s (and they’re great, really, you’d be best friends with Tarissa), but I don’t want to have this conversation about their friend, audibly, in their house, and it’s too dark to go out on a walk.
To: Me, [email protected]
From: Caterina, [email protected]
Oh, hon. Oh man. Oh. Ooooooohhhhhhhhh.
Ouch.
Sorry. I wish I had better words for you. Really. SO MUCH. And I wish I had more experience to pull from. Other than my decision to not date someone perpetually on the road (as we’ve discussed), dating Damian went smoothly. His mother took my face into her hands and told me that I was the best thing that had ever happened to him (he was, apparently, quite a handful as a child. I think she was delighted to have someone else take responsibility for him).
But we were also in Chicago at the same time, and we agreed about our future. (This is back before we were married. The constant agreeing ends, like three minutes after the ceremony. Two if you’re both Italian.)
I wish so much that you and Neil could have had that, to have been in the same physical place, to be in agreement and at peace with what your future holds. Because if you don’t feel comfortable with your current arrangement (which we’ve agreed is a legit concern)—no amount of hopes, dreams, and platitudes is going to change that. I think Neil’s been pretty clear that he has no intention to leave Tennessee anytime soon. And unless you’re ready to make the move—which I support, if that’s your decision—you guys are kinda stuck until one of you changes your mind. And seriously, it’s okay to take your time with a relationship if it’s healthy and self-sustaining. You don’t have to make any decisions anytime soon.
Let’s talk in person soon, you know, when you can. And I’ll SEE you in person when I come for the grand opening. Bringing Damian and the boys this trip. I’m dressing them in matching outfits and NOBODY CAN STOP ME.
(Unless Damian intervenes and unpacks one of the outfits. Just one. That’s how unstable this operation is. And who knows, I’ll probably forget to pack one myself, so we’ll wind up without any but MAYBE I’ll GO BUY NEW ONES IN PORTLAND WITHOUT SALES TAX, YES, THAT’s EXACTLY WHAT I’ll DO.)
The day the Italians found the Caps Lock…well, I don’t know, but I feel it was significant.
I love you. Hoping and praying good things for you.
Cat
To: Caterina, [email protected]
From: Me, [email protected]
Thanks for the hopes and prayers. Going to try to sleep. Probably won’t sleep much. Wish I could beam myself up to Chicago, really. But that’s just me wanting to run away from my problems.
I fly home day after tomorrow. Neil and I will have to talk tomorrow, then.
Looking forward to that. Not really.
Hugs, J
P.S. Hope Damian and the boys are well. I respect your problem-solving in regard to the matching outfits. Also: you are the best.
I closed my laptop and tried to sleep. Tried and failed. Thankfully Callan and Tarissa were gone when Neil and I returned to the house. He walked me to the door, we shared a good night kiss. I tried not to read anything into it, but my head replayed the scene in Sabrina, when William Holden explained to Humphrey Bogart about how good-bye kisses tasted different.
Ours wasn’t a good-bye kiss. It was…a placeholder kiss. A kiss shared because neither of us wanted to go without, and yet neither of us knew what to do or what to think.
I didn’t exactly feel better after e-mailing Caterina, but at least my thoughts seemed more ordered. If only I liked them more.
Rather than stew, I decided to quietly putter downstairs and make myself tea with Tarissa’s instant hot water spout. I climbed the stairs afterward, settled into the chair in my room, and pulled out my computer to read Mireille’s letters. If I remembered correctly, I’d left off with Mireille returning to the chateau to care for her mother.
April 24, 1939
Dear Gabriel,
Broth success! Maman has been able to take chicken and beef broth. Tomorrow I will make a chicken and garlic soup, or a beef and barley soup (I will likely make both and see which one she will eat).
Being with Cécile has been a comfort; my father has been difficult. And…my former fiancé has visited with his parents as well. His mother is, of course, no help—she acts as though she wants to be useful, but winds up gossiping about their friends. M. Bessette is a comfort to Papa, I suppose.
So there are no secrets between us, you should know that Gilles is trying to rekindle an attachment. This is a fruitless endeavor.
When I left our engagement and traveled to Paris, all I felt for weeks was relief. True and blissful relief.
But just a short time without you and…I ache to see you, to be near you. I work to be generous to my family, and as much as I am glad that I’m here and I can be helpful, I feel as though I’ve left my heart behind in Paris.
It is mine to be patient. And yours, I suspect.
Yours,
Mireille
~ PASTA PRIMAVERA FOR FOUR ~
Primavera is the Italian word for spring, but this version is decidedly summery. If a grill isn’t an option, cut the vegetables a bit smaller and roast in a 425°F oven instead.
1½ red bell peppers (yellow or orange would work fine too), cut into quarters
2 medium-sized zucchini, cut into large pieces, seeded center cut away
1 eggplant, cut into large pieces, seeded center cut away
½ pound fresh shrimp, deveined with tails removed
Olive oil, for grilling and sauce
1 pound penne pasta
½ cup pasta water, reserved
1 cup parsley, chopped
1 cup parmesan cheese, grated
Juice from one lemon
½ cup pine nuts, toasted (optional)
1 tablespoon salt plus salt to season
Cracked black pepper
Dry the cut veggies with paper towels and coat with olive oil, salt, and pepper. Repeat the process with the shrimp, and fit each onto skewers.
Set the pasta water to boil with the tablespoon salt.
Grill the veggies and shrimp; cook the veggies until they soften and develop some char, about 3–5 minutes per side. Cook the shrimp until it turns pink and curls up.
While the vegetables and shrimp cook, boil the pasta until al dente, about 9–11 minutes for penne. Drain, reserving ½ cup pasta water, and rinse the pasta in order to remove excess starch.
Once the veggies and shrimp are done, remove skewers and cut the veggies into smaller pieces. Toss the veggies, pasta, and parsley into the pasta pot together and stir; drizzle with olive oil and reserved pasta water. Add parmesan and stir again, followed with lots of cracked black pepper.
Serve immediately. Delicious with a squeeze of lemon over the top. Sprinkle with pine nuts if using.
I shouldn’t think even millionaires could eat anything nicer than new bread and real butter and honey for tea.
—DODIE SMITH
My heart squeezed as I read Mireille and Gabriel’s love notes through their separation. How long were they able to make it work? What caused their separation in the end?
I continued reading, looking for answers.
May 7, 1939
Dear Mireille,
I am gladdened to hear that your mother has begun to improve. Below you’ll find my mother’s own favorite soup recipe, which has hastened many a recovery. I do not make light of the severity of your mother’s illness, only suggest that this soup brought joy to my brothers and me.
½ cup chopped onion
½ cup chopped celery
Two cloves garlic
1 cup chopped carrots (I like them still in rounds)
1 quart chicken stock
Three or four chicken thighs
Three bay leaves
Sprig thyme and dill
Handful chopped parsley
Salt, pepper to taste
Sauté the onion until translucent, and the garlic until fragrant. Add the celery and carrot and sauté until the celery softens a little. Add the chicken stock, thighs, thyme, and dill; bring to a boil, reduce, and simmer for an hour. Discard herbs, debone the chicken thighs, discard chicken skin and bones, chop cooked chicken. Add parsley and serve. Delicious with noodles, and also with matzo balls—I’ll show you how to make them when you return.
You must know, Mireille, that I love you. I don’t know what the future holds for us, but I do know that I love you, and I always will.
Gabriel
May 14, 1939
Dear Gabriel,
If you must know, I will always love you as well. I don’t know what the future holds either, but the way you write, it sounds rather dour, though I look forward to discovering matzo.
Maman continues to improve. She took the chicken soup and beef and barley soup well, but the real success came with the risotto. When I walked into the room with the steaming bowl of risotto, she sat up from the scent of it! When she finished her bowl, her color had even seemed to improve.
It will be a few weeks before I can return to Paris—I know her well enough that once she begins to truly feel better, she’ll make it difficult for me to leave.
I miss you terribly, but my heart warms to know that you’ve visited Tante Joséphine and my sweet Anouk.
When I return to Paris…I will say no more. We shall enjoy that time when it comes.
Mireille
May 22, 1939
Dear Gabriel,
Maman has improved greatly, but every time I speak of returning to Paris, she has a “spell” and must be accompanied to bed. I fear I may have to pack my trunks and return to Paris in the dead of night.
I have written to the culinary school of my intention to return for the next cycle of classes. I know I’ve missed enough of my classes to consider that term a wash. My only hope is that I’ll be able to start again, without requiring the classes I missed.
I hope things are going well for you at the restaurant. I made a tarte tatin for Maman last night that she enjoyed very much. She can taste the difference in my patê brisee, I know, but going back to pastry school? She’d still rather I didn’t.
Cécile and I have begun to plot my escape. There is a horse involved.
I love you.
Mireille
June 3, 1939
Dear Mireille,
No horse necessary; I would be happy to come and spirit you away on foot. We could disappear to the Mediterranean together, the Alps, the Orient.
I have begun to think about leaving Paris. The political climate has become increasingly concerning for someone with my background. I’ve considered perhaps opening a patisserie of my own. My brother Benjamin speaks of leaving for America, though he is reluctant to give up his position at Van Cleef & Arpels.
Please write should you need to be rescued. I have no experience with balcony rescues, but have always believed I could try.
Avec amour,
Gabriel
June 17, 1939
My dearest Gabriel,
Are you asking me to run away with you? If so, the answer is yes. We can leave just as soon as I return to Paris, which should be on the 4 o’clock train on Monday the 26th. Neither of my parents is happy about it, but I’ve made my decision, and I’m prepared to climb out a window if necessary.
If you can bear it, I would be delighted to see you at the station.
Bisous,
Mireille
July 4, 1939
My dearest Cécile,
I hope Maman has continued in health since my departure. As much as I miss you, I am so very glad to be back in Paris.
Gabriel met me at the train station with a bouquet of hothouse flowers and a box of madeleines.
I am to meet his parents next week. Please pray for me, dearest—I am so very nervous! We are beginning to make plans for the future. Nothing official, only discussing hopes for the future and what it might look like. If he asks me, I mean to marry him. He is the very best man I have ever met.
I am not a romantic, at least not like that silly Veronique Jeunet. If necessary, I could live without Gabriel—my lungs would continue to take in air, my heart would continue beating. I could manage. But I do not wish to. I look into the future and envision a life without him, and it pales in comparison to a life that we might share together.
Do visit soon. I miss your face so very much.
Mireille
July 16, 1939
My dear Mireille,
Flowers and madeleines at the train station? I must meet this man. I have spoken to Maman about a trip to Paris. More specifically, I told her that I am in desperate need of two new frocks. It is a sad statement about my frocks that she could not have agreed fast enough. You’d tell me the truth if I looked shabby, wouldn’t you?
Cécile
July 27, 1939
Dearest, most fashionable Cécile—For heaven’s sakes, if your frocks are old, mine must be antediluvian. Be of peace knowing you are a fashion plate. And even if some of your frocks are a few years old, no one would know it—you have a classic eye.
M. and Mme. Roussard invited me to dine at their home last week.
While I am certain Papa would find a reason to look down his nose at them, Gabriel’s parents are by no means poor. Their house is lovely, and they employ a housekeeper who made a wonderful meal.
I don’t even know why I’m beginning with that. Perhaps I’m trying to set the stage. I hardly knew what to expect when I arrived.
(In case you are wondering, I wore my navy dress with the tulip skirt and looked both chic and appropriate.)
Gabriel’s mother, Ruth, is very elegant. She has fine, delicate features and Gabriel’s lovely eyes (I suppose Gabriel has her eyes, but I saw them first on him). Gabriel’s father, Théodore, is a retired professor and is still devoted to his scholarship.
We had a lovely dinner, though at times it felt, perhaps, a little awkward. I do not gather that Gabriel is in the habit of bringing young ladies to the home as dinner guests.
M. Roussard asked about the chateau, its history, and if I was to be in charge of its care in the future. Mme. Roussard asked about my pastry studies, and what I planned to do with them, and if I was also planning to settle down and have a family in the future.
In short: many difficult questions with complicated answers. I am not the intellectual that they had hoped for, I think, though why they would believe their pastry-making son would court a scholar, I do not know.
The conversation also turned briefly to the oldest brother in Warsaw, who would soon be moving to Paris with his family. I fear that they are not moving as much as they are fleeing for their safety. Such difficult times we live in.
The Roussards also asked if I had been to America, and if I would consider moving there in the future. I shook my head and said no, I would miss France and all of its strange, elegant ways. M. Roussard admonished that the political unrest in Germany was unlikely to stay in Germany, and
that all of Europe could be swept into Herr Hitler’s political agenda.
He is a learned man, so I must believe that he has reason to think such things. France is no stranger to war, of course, but I had hopes that perhaps it would not happen again so soon.
All of this discourse made for an unsettling dinner, though they were very kind when we parted, assuring me that I was welcome to return and they were certain they would see me again soon.
Gabriel and I took a cab back to Tante Joséphine’s. The dinner had left him worried as well. He told me that he believes a move to the south, to Marseille, could be beneficial for the future.
I know that he is concerned about his brother in Warsaw, and his mother’s status as a Jewess. He told me that he is considered to be a Jew as well, since it is, apparently, passed on through the mother.
But while he has dark eyes and hair, so have many Parisians without a single Jewish ancestor. With his French surname, I do not fully understand his concerns. But I told him that if he thought it wise to go to Marseille, that it was a lovely enough city, though parts of it stink of fish.
A little worried and confused tonight. I shall bake (and eat) a batch of…something…in consolation. Looking forward to seeing you!
Mireille
I sighed. At least Mireille’s meeting of the parents went better than my own. Mireille and Gabriel seemed so ready to give up everything for each other. Would Neil and I ever be ready to do the same?
Better than any argument is to rise at dawn and pick dew-wet red berries in a cup.
—WENDELL BERRY
I rose and dressed early. We’d agreed the night before to attend church together. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I wasn’t so sure. After last night, I had no idea where we stood in our relationship—did I want to meet his church community?
Reservations for Two Page 21
