My best friend Natalie and I had met years ago when we were both freshmen at ACI in Santa Barbara. Wild-eyed eighteen year olds, away from home for the first time, we bonded, and met our other friend Clara in Basic Baking and Pastry Technique class the first day of school. Natalie and Clara both left ACI after their freshmen year, not having the passion for food as I did, but we’d remained close even though we were spread across the country. Natalie returned to her hometown of Manhattan, while Clara headed back to Boston.
“Girl. What’s up?” Natalie answered on the second ring.
“Oh, the usual. Cooking. Sharpening my knives. Lounging in my childhood bedroom.”
“You got a gig cooking in New York or something?”
“I got a gig cooking in Bailey Falls,” I said, preparing myself for shrieking.
Natalie did not disappoint. Ten seconds later, the shriek was still ringing in my ears.
“Wait a minute, just wait a goddamned minute. You’re in New York? When? How? When? Why? When? Awesome!” Another shriek. “Okay, okay. Stop yelling and tell me what happened!”
“Pretty sure I’m not the one that’s yelling,” I reminded her, laughing.
“Fine, fine, I’m calming down. Tell me what’s going on,” she said in a singsongy voice. Natalie excited meant singsongy. Although come to think of it, Natalie anything meant singsongy.
I regaled her with stories of butter and texts, lemon pound cakes and Hollywood hunks. Amazing races and bailing out Mother. She sympathized with the client loss, but didn’t hide her excitement that I was closer now. At least for a little while.
“You have to come into the city as soon as possible! Or I could come see you; I never get a chance to get out of the city.”
“You choose never to get out of the city, Nat.” I laughed. A born-and-raised Manhattanite, she thought the country stopped at the West Side Highway and didn’t start again until you touched down at LAX. With an occasional trip to the “country,” meaning Bridgehampton.
“All the more reason for me to get off my island and come see you. Besides, after hearing you complain about your hometown all these years, the chance to actually see you in it? That’s worth a Metro North ticket.”
“Save the ticket. Actually, don’t save the ticket, send me one. I’m already dying for a chance to get back into actual civilization. If I’m wearing a big floppy hat and waxing poetic about aromatherapy by the time you see me, go ahead and tie me to the tracks.”
“Big floppy hats are totally back in, Rox,” she replied promptly. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’re hipper than you know.”
I harrumphed in response.
“And it can’t be that bad there, right? I mean, you’re at least in the same time zone now. Isn’t there anything—or anyone—that seems promising? By the way, how long have you been there?”
“I’m just now passing the twenty-four-hour mark,” I told her. “And very few of those hours have been spent sleeping, so there could be hallucination involved, but I did have an interesting encounter in the back of the diner . . .” I trailed off, thinking of slippery nuts.
“And?” she demanded.
So I filled her in about Leo and his route, perhaps leaving out a few of the more embarrassing potato-water-related details.
“Ooooh, a summer boyfriend seems promising!” she crowed, launching into a rendition of “Summer Lovin’ ” from Grease.
“Whoa, sister. My position on dating has not changed.”
I didn’t one-night-stand per se. More like . . . enough nights to get to know the guy’s body and what he liked, and to make sure he knew what I liked, but not long enough to get into anything serious. Easy. Simple.
“Yes, but you’re going to have some free time this summer. Maybe Leo would be good company.” I could practically hear her waggling her eyebrows.
“Who knows? My career is still my focus, so if I need a little something to take the edge off, I’ll get a guy on standby. No strings, no attachments. Just easy breezy fun times.”
She was quiet for a moment. “That’s totally how a guy would set things up.”
“Yeah, if a guy bangs chicks all over town, he’s just being a guy. But if a girl does it, she’s slutty, right?”
That’s probably how Bailey Falls people would react. I wondered again if this was a huge mistake. But as usual, Natalie knew what I needed.
“I think it’s kind of brilliant, actually,” she said. “You’ll make it work. Just find a way to run into him again.”
“This is silly to even talk about—it’s hardly the focus of my life. Now, what’s up with you? Break anyone’s heart lately?”
We chatted for over an hour, until I began to feel more awake and more like myself. And guilty for not maximizing every moment to figure out the diner before my mother headed off into the sunset. I promised I’d check in with Natalie again once I had things under control, and we hung up.
Chapter 5
I spent the next few days reacquainting myself with the family diner, picked my mother’s brain about everything I needed to know to keep things afloat. Who her vendors were, when she placed her orders, who had keys and could lock up, when deliveries were made, and was she absolutely, positively married to the idea of a blue-plate special? Married she was. But she didn’t say I couldn’t try out something new if I was so inclined. Excellent!
As I headed toward the prep table, I heard someone say Leo’s name. There was a small window between the kitchen and the station where the waitresses tended to hang, where they kept all the side items for their tables, like lemons for iced tea, extra napkins, etc. I sidled closer, staying out of sight ninja style. Sandy and Maxine were always good for local gossip, and I wanted to hear as much about Leo as I could. I was determined to redeem myself next time I saw him—as in carrying on an actual conversation.
“Girl. What’s up?” Natalie answered on the second ring.
“Oh, the usual. Cooking. Sharpening my knives. Lounging in my childhood bedroom.”
“You got a gig cooking in New York or something?”
“I got a gig cooking in Bailey Falls,” I said, preparing myself for shrieking.
Natalie did not disappoint. Ten seconds later, the shriek was still ringing in my ears.
“Wait a minute, just wait a goddamned minute. You’re in New York? When? How? When? Why? When? Awesome!” Another shriek. “Okay, okay. Stop yelling and tell me what happened!”
“Pretty sure I’m not the one that’s yelling,” I reminded her, laughing.
“Fine, fine, I’m calming down. Tell me what’s going on,” she said in a singsongy voice. Natalie excited meant singsongy. Although come to think of it, Natalie anything meant singsongy.
I regaled her with stories of butter and texts, lemon pound cakes and Hollywood hunks. Amazing races and bailing out Mother. She sympathized with the client loss, but didn’t hide her excitement that I was closer now. At least for a little while.
“You have to come into the city as soon as possible! Or I could come see you; I never get a chance to get out of the city.”
“You choose never to get out of the city, Nat.” I laughed. A born-and-raised Manhattanite, she thought the country stopped at the West Side Highway and didn’t start again until you touched down at LAX. With an occasional trip to the “country,” meaning Bridgehampton.
“All the more reason for me to get off my island and come see you. Besides, after hearing you complain about your hometown all these years, the chance to actually see you in it? That’s worth a Metro North ticket.”
“Save the ticket. Actually, don’t save the ticket, send me one. I’m already dying for a chance to get back into actual civilization. If I’m wearing a big floppy hat and waxing poetic about aromatherapy by the time you see me, go ahead and tie me to the tracks.”
“Big floppy hats are totally back in, Rox,” she replied promptly. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’re hipper than you know.”
I harrumphed in response.
“And it can’t be that bad there, right? I mean, you’re at least in the same time zone now. Isn’t there anything—or anyone—that seems promising? By the way, how long have you been there?”
“I’m just now passing the twenty-four-hour mark,” I told her. “And very few of those hours have been spent sleeping, so there could be hallucination involved, but I did have an interesting encounter in the back of the diner . . .” I trailed off, thinking of slippery nuts.
“And?” she demanded.
So I filled her in about Leo and his route, perhaps leaving out a few of the more embarrassing potato-water-related details.
“Ooooh, a summer boyfriend seems promising!” she crowed, launching into a rendition of “Summer Lovin’ ” from Grease.
“Whoa, sister. My position on dating has not changed.”
I didn’t one-night-stand per se. More like . . . enough nights to get to know the guy’s body and what he liked, and to make sure he knew what I liked, but not long enough to get into anything serious. Easy. Simple.
“Yes, but you’re going to have some free time this summer. Maybe Leo would be good company.” I could practically hear her waggling her eyebrows.
“Who knows? My career is still my focus, so if I need a little something to take the edge off, I’ll get a guy on standby. No strings, no attachments. Just easy breezy fun times.”
She was quiet for a moment. “That’s totally how a guy would set things up.”
“Yeah, if a guy bangs chicks all over town, he’s just being a guy. But if a girl does it, she’s slutty, right?”
That’s probably how Bailey Falls people would react. I wondered again if this was a huge mistake. But as usual, Natalie knew what I needed.
“I think it’s kind of brilliant, actually,” she said. “You’ll make it work. Just find a way to run into him again.”
“This is silly to even talk about—it’s hardly the focus of my life. Now, what’s up with you? Break anyone’s heart lately?”
We chatted for over an hour, until I began to feel more awake and more like myself. And guilty for not maximizing every moment to figure out the diner before my mother headed off into the sunset. I promised I’d check in with Natalie again once I had things under control, and we hung up.
Chapter 5
I spent the next few days reacquainting myself with the family diner, picked my mother’s brain about everything I needed to know to keep things afloat. Who her vendors were, when she placed her orders, who had keys and could lock up, when deliveries were made, and was she absolutely, positively married to the idea of a blue-plate special? Married she was. But she didn’t say I couldn’t try out something new if I was so inclined. Excellent!
As I headed toward the prep table, I heard someone say Leo’s name. There was a small window between the kitchen and the station where the waitresses tended to hang, where they kept all the side items for their tables, like lemons for iced tea, extra napkins, etc. I sidled closer, staying out of sight ninja style. Sandy and Maxine were always good for local gossip, and I wanted to hear as much about Leo as I could. I was determined to redeem myself next time I saw him—as in carrying on an actual conversation.
