“Ha-ha. You just wish you were as hip as me,” Scott said. He folded me into his arms. “Hey, kid. It’s been a long time.”
“No kidding. Paige told me you two are talking again. I was really glad to hear that. I’ve missed you,” I said, punching him lightly on the arm. “So, are you coming or going?”
“What do you mean?”
“You do know you’re in an airport, don’t you?”
“I’m here to pick you up. But keep up with the wisecracks and it’ll be a long walk back to the city,” Scott said.
I looked around for a sign of the Cassel family. But among the harried parents herding their little ones, seniors in jogging suits, and clusters of college students milling around, all waiting for baggage, I didn’t see any familiar faces.
“You came by yourself?” I asked. “Where’s everyone else?”
“Your parents are tied up with something, Paige wasn’t feeling well, and Sophie had to deal with the baby. So Paige called and asked if I’d swing by and scoop you up. Are all of these your bags? God, what do you have in here?” Scott asked, straining to lift my luggage into a cart.
“Books,” I said faintly. This was weird. I’d just talked to my mom last night, and she hadn’t said anything about Scott coming instead.
What was it with my family? In other families, when people get divorced, they go off in different directions. Now my parents were dating, and Scott was my airport shuttle. I suppose it was better than all of the acrimony, but still—weird.
“Right. I should have known. No, don’t worry, I’ve got these. Just follow me,” Scott said.
We walked out to the garage and after a few minutes of searching, found Scott’s pickup truck. My bags were heaved up into the bed, alongside bags of soil and assorted gardening tools, and then we climbed into the cab. The truck and dirt seemed incongruous with Scott’s outfit.
“Is the black leather meant to be a marketing gimmick, like Chippendale Landscapers?”
“No, but that’s not a bad idea, kid,” Scott said, grinning at me.
“How is business going?” I asked him as he pulled out of the garage and headed out toward the freeway.
“Crazy busy. I have more work than I can handle this summer, even without your brilliant marketing hook. Do you have a summer job lined up yet? Because I could use an extra set of hands. And I figured you’d probably want the extra cash to take to med school with you. Congratulations on Brown, by the way,” Scott said.
“Er. Thanks. And thanks for the job offer. But I was thinking . . . I think I want to get a job in a restaurant,” I said.
“You mean waitressing? Like at Chuy’s or something?”
“No, somewhere nice. But I was hoping that maybe I could be an assistant or gopher to the chef,” I said. “Or, if not, I’d wait tables.”
“I don’t know about the kitchen work—I think most of the chefs in the high-end places are professionally trained—but I could see if my boyfriend’s restaurant is hiring, if you’re interested,” Scott said.
“Really? That would be great! Do you think they are?”
“Yeah, actually I think they might be. Kevin said a waiter was fired the other night for smoking a joint in the bathroom in the middle of a shift. But why so excited about waiting tables? Is it really that much better than planting flowers for me?”
“You have no idea,” I said, grinning happily.
I should have figured out that something was up when Scott insisted on walking me into my mom’s house rather than just dropping me off. He did it under the pretense of helping me carry my luggage in, and I slowly trailed up the paved walk behind him, dreading how the big reveal would go when I told my parents my decision. Would Mom cry? Would Dad turn red and get that awful crease in his forehead?
If I don’t step on any cracks, they’ll just be happy for me and not at all angry, I thought, and then almost immediately stepped on one. And then another.
I decided the game of not stepping on cracks in the pavement was juvenile and beneath me.
Scott was waiting by the front door, looking expectant.
“Just go in,” I said. “Here, take my key.”
“I think we should ring the bell,” Scott said, pressing the doorbell with his thumb.
“What? Why? I never ring, and it doesn’t look like anyone’s home.”
The house was dark and still, and the driveway was free of cars.
“Okay then, go ahead in,” Scott said, stepping out of my way.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing. What do you mean?”
“I know you. I can see it in your face. Something’s up.” I crossed my arms and stared at Scott defiantly. “I’m not moving until you tell me what’s going on.”
“Christ, you sound just like your sister,” Scott said wearily.
“Which one?”
“It doesn’t matter. You’re all equally stubborn. Okay, fine, I’ll tell you, but you can’t tell that I told.” Scott bent down, and with his lips so close to my ear, I could feel the warmth of his breath, he whispered, “Surprise party. So try to look surprised.”
“Oh no. No, no, no,” I said, shaking my head. I took a step back from the door and looked around, trying to find an escape route. Up the street, I could see a couple dozen cars lined up by the side of the road.
“What’s wrong?” Scott asked.
“I’m so not up for this right now.”
“Go on, it’ll be fine,” Scott said, pulling my arm gently.
“No, you don’t understand . . . ,” I began, about to tell him about how I wasn’t going to medical school, and that I had to tell my parents before anyone else, and that I couldn’t bear spending one more night lying to everyone.
But before I could blurt any of it out, Scott opened the door and gently herded me inside the dark house. And then suddenly the lights were turned on, and the fifty assorted guests were yelling surprise, and everyone was laughing and hugging me and asking me if I was truly surprised.
I pasted a smile on my face, while the crowd—family, friends of my parents, a few kids I’d gone to high school with—pushed forward, swarming me with congratulations and the inevitable questions.
Yes, I’m excited about Brown. No, I don’t know what specialty I’m going into. Yes, I’ve heard that dermatology pays well. No, I have no idea where I want to spend my residency.
Somehow I managed to work my way through the crowd of well-wishers, accepting hugs and kisses on the cheek. I stole a few minutes to say hello to my sisters, cuddle Ben, and pat Paige’s budding pregnant belly, before my mother dragged me off to talk to another one of the ladies from her garden club and yet again go through my repertoire of canned responses to the set of inevitable questions.
I felt like I was suffocating.
And then it got really bad.
My mother started tapping her fork against her wineglass, until everyone quieted down.
“Thank you all so much for coming tonight. We’re just thrilled that you’re here to celebrate Mickey’s college graduation and acceptance into Brown Medical School with us,” Mom said in a news-anchor voice that made me cringe.
Mom held her glass up toward me, and stood there poised until everyone else followed suit. My cheeks flamed as I felt the weight of attention focused on me. Unlike Sophie, who would happily have a party thrown in her honor every week, I loathe being the center of attention. It made my nose feel even longer, my hair that much stringier. And everyone else was dressed up—strappy sundresses, crisply ironed shirts, mingling perfumes. I was wearing baggy Levi’s and a white T-shirt that I’d spilled Coke on when my plane was somersaulting through some turbulence, and my hair was scraped back in a messy, uncombed ponytail.
“To our Mickey, the future doctor. Wishing you joy and success in all that is before you,” Mom said.
“To Mickey,” everyone chimed in, before lifting their glasses to drink.
I worked the corners of my mouth up into a smile and tried to avoid ey
e contact.
“Thanks, everyone,” I mumbled.
“And while we have everyone here, Stephen and I have another announcement to make,” Mom continued. Dad moved to her side and, looking proud and sheepish, clasped her hand in his.
I froze, my glass to my lips, and looked around for Sophie and Paige. Sophie was standing next to Aidan, holding Ben in her arms. Paige, wearing an elegant black slip dress, was ladling some punch into her glass. Their eyes were riveted on Mom. We could all feel the disturbance in the Force, and we all knew to brace for whatever it was that was about to come spilling out of Mom’s red-lipstick-ringed mouth. The hair on the back of my neck actually stood up.
“After spending many years together raising our family, and then working through some time apart, Stephen and I have managed to find one another again. Last week, Stephen asked me to marry him, for a second time, and I’ve accepted. We’re having a small ceremony and party here at the house at the end of the summer, and we’d be overjoyed if all of you would join us,” she finished, smiling radiantly.
My father kissed Mom’s hand, and they beamed at one another like a pair of love-struck adolescents while people applauded and called out their congratulations. My mouth sagged open, and I was overwhelmed with the vertigo feeling that stress sometimes brings—the room was loopy and off balance, my stomach was queasy, my chest felt tight.
“Mickey, are you okay? You look like you’re going to be sick,” Paige whispered in my ear, appearing behind me. She grabbed my left elbow and guided me out of the room, down the slate-tiled hallway and out onto the front porch. I sat down heavily on the same wooden front steps that I’d spent hours of my childhood playing on. This was the very spot where Barbie had dumped Ken so that she could pursue her dream of riding on the Olympic cross-country equestrian team without the distraction of his plastic sculpted hair and paper white teeth.
“Just take a deep breath. I know it seems bad, but it will be okay, I promise,” Paige said, sitting down next to me and rubbing my back in a circular motion.
“Married? What . . . are . . . they . . . thinking?” I gasped. “And I have to live here this summer with Mom while she plans her fucking wedding? Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse.”
“Do you want to stay in my apartment?” Paige asked.
“You don’t have room for me,” I said, although spending two months sleeping on her sofa did sound better than staying here. I just didn’t want to impose on her and Zack, especially while they were in the midst of new-relationship flutterings and baby preparations.
“I won’t even be there. I’m moving into Zack’s new house on a trial basis. This would actually work out perfectly, because it would give me a good excuse not to give up my apartment,” Paige said. “Now that I’m starting my own firm, I’ve been having a hard time justifying the additional expense. But if you were there, I’d get to keep it. You’d be doing me a favor.”
“Why do you want to keep it? Don’t you think it’s going to work out with you guys?” I asked.
Paige sighed and rested her hands on her baby bump. “Some days I think yes, this is it, this relationship will last forever. And then other days . . . I don’t know. I don’t know how sure I’m supposed to feel,” she said. “But maybe it’s just my mood right now. Zack and I got into an argument on the way over here about which route to take. Honestly, it’s my mother’s house, does he really think I don’t know the best way?”
“That’s normal though. Soph and Aidan bicker all the time, and they have a strong marriage,” I said.
Paige didn’t comment on this. I had the distinct feeling that she knew something about Soph and Aidan that she wasn’t telling me.
“Oh God. Oh no. Don’t tell me they’re breaking up, too,” I said, and the world started to veer around again. I rested my head on my hands and stared down at the stone-paved path that connected the driveway to the front porch. One of the stones by my foot was loose, and I wedged my toe against it until it popped out of place.
“No, they’re fine. Really. They went through a rough patch this spring, but they’re doing better now,” Paige said.
“Yeah, I thought she seemed really happy tonight. She told me she and Aidan are going on a cruise in September. I think they’re leaving Ben with Mom. Or Mom, Dad, and me,” I said bleakly.
“Don’t worry, you’ll be long gone by then. When does med school start? Right around Labor Day weekend?” Paige asked.
“I guess.”
Oh shit. Medical school. I’d forgotten about that in the aftermath of our parents’ announcement. I could have kicked myself for not telling them the previous week, when everyone was up at Princeton for my graduation.
“And you can stay in my apartment until then.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“Of course not. I don’t want to sell it right away, not until I’m sure about Zack and me, and this way I have an excuse to hang on to it,” Paige said.
“Here you are. I was wondering where everyone ran off to,” Sophie said. She let the front door slam behind her. “So, what do you think about those crazy kids? Getting married and not a care in the world.”
“They certainly don’t seem to care what we think,” I said.
Sophie plopped down next to us.
“I think it’s sweet. And so romantic,” Sophie said.
I stared at her. Normally Sophie’s the one flying off into a tizzy about things.
“You can’t be serious,” I said.
She grinned and swatted me on the arm.
“Let’s just not make a big deal out of this, and see how it goes. Knowing them, they’ll probably end up getting into a huge fight and call it all off, so there’s no sense getting worked up about it,” Paige suggested. “And besides, we all have a lot on our plates right now. And . . . oh . . . um . . .”
“Actually, there’s something I have to tell you guys . . . ,” I began.
“Paige, are you okay?” Sophie interrupted me.
I looked at my older sister and saw that she was holding her head in her hands, swaying slightly from side to side.
“Kack,” Paige gagged.
“Are you feeling sick? Okay, come on, I’ll help you to the bathroom,” Sophie said. She grabbed Paige’s hand and hauled her up to her feet.
“Is she okay?” I asked, alarmed.
“Yeah, she’ll be fine. This is normal,” Sophie said.
“I thought morning sickness was supposed to go away once you get to the second trimester,” Paige groaned. Her face was pinched up and had turned a sickly shade of greenish white.
“Only if you’re very lucky,” Sophie said.
She held Paige’s elbow, as though our older sister was an elderly woman. I scrambled to my feet and held the door open for them as they hobbled slowly through.
I trailed behind my sisters and then turned into the dining room. On the table there was an enormous sheet cake that had “Congratulations Mickey!” scrawled across it in blue icing, and what I think was supposed to be a frosting-rendered stethoscope snaking around the “Mickey.” It was my favorite kind—chocolate with mocha butter cream frosting, the kind that’s so sugary it gives you the shivers. And after I ate two pieces, I felt a little better about things. But then, cake usually does help.
Chapter Thirty
“Thanks so much for helping me get this job,” I said, nervously running my hands down over my starched white apron, which, along with a white button-down shirt and black trousers, was the uniform for my new waitressing job at Versa.
“No problem, glad to help. Nervous?” Kevin asked.
Scott’s boyfriend wasn’t at all what I thought he’d be. I’d been expecting . . . well, I don’t know what I was expecting. I suppose a male version of Paige—type A personality, goal oriented, takes no shit from anyone, every last item of clothing ironed to perfection. But Kevin looked like he’d rolled out of a Seattle coffee shop circa 1991. He had longish scruffy brown hair, kind hazel brown ey
es, and he’d forgotten to shave that morning. While we talked, he was pulling a denim blue chef’s coat on over a stained Nirvana T-shirt.
“No. Well. I wish they had some sort of a training program, because I have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing,” I said.
“Yeah, it’s sort of sink-or-swim here. But I’m sure you’ll be fine. Scott told me you’re going to medical school this fall,” Kevin said.
“Um. Well. That remains to be seen,” I said.
I considered—and decided against—telling Kevin my supersecret plan: I was planning to enroll in culinary school. I’d taken a few off-campus gourmet cooking courses from a chef in Princeton—one in basic techniques, another in baking bread, and a third in sausage making—and had fallen in love with everything about the craft. It appealed to my chemistry background, just as medicine had, but it also allowed me to be creative and original. I knew it was crazy—the late nights, the silly hat, the dorky uniform—but the more I thought about it, the more I just knew this was what I was meant to be doing with my life. And so I made my decision. It was too late to register for fall courses, but I’d already talked to the admissions office at the Culinary Institute of America and was in the process of completing the paperwork to enroll there for the spring semester.
But if I told Kevin, he might tell Scott, who would tell Paige, and she’d almost certainly snitch me out to our parents. And I had to tell them myself, which I would do just as soon as I could stomach talking to them again.
Kevin looked at me quizzically, but then the head waiter, Adam—who was tall and gangly—called out for the waitstaff to gather round.
“Come on, guys, hurry up, don’t keep Chef waiting,” Adam now said, sighing with irritation.
“Does he mean you?” I asked Kevin.
Kevin shook his head. “I’m only the lowly pastry chef. The head chef is Oliver Klein.”
“Is he scary?”
“A little. He acts like a rock star,” Kevin said. “Before he came here, he worked in Miami and was starting to get semi-famous. There was even talk that he was going to star in a restaurant-based reality show.”
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