Recipe for Disaster (42 page)

“Anneke thinks he was trying to steal the house from her.”

“He wouldn’t, he couldn’t.” She looks stricken.

“We’re not talking to Liam,” I say, taking back a little control. “Look, the big sneaky plan is foiled, we win. But we have to sell this place by end of January or we are going to have to come up with three times this to pay off Grant. So I say we don’t say a thing, because frankly, we need his sweat equity for the final push. We just let him keep working and then when it is all done we can call him out on his duplicitous crap.”

“But what if he isn’t duplicitous?” Emily asks.

“He’s been great this whole time, I really find it hard to believe that he would be capable of something so underhanded.”

I can’t tell them that it just feels good to hate him again. To have reason to want him out of my life. I don’t want to believe he was doing this, but I’m hard-pressed to imagine he didn’t have a hand in it, and if I’m going to be having feelings for Liam Murphy, it is so much easier for them to be bad ones. “I think it is possible. I’ve known him longer, guys, I tried to tell you. But regardless, it’s nipped in the bud, so let’s just keep him working.”

“Your call. We’ll follow your lead,” Jag says.

“Thank you, both of you, I don’t know what to say. Your generosity is just overwhelming.”

Emily walks over and gives me a hug, pulling Jag in with her enormous wingspan. “That’s what family is for.”

M
y stomach is in knots as I wait at Toast, nursing my tea, waiting for my mother. She and Alan have been in town for a week, with many social obligations connected to his work at the university. But they asked for Sunday brunch, so I felt obliged to humor them. I would frankly have preferred that they blow me off and just come for Thanksgiving, when I’ll have the buffers of Jag and his parents, Caroline and Carl, Marie and John, Hedy and Nageena.

And Liam.

Apparently his sisters and cousins arranged a Thanksgiving family cruise in the Caribbean, but we are so close to finishing the house he couldn’t afford to leave for a week. Or at least that is the excuse he gave them. When Jag found out Liam would be a Thanksgiving orphan, he insisted that he join us, much to my chagrin. He still doesn’t believe that Liam was part of the whole buyout plot, but I’ve embraced my newly rekindled distaste for him, and luckily, after the Halloween debacle, Liam has avoided me almost entirely, choosing to either work alone or with Jag, much to my relief. I’m not really sure why he even said yes to Thanksgiving, but for once he won’t be the person I hate the most in the room.

I’m of course completely mortified by my behavior, especially now that I know about the sneaky business. I don’t have time to dwell on any of it, I just have to focus on the plan the girls and I cooked up to survive this week. We’re doing the meal potluck-style, with Caroline providing the turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes, and pies. Jag and I are making sweet potato masala curry, steamed green beans, and the yeast rolls, keeping a very watchful eye on Schatzi when we do it. Marie and John are bringing her famous stuffing and his cranberry sauce. Hedy is bringing corn pudding. Nageena is bringing some Indian desserts and mini samosas for appetizers. Liam is bringing the wine. I pulled in a favor from Cort furniture rentals, who agreed to furnish the living room and dining room for the event in exchange for being able to take pictures of the rooms for use in their marketing materials. I had to give them a fairly substantial deposit, but as long as we don’t damage anything, we have a fully and beautifully furnished living room and dining room, and I have to say, it is bittersweet to see the place looking like a home and knowing it won’t ever be mine.

Emily is leaving Thursday morning to join her dad for Thanksgiving, his family does their big dinner on Friday so that no one conflicts with in-laws or exes, and will be back Sunday night. Since my mom and Alan are leaving Saturday, we should be safe on that front. I decided in the end not to tell her, and Jag agreed that it just would add too much stress and complication to a time that needs none. He is almost as wigged out at seeing his parents as I am about seeing my mother, and the two of us are jumpy and on edge.

But for now, I just have to survive today, which I’ve opted to do without the Xanax Hedy gave me, or the brandy Jag offered to put in my coffee this morning. I’ve decided that whatever it is, it is, and dulling my senses won’t do much for me.

The door opens, and I look up. My mother, looking chic and elegant as always, her figure trim, her blond hair perfectly coiffed. Behind her, a tall handsome man with a shock of white hair. I stand and go to greet them.

“Anneliese,” I say, accepting the brush of my mother’s lips on my cheek.

“Anneke, it is so nice to finally meet you,” Alan says, coming forward and giving me a hug that feels at once genuine, and terribly awkward. I hope my cringe isn’t felt.

We sit at the table, and our waiter takes their coffee order, and they look at the menu, asking for recommendations. Alan decides on an omelette, as do I, with hash browns and sides of bacon. Anneliese of course orders a single poached egg and wheat toast with fruit.

“So, Anneke. Your husband couldn’t join us?” my mother asks in a way that implies she disapproves.

“He’s picking up his parents at the airport and getting them settled at their hotel. He looks forward to meeting you Thursday.”

“How wonderful, we look forward to that. Are they coming in from India?” Alan is either the cheeriest person on the planet or heavily medicated. But at least he picked up on Jag’s last name.

“London, actually. Jag’s father is in the diplomatic corps.”

“Well, isn’t that exciting, Annie?” He turns to my mother, who nods over the rim of her coffee cup.

Annie? This guy must be really rich. In my whole life she’s only ever been Anneliese. “How has your class been going, Alan? Anneliese said something to do with city planning?”

“Indeed. It’s been quite nice. It’s sort of a continuing education program for graduates of the business school. We have a good group, wide range of ages and people, so that’s always interesting.”

I like this guy. He’s very open, kind. I’m enormously relieved. And I feel bad for him, wondering how much longer he has before she takes off on him. We make the usual small talk, I fill them in on the house project. The food is delicious, and we focus on eating.

“I have to say, I’m looking forward to a traditional Thanksgiving dinner!” Alan says. “Annie seems to schedule vacations for us in tropical locales during the holiday. I think it’s so that it isn’t even a discussion. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that cooking is not among your dear mother’s wide and varied skill set.”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know.”

Anneliese glares at me, and I wonder exactly what she told Alan about me, and my unconventional upbringing. He doesn’t seem to notice my barb, and we continue to eat and talk of nothing. And then Alan excuses himself to go to the bathroom, and I’m left alone with my mother.

“You seem well,” she says.

“And you.” What else can I say? “I like Alan.”

“He’s a very good husband.” Which is not the same thing as being a good man, or a great love, I think, but for my mom, being a good husband is an actual quantifiable attribute. “Is yours?”

“Depends on the standard. By your criteria? Probably not.”

“And what do you think you know about my criteria?”

“He isn’t rich. He doesn’t lavish me with presents or fancy vacations, for starters.”

“I see. So my relationships are purely financial. Of course you would think that.”

“What on earth would make me think different?”

She sighs deeply, as if wounded. “What indeed. You don’t know my life, Anneke, and never wanted to. So let’s not pretend that we know each other.”

I’m gobsmacked. You’d think she was the injured party. And then I realize, in her mind, she must be. Otherwise, how could she live with herself? I take a deep breath. “Jag is a loving husband, a good friend, and makes me feel safe and loved. We work well together and are starting our own business. He gets along well with my friends, and I trust him. So yes, he is a good husband.”

“Well, I am glad for you, Anneke,” she says in a way that implies she is nothing of the kind.

“And I’m glad for you.” Which weirdly, I am. Of course I feel badly for Alan, I think he could do a lot better, but he seems happy enough.

“Will you and Jag have children, do you think?” she asks.

“Doubtful. I never really wanted them. Guess we have that in common.”

She sighs as if I’m desperately obtuse. “Want is tricky, Anneke. Sometimes we want what we can’t have; sometimes we want what we shouldn’t have. Neither is particularly healthy.”

“Well, you never had others.” I know I’m digging, just to see if she’ll even mention Emily. There is still time; if she admits to having been close to someone in her past, to missing a little girl she once left behind, even if it wasn’t me, I can still reconnect them. I realize I actually want her to wax poetic about a little blond doll she used to love very much, which must mean that the whole sister thing has really taken hold.

“Well, as you say, I was never really cut out for it.”

“None of the other husbands came with progeny?”

“Not in a way that impacted me materially.”

And with that, my decision is completely validated.

Alan returns, and fills the better part of the next hour with stories and asking questions about my work, and keeps Anneliese and me from having to have any more “real” conversation.

Y
ou’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Marie says, peeling the paper off her second cupcake. I called her from the car on my way home from brunch, and she immediately ran over to Maddiebird Bakery and got six cupcakes for us.

“Oh no! Not kidding. You’d have thought that I abandoned HER for her whole life. She was all pouty and petulant and ‘you don’t know my life and never wanted to’ blah blah blah.”

“She’s a cunt,” Marie says, in such a matter-of-fact way, I almost don’t notice that she has used her own professed least favorite word.

“I’m sorry, did you just turn into Hedy?” Hedy loves the word. She thinks it’s endearing. Whenever she says it Caroline looks as if she has been poked with a cattle prod, and Marie puts her fingers in her ears.

“Well, she is. How on earth can she imagine that she’s the one who is entitled to be hurt? You don’t know her and never WANTED to? When were you given the opportunity? The ten minutes she was around between men?”

“Who knows? She’s clearly delusional. And we were totally right about not telling Emily; I gave her the perfect opening, and she essentially said that she never had any other children in her life. But you’ll like Alan. He’s shockingly normal. And there will be plenty of people around to keep things easy for Thursday, and then she can go away and hopefully never return.”

“I want to spit in her food. I want to pull a full-on
The Help
on that woman.”

Marie says this and takes a huge bite of delicious cupcake, getting frosting right up her nose, which cracks us both up. And by the time we each finish our third, my day is fairly saved.

I
change for the third time, going with dark gray velvet pants, and a simple scoop-neck black sweater that has a tiny bit of shimmer in it. Black ankle boots. Little gold hoops, now that my diamond earrings are safely at Steinfeld’s, being polished up for a future in someone else’s ears, and a pewter leather wrap bracelet Hedy gave me for my birthday. My hair has actually reached a length that makes for a decent ponytail. I slip on my wedding band, and slick on a bit of lip gloss. I’m meeting Jag and his parents for dinner, and I’m even more nervous than I was having brunch with Anneliese and Alan. Apparently Jag’s parents are both completely debilitated by jet lag when they travel, so even though they got in two days ago, this will be our first meeting. They’ve spent the past forty-eight hours holed up in their hotel, sleeping and ordering room service. But Jag says that they are feeling good today, and very excited to see us. We have to tell them about Jag dropping out, and I don’t know which of us is dreading it more. But we realized that we couldn’t just wait till Thursday when everyone is around; that wouldn’t be fair. And while we would have preferred to not spring it on them the night they first meet me, apparently the Sikh community is ridiculously tight, so tomorrow they have plans for breakfast, lunch, and dinner with friends or friends of friends. Lucky for us, the fact that we are hosting on Thursday gets us off the hook for joining them.

We’re heading up to a Pakistani place on Devon called Masti Grill that Jag and his friends all love. The owner, Tanveer, is a friend of Nageena’s, and apparently we are going to get the royal treatment. Jag promises that the karaoke is optional. It’s BYOB, so I’m stopping to pick up the beer and meeting the three of them there.