Taste: A Love Story

by Tracy Ewens

  Logan came around and opened the door of the truck for her. As she slid down his body and her feet hit the driveway, she wanted to invite him in, wanted to wake up wrapped in him, but she hadn’t been with a man in a very long time and all the questions came flooding back. How would this change things? What about her job? What if it didn’t work out or he felt differently than she did? Just walking to the door, she could already feel her previously predicted anxiety attack, so in the end she kissed him goodnight and that was it. His cold nose touched her cold nose and Kara wondered if maybe she was a little too old for Christmas wishes.

  Chapter Twenty

  Kara turned in the second part of her feature on The Yard before she left the office early on Christmas Eve day. Olivia seemed pleased and of course, noticing the photography, made another awkward sexual reference to Jeremy and his “great angles.” Kara had thought about bringing this to Olivia’s attention on more than one occasion, but just as when someone has spinach in their teeth and they say they want to know, it’s still super awkward when someone actually has to tell them.

  They sat in Olivia’s office and exchanged Christmas gifts, well, their version of Christmas gifts. Every year they bought each other obscenely expensive shoes. Their mutual affection for shoes had started back when Olivia interviewed Kara for the job. Kara was coming from Los Angeles magazine, where she wrote a small column on desserts for their food section. She also had a blog on food where she took recipes and scaled them down for the single woman. “Rather than having to cook something for four,” Kara explained in the interview, “single women can go to my blog and see recipes tailored for one.” Olivia had liked her, but she expressed concern that Kara didn’t have enough experience and she also wondered if the Malendar name would create issues.

  “I can do this job,” Kara had said. “I’m writing about food, it’s not like this is politics, so my family shouldn’t be an issue.”

  Olivia agreed, but was still hesitant. “I don’t want to hire someone who, let’s face it, doesn’t really need the job, only to have you up and leave in a year.”

  Kara still didn’t know what got into her that day. She’d been desperate to have something for herself, so she blurted out, “Keep my shoes. If I leave before a year, they’re yours.”

  It was the most absurd thing she had ever said. She was certain she’d lost the opportunity, but when she stood to leave Olivia asked, “Are those Ferragamos?”

  “Yes.” Kara had been so nervous. “I just bought them yesterday for the interview.”

  Grady was always telling her to “go for it.” In these situations, her Nana liked to say, “Grab that bull by the horns,” and when Olivia Palm, editor of the food section for the Los Angeles Times, held out her hand for Kara’s shoes, she knew she’d made them both proud. Kara had left the office wearing the pedicure flip-flops she’d kept in her purse that day and got her tortoise-colored Ferragamos back on her one-year anniversary.

  “Such a shame,” Olivia had said, giving them back to her. “Would have made me a very nice Christmas present.” And that was it, the idea that started it all. Kara and Olivia had exchanged six pairs of obscenely expensive shoes since and Kara’s seventh pair, Jimmy Choos in gunmetal suede, was sitting on the seat next to her as she drove home. Olivia had slipped into her new Michael Kors black leather booties, with silver zippers up the back, before she’d even left her office. Kara liked traditions, and this one was fun. Traditions truly did have a way of bringing people together, even if those people were as different as Kara and Olivia.

  Midnight Mass at St. Andrew’s Church in downtown Pasadena was a tradition dating back to when Kara was five and Grady was six. Their parents had a Christmas Eve party every year, so Nana took them for the day, then to Midnight Mass, and then home to their beds before Christmas morning. Now that Nana was gone, she and Grady went every year, not because they were particularly religious, but because their Nana was and it was tradition. As Kara climbed in the car Grady had sent for her, she remembered going to church as a child in velvet and tights. Her Nana wore a fur back before fur went the way of cigarettes. Kara loved church, even as a kid, mostly because it was just the three of them. Their grandfather had died before they were born, so all of the memories were of Nana alone. She lived in a beautiful old home only two blocks from where they grew up, so Kara and Grady spent a lot of time with her. When Nana got sick, she moved into a smaller condominium and eventually watched her Wednesday and Sunday service on the television. She would have the programs mailed to the house and Kara remembered propping her up with pillows and playing pretend iron while Nana prayed the rosary and Grady asked questions about the stories in her Bible.

  Her rosary was purple. It was funny, the things you remembered, Kara thought as she and Grady walked out of Midnight Mass into the cool crisp air of Christmas Eve. Both of them cast their gazes to the stars. It was a clear night.

  “Do you think she’s up there?” Kara asked Grady.

  “Probably not,” he said and Kara laughed.

  “I can always count on you to be honest, right?”

  He laughed too, buttoned his coat, and put his arm around her as they walked to the car.

  “I think she’s somewhere—you know her spirit. I can feel her sometimes.”

  “Me too.” Kara slid into the car as the driver held her door open.

  “Hot chocolate time,” Grady declared as the car pulled out on its way to one of two twenty-four-hour drive-thru coffee shops, and the only one that used milk and piled whipped cream on their hot chocolate.

  Kara took a deep breath and settled back into the leather seat. “I love that feeling. I don’t get it every year, but this year, it was there.”

  “What feeling?”

  “That sense of goodness, it’s kind of an innocence, I guess, when we walk out of church and into Christmas.”

  “I think it helps that St. Andrew’s is a beautiful church. I remember when we were little, I used to look up at those chandeliers and imagine swinging on them.”

  Kara laughed. “You’ve always had a thing for climbing, haven’t you?”

  “I guess, but I know the feeling you’re talking about. It’s the essence of what you want Christmas to be. It’s the choir and the bells, the warmth of familiar people and then the stars.”

  “Nana loved the choir, remember?”

  “Yeah, and she had the worst voice.” Grady cringed. “Remember sitting next to her and she’d break out into ‘Oh Come All Ye Faithful’?”

  They both laughed.

  “And,” Kara was almost crying with laughter, “it was like she had no idea how bad it was. She was all loud and proud. That was the best part.”

  “I don’t think she cared.”

  “She didn’t give a—”

  “Rat’s ass,” they both said together and the laughter started all over again.

  “Or sometimes it was a donkey’s ass, she liked that one too.” Kara leaned into her brother.

  “Or if she was really being dirty, like the time her neighbor complained about her animated reindeer being in the front yard and she said—”

  “I don’t give a flying fuck,” they both bellowed and exploded with laughter. Tears and snorts, just like when they were children.

  Kara dabbed her eyes, “Oh my God, I forgot about that one. Why was it flying? She was truly something.”

  They both got hot chocolate with the works, which included a drizzle of chocolate syrup, and rode home.

  “Do you miss her?” Grady asked after a while.

  “Yeah, I do.” She reached out to hold his hand.

  The car dropped Kara off at home and as she went up the walkway to her house, she stopped, feeling the cool breeze that rustled through the trees and across her face. She closed her eyes.

  “Love you, Nana,” Kara whispered into the night air and then went inside and turned on her very own Christmas tree. She had never bothered to get her own tree before, but this year felt different. She got into he
r pajamas and fell asleep on the couch by the glow of Christmas lights.

  Christmas Eve dinner at The Yard had gone well. The entire restaurant, even the bathrooms, was lit by candles. When Makenna had suggested it, all Logan could think about was frantically calling the fire department when some kid knocked a candle into the bathroom trash. But when he woke up Christmas morning, he had to admit it was something special. He did make sure most of the candles were in huge hurricanes for safety reasons, but the candles lined on the pizza bar were open and the look as they melted through the evening was his favorite. It was kind of like inviting a few hundred friends for dinner over the course of the night. They served carved ham, homemade rolls, a standing rib roast, and Swedish meatballs, one of Travis’s family recipes. Sage made apple cider and hot chocolate, spiked for the adults. Logan’s family came by for dinner and Paige fell asleep in one of the booths. It was a great night, a shining example of the reason Logan did what he did. Good people, good food, prepared in a way that was at peace with the world around him. He had had that vision in one form or another for as long as he could remember.

  Because they’d stayed open until eleven on Christmas Eve, he’d thought Kara might stop by and was annoyed with himself for even caring. That had started to happen a lot lately. He caught himself thinking about where she was or what she was doing, probably because they spent so much time together. That’s what he told himself anyway. Being disappointed when she didn’t show up Christmas Eve was ridiculous. She had her life and he had his. He liked it that way and the feeling of needing someone, needing to know where they were, was not a place he was ever willing to go again.

  Logan walked out to his kitchen, made some coffee, and sat by the window. It was overcast with a prediction for rain, a rare thing in southern California. He planned to eventually make his way up to the farm for dinner and gifts, but for now most of the day was his. He contemplated going back to the restaurant when his doorbell rang.

  He opened the door to Kara, standing in her pajamas, Uggs, and some hat with balls hanging off it. Crazy-haired Kara—his favorite. She was holding bags and he could smell the food.

  “Merry Christmas!” She looked down at her boots as if she was second-guessing her outfit. “If this is too weird, tell me and I’ll turn right around, but I went to Midnight Mass last night with Grady. I was thinking about my Nana and I had a great time with you at the Christmas trees,” she took a breath, “and I just thought, we like each other, we’re friends. I’m waking up on Christmas morning, so are you”—the hand not holding the bags was gesturing back and forth—“there’s no reason that I shouldn’t go over and say, Merry Christmas, so here I am.”

  He should have played it cool, been like, “Oh, hey Kara. Thanks for stopping by, but I’m on my way out. Merry Christmas to you too.” That’s what he should have done. That’s what any sane man who had already been dropped by a woman who still cared what her parents thought, what the entire damn country thought of her, would do. Once a liar, always a liar. He should have listened, but he didn’t.

  “This is weird,” she said, while he was arguing with himself, and then she turned to leave.

  He grabbed her so quickly the bags flew out of her hands and onto his couch by the front door. He kissed her, kicked the door closed, and kept kissing her. Urgent and very Christmas morning. She moaned or sighed, it was something, so he took more. His hand was under her flannel snowman pajamas which was another mistake because her skin was so soft that his hands wanted just as much as his lips were getting. Good God, Merry Christmas, he thought as they dropped to the chair. He was careful not to smash the food because it still smelled incredible and even in his lust haze, food was important.

  Kara pulled back and swallowed. “So it’s not so weird.” Her eyes asked for more than Logan was sure he could give.

  “That you wanted to come over?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No, it’s not weird.” He kissed her gently this time. Maybe it was the PJs or the look on her face, but he suddenly felt very big bad wolf. “I’m glad you came over and brought whatever’s in those bags.” He walked over to the couch, picked up the bags, and put them on the table.

  Kara was still standing at the door, flushed and beautiful.

  “Oh, so we’re not going to?” She gestured between the two of them. Logan couldn’t help it—he laughed.

  Kara huffed, which made her all the more adorable.

  “I—did you? Wait, was that why you came over? For?”

  Her face turned pink and she turned toward the door. He wrapped her in his arms.

  “Kara Malendar, was this a Christmas booty call?”

  “No.” She squirmed, but he held tight.

  “You totally want me. You wanted to unwrap me like a Christmas present. Take advantage of my totally innocent holiday mood.”

  “You are an idiot—I want no such thing.” She hit his arms, again with no luck. “You’re the one who grabbed me. I just wanted to come over, sit in our PJs, and enjoy some fresh-out-of-the-oven galettes. You are the one who wanted me. Couldn’t even wait for me to put my bags down before you were all unwrapping me.”

  “Wait, did you say galettes?” Logan picked her up and took her to the table. She had stopped fighting and was now laughing. A good sign, he thought.

  “You’re fun, farm boy. I’m glad I came over.”

  “Me too, princess. Now tell me where you got fresh galettes on a holiday.” He set her down on a seat.

  “Well.” She opened up one of the bags and pulled out delicious yummy cheese and fruit pastries.

  “Oh God, is that one pear?”

  “Yes, yes it is.”

  “Where, Kara, where?”

  “My parents—”

  “Had them flown in from Paris?” Logan turned to get coffee and tea.

  “Very funny, that was a good one and very close.”

  Logan turned and gave her his best “Are you serious?” look.

  “My parents have Christmas morning breakfast catered by Maison Giraud.”

  “Of course they do.” Logan laughed bringing plates and napkins.

  “Their cook loves me and I swung by their house before they were even up and stole us breakfast.”

  Logan kissed her again.

  “And to think you almost smashed everything for a Christmas booty call,” he said.

  Kara balled up one of the paper bags, now that the assorted pastries were safely on the table, and threw it at him.

  She sipped tea curled in his dining area, which opened up to the garden. He drank his coffee next to her. They both shared the most delicious galettes either of them had had since returning from Paris and told stories of their favorite Christmas mornings. There were no presents, no dressed-up, mature grown-up talk, just the two of them and a whole lot of feeling Logan had no idea what to do with. One thing was for sure—she crawled right inside of him and spoke to a part of him that he didn’t share with anyone. That scared the shit out of him, but at that moment, on Christmas morning in her silly hat, she looked harmless. But looks could be deceiving.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Kara had been volunteering to decorate the Rose Bowl Parade floats with her parents for as long as she could remember. When she was a little girl, she loved it and now as an adult she respected the tradition. As with all traditions, some years were easier than others, but she believed that showing up was often what held things together. At least that’s what she told herself as she received yet another lecture about her hair on the drive over to the floats. She’d left it curly because she wanted to and her mother, of course, did her best to squash any defiance to the standard. Kara was already feeling the weight of her family and when her mother handed her a coffee, she just about lost her mind. She didn’t drink coffee; her mother knew that and yet it was expected she would, because that’s what Bindi Malendar wanted. Kara wondered if her mother ever found herself in a situation where she didn’t get what she wanted. She took a deep breath and found it d
ifficult to flash the perm-a-grin so early in the morning. She was truly slipping.

  “I don’t know why you don’t schedule a standing appointment for a blowout every couple of days,” her mother added as they pulled up to the floats.

  Kara shook her head, took a few pictures with her parents and the grand marshal for the parade, as was tradition, and then left to get lost among the floats. She was assigned to work on the giraffe, so she smiled at the other volunteers, confirmed that yes she was really the senator’s daughter, and then got to work.

  There was no point in fighting, even though she’d had a wonderful Christmas morning with Logan only two days earlier and even though under the giant Christmas trees a few nights before that, she’d believed in so much. She needed to come back to earth. This was her life and there was “no point beating a dead horse,” as her Nana would say. God, she missed her.

  Logan didn’t have much time. He needed to get back, but Kara had mentioned she was volunteering to decorate the floats for the Rose Bowl Parade, and he wanted to see her among all those flowers. It took him a while, but he found her adding greenery on a huge flower giraffe. He grabbed a bunch of roses tied together with string, sitting on a stack of similar bunches, and he hoped no one would miss them. She was in jeans, a UCLA sweatshirt, and Converse. He walked toward her. She hadn’t seen him yet, and when Logan got closer he noticed her face was fresh and alive as she laughed at something an older lady on a ladder higher up on the giraffe float was saying. The look on Kara’s face reminded him that he’d always wanted to give her flowers.

  One morning in Paris, back in 2007, they’d walked toward the West Bank. They’d started that day in his bed, his arms wrapped around her as the morning sun peeked through the insanely small window of his one-room flat. It was Sunday and they didn’t have class or anything planned. Winnie wanted to see the Marche aux Fleurs. The bird market was also held on Sundays, so Logan kissed her nose and carried her piggyback up the River Seine toward croissants and tea.