Recipe for Disaster (43 page)

D
AUGHTER!” Jag’s dad says as I come into the restaurant, his arms wide and a huge smile on his face. I receive the hug, immediately struck by how different he and Jag are. Bahal is maybe only an inch taller than me, round and jolly, like Winnie the Pooh with a beard in a turban.

“Let me see you.” Jag’s mom pulls me out of his embrace. She holds both my hands, pulling my arms apart to look me up and down. She is the tiniest of women, probably under five feet and delicate like a doll, in a gorgeous deep orange sari, with large gold chandelier earrings, and an armful of bangles. She smells almost spicy, like cardamom. “Beautiful!” she proclaims, grasping my face in her hands.

“Hi, honey.” Jag comes over and kisses me, eyebrows curled as if to say, “I warned you!”

Nageena has clearly called ahead, because we’re never given menus. Food just starts to arrive. Chicken and vegetable pakoras, chickpea fritters with delicate spices. Aloo samosas filled with spicy potatoes, peas, and cilantro, with a fiery green sauce. Goat curry. Tandoori chicken. Mutton biryani. White lentil dal with onions and spices, potatoes and eggplant fried with onions and tomatoes, and four kinds of bread, naan, tandoor roti, chapati, and paratha. All of it delicious, and surprising. The three of them are easy together, and loving; Bahal tells all the funny stories that embarrass Jag a little, and then Bahula follows up with the ones that make him sound like the smartest child that ever lived. It is fun, and it kills me.

I hate that we are lying to these lovely people. I hate that we are going to break their hearts, not just once, but many times over in the years to come. And I am so very jealous that Jag got to grow up in the embrace of these amazing, warm people who adore him. I’m usually pretty Zen about my upbringing, it was what it was, and I never lacked for food or shelter, I wasn’t abused, I got a good education, and I did have Joe. There are so many who had it so much worse, it’s always felt stupid and whiny to complain about not being doted on. But every once in a while something just hits my heart, and it shatters along old fault lines. I’m probably so much more sensitive because I saw my mom two days ago, and have been generally in a tender place this past ten months, but whatever it is, my neck just clenches up.

When a vat of beautiful spiced rice pudding arrives with a platter of small fried milky doughnuts dusted in pistachios, along with some tea, I look at Jag, and he nods.

“Amma, Appa, I have something to tell you that I hope you will understand,” Jag starts, and a cloud falls over their faces. He presses on. “I’ve thought long and hard about this, and I know it will disappoint you, but I’ve left school.” He starts to speed up as Bahal’s brow furrows and Bahula’s mouth drops open just a bit. “I just realized that it isn’t what I want for my life. I love working with my hands, making things, and I’m good at it. I’ve been helping Anneke remodel the house, and wait till you see how beautiful it is, how good we are at what we are doing. We want to start our own business, I want to do this for my career.”

“We thought this house was for you, for you to raise your family in?” Jag’s mom seems gutted.

“No, Amma. It’s Anneke’s work, and now mine. When it is finished next month we will put it on the market and take the profits to buy the next building to fix.”

“So this is your doing?” Bahal looks at me, all warmth and “daughter” and happiness drained from his face. “You take my son for cheap labor? Any uneducated fool can swing a hammer.”

“Appa, please. That’s not fair.”

“No, son of mine, it is not fair. Years of sacrifice to raise you to be a professional, thousands of pounds in education, all the support you could have wanted, for what?”

“Appa, this is what I want. I love it. What we do is beautiful. And I am using my education; it makes me very good at this. Building homes, real homes for real families, that makes me happy. I have a good eye for design and function, and my education gives me a solid foundation to grow from. Anneke is also at the top of her field and is a wonderful teacher.”

“Your father just means that it seems strange to have moved halfway around the world to finish your education, only to get married and quit and find a whole new career all in the span of a few months.”

“I know, Amma, it seems sudden. But frankly I wasn’t happy from nearly the moment I arrived here, and I had already started to pursue this sort of work when I met Anneke. And when it turned out that she was an accomplished builder and designer, that bonded us, and that bond was a big part of why we got married.”

“But why not finish the degree, son? In case this doesn’t work?”

“Because the degree does not do anything to move me forward in the life I want. Because my place in the program would be wasted on me, and prevents someone who is passionate from getting their chance. Because this is what makes me happy.”

“I’m very tired,” Bahula says quietly, and this seems to be some sort of code among the family that the conversation is tabled and it is time to leave. And I realize that they want to continue the conversation, just without me. Poor Jag. He’ll have to face the tribunal alone.

“Mr. and Mrs. Singh, I know it’s a lot to take in and a surprise. But I want you to know that your son is very gifted. He has wonderful design sense, and a real natural feel for the work, and has learned so quickly it makes my head spin. I think it a true calling for him, and for what it is worth, I believe he is going to be enormously successful in this business.”

“Well, you’d better hope so, hadn’t you?” Bahal says in a way that implies I have somehow trapped his son into marriage in some sort of gold-digger way, which, considering my mother and her propensities, really puts my hackles up.

“I do hope so. Because I think that is what will make him happiest, and all I want is for him to be happy.”

“Of course you do, dear, we are all just tired. Very tired,” Bahula says pointedly, which is tantamount to telling her husband and son to get her the fuck out of here.

Jag pays the bill, and gives me a hug. “I’ll see you at home. I might be late, there is some lecturing in my immediate future.”

“Stay strong, husband. They’re only here till Friday.”

He winks at me. I receive hugs that are far less warm and welcoming than the ones that greeted me, and I head home, hoping that Jag isn’t in for too much hassle. I get the feeling that there is a lot that wasn’t said due to my presence that is about to explode all over the inside of his Honda.

I get home, and Schatzi and I head out for a quick walk. She disappears behind a tree to do her business, ever the delicate flower, and suddenly I hear familiar voices behind me.

“Well, hello there!” Hedy says, with more than a little joy in her voice.

“Hello, Anneke, so nice to see you,” Jacob says, leaning down to let Beanie off his leash, and laughing as he takes off to tackle Schatzi just as she is finishing kicking dirt over her mess. The two of them run off to play.

“Hey, guys. How are you?” Hedy and Jacob have been having a very nice time, much to Caroline’s smug delight.

“Good. Just had an insane dinner over at Fat Rice, and trying to walk it off a bit,” Hedy says.

“And getting in some quiet before the storm,” Jacob says. “I leave in the morning to go to my folks’ in North Carolina for Thanksgiving.”

“That sounds good, can I come?” Suddenly the idea of being anywhere but here is a nice one.

Jacob laughs. “You’d be most welcome. But I tried to get this one to come with me and was told in no uncertain terms that you needed her here.” He puts his arm around Hedy’s shoulders and gives her a squeeze. She grins, and it makes me so touched to think that as happy as she is in her new relationship, she still made having my back a priority.

“I’m not facing that quite yet, Mr. Man. Let’s see if we’re still together come Easter and we can talk about it.”

He kisses the top of her head. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I almost forgot! How’d the dinner with the in-laws go?” Hedy asks.

“Great. Right up until it wasn’t. Jag is still with them, getting an earful, I’m sure. I believe I went from ‘fabulous future grandbabymama’ to ‘gold-digging manipulative hateful American who corrupted our perfect son’ somewhere between the biryani and the dessert.”

“So about as good as your brunch with the egg donor.” Hedy hates to refer to Anneliese as a mother.

“About that good, yes.”

“Thursday is going to be quite the event,” Hedy says, shaking her head.

“Not exactly sorry I’m missing it, but I can see why you might want to come with me!” Jacob says. “Makes me grateful for family far away myself. But you’ll be fine. And then they will be gone.”

He whistles for the dogs, I wish him a good holiday, and we make plans for the four of us to have a recovery double date Sunday night when he returns. Hedy gives me a strong hug, and whispers that it is all going to be okay, and the three of us head back across the park for home.

I get a text from Jag that he is going to Nageena’s for drinks to recover from his parental tongue-lashing, and not to wait up, he’ll fill me in tomorrow. This seems like a good idea, and once I’m in my pajamas after a long, hot bath, I pour myself three fingers of bourbon with a single ice cube, and head downstairs.

“Oh, Gemma. Do you think there is a magic potion to get us through this week?” I pick up the journal and let it fall open. I don’t even need to drop my finger; there is only one thing on the page.

Recipe for Hot Cocoa with Buttered Cinnamon Toast

“Now that is the best advice you’ve given me in a long time, lady!” And I jump right back out of bed and go to fire up the cauldron.

I’m just buttering the bread when Emily comes in from her movie night. “How’d it go?” she asks, kneeling to pet Schatzi.

“Not great. Want some hot cocoa and cinnamon toast?”

“YES PLEASE!” She claps her hands. I’m really glad she doesn’t know Anneliese is in town, or that she isn’t remembered fondly. I’m glad she can leave in a couple of days and have a great fun family holiday, and then come back after our dust has settled and never have to know that the woman she thought of as her second mom, never thought of herself as a mom for a second.

“Toss me the bread.” I take out three more slices of bread, and following Gemma’s instructions, butter them liberally, coating them with a combination of cinnamon and sugar, and panfrying them till they are browned and crispy on both sides. I ladle us each up a cup of the steaming chocolate, and we tuck in while I tell Emily all about my evening and Jag’s parents, and in the sharing it becomes less horrible and more funny, and by the time the cups are empty and the plate is just crumbs, I’m feeling better. Gemma may have the right recipes, but I’m learning that they work their magic best when you have someone to share the results with.

F
rom Gemma’s Journal:

There is nothing like a holiday to create an atmosphere that is at once giddy with excitement, and rife with disaster lurking around every corner. Belowstairs we are run ragged keeping everything as smooth as possible. While I adore the challenge of these weekends, and the praise that the Rabins and their guests are so generous with when they are over, the older I get the less the praise and satisfaction can balance the crush of work. But the one consolation remains that remembering the bickering and shouting and discord of holidays with my own family, I’m grateful to be here working and not back home participating.

“You have everything you need?” I ask Emily on the way to the train. I offered to take her all the way to the airport, but she insisted that with the weather and the traffic, there was no point in losing the time at the house before everyone arrives. She did accept a ride to the blue line, since it is pissing rain.

“I’m just gone for three days,” she says, smirking.

“Whatever. If you are missing something, you’ll just make your daddy buy you a new one.”

“Exactly.”

“Emily?”

“Yeah?”

“Have a safe trip, and a good time, okay? And call when you are getting close Sunday night; I’ll come get you at the train again.”

“Will do. Have a really good Thanksgiving, Anneke, I’m sure it will be fine.” Little does she know.

“I’ll try.”

“And Anneke?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m very thankful for you.” She grabs my neck in an awkward hug, and jumps out of the truck into the rain and is gone with a wave.

“I’m grateful for you too, you brat,” I say to the space she left behind, and pull the truck back onto the road and toward what promises to be the longest day of my entire life.

I
’d like to propose a toast,” Alan says, when we are all reconvened in the living room, after-dinner drinks in hand, leftovers stashed in the fridge, having decided to take a break between the meal and dessert to digest a bit. “To our wonderful hosts, to all of the chefs, and to all being together on this special day.”

We all raise our glasses, and clink around the room. I wish I were thankful. The dinner was delicious, everything turned out beautifully, and the combination of the upstairs main kitchen and downstairs prep kitchen with the dumbwaiter worked brilliantly, just how I hoped it would. But it was the most stilted meal I’ve ever attended. Jag’s parents seem to have resigned themselves to his decision, and are cordial, but not especially warm. Alan continues to be easy and charming, but Anneliese clearly thinks that Jag was not the right choice for me, and keeps asking him pointed questions about whether he thinks it is a good idea for us to work together. Nageena was unusually quiet, Carl and John sat together and kept very much to themselves, and the girls did a lot of quick-thinking subject changing. Liam did his best to be charming, seated smack between the two sets of parents, but it became quickly clear that no matter how much he praised Jag to his parents and me to Anneliese and Alan, no one was really buying it, including me.

“Perhaps, if anyone wants to stretch their legs, I can lead a tour of the house,” Liam suggests, as we sit with our drinks, no one saying anything.

“Yes, actually, I’d like to see this house that means so much,” Jag’s dad says, clearly wanting to get some more ammunition.

“What a wonderful idea!” Alan says, ever the gamer.

“I’ll pass, thank you,” says Anneliese, as usual, not remotely interested in me or what I’m about.

“I don’t know . . .” Jag’s mom is clearly torn; she wants to go see the house, but I think she probably feels strange going off with all the men.

“Oh, please come, don’t leave me alone with them!” Nageena jumps up and reaches a hand out to Bahula, and I’m grateful for her saving the moment, and glad that they can have a little bonding time. It makes me a little wistful knowing that eventually she will be the right daughter-in-law for them, and won’t be such a disappointment.

Jag, Carl, and John join the tour party, and the girls stay to protect me from my mother.

“I’m sure it’s lovely, dear,” Anneliese says, patting her flat stomach. “I’m just too full to go gallivanting about.” This is surprising, since she ate about two ounces of turkey breast with the skin pulled off, three green beans, and nothing that remotely resembled a carb. And sighed audibly when I got up for a second full plate.

“That’s alright,” I say, not wanting to engage.

Marie glares at me. “That’s too bad, Anneliese, the house is really spectacular. Anneke is a true talent.”

“It will be a new standard-bearer for the neighborhood,” Caroline says.

“I have no doubt,” my mother says in a way that implies the opposite. And I? Snap.

“You have every doubt, although I can’t imagine why. Exactly what did you want from me, except for me not to exist? I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment, but for the love of god, why on earth did you even come here? Surely with all your experience over these many years and many husbands, you have figured out how to avoid me, why did you come this time? Why did you not just tell Alan I wasn’t going to be in town and save us all the fucking painful charade?”

Hedy reaches out and holds my hand, giving it a squeeze in a way that clearly says, “You go, girl.” And not “You might want to shut up now.”

“This is why I avoided coming here, to face your accusations. You never wanted me, Anneke, not from the moment you were born. You wouldn’t take the breast; I had to bottle-feed you from day one. You never wanted to be near me, always running off, playing by yourself, going into other rooms when I came near. When I would travel, never a card or a letter. Never once did you ever tell me you missed me when I called or when I returned. I did the best I could, Anneke, but it was never good enough.”

And then I start to laugh. Because the whole thing is so ridiculous. “I didn’t take the BREAST? You’re mad at me because I didn’t SUCKLE? You didn’t travel, Anneliese, you LEFT. For months and years on end. You left me with your bitter, judgmental mother to go off with an endless string of men, and always made clear how uncomfortable you were on your rare visits home. Even when you married Joe and we were together for those three years, you weren’t really there, were you? Not like a real mother. Do you know why I may never have kids of my own? Not because I can’t or don’t want to, but because I’m so afraid of being like you. Of being another in a long line of self-absorbed, cold, aloof bitches who are incapable of providing a loving home. And I will never forgive you for that. For making me think I shouldn’t be a mother. But you know what? I’m beyond it. I’m beyond needing your approval or validation. So let me be clear about something,
Mommy
. Take whatever you need from this evening, because it is the last time you are welcome in my life. Fuck you.”

“Hear, hear,” Hedy says under her breath. Marie is grinning sheepishly. Caroline looks quickly over my shoulder. I turn and see the rest of the party all standing on the stairs, looking shocked, and I wonder how much they all heard.

“Anneliese?” Alan says, looking like someone just told him there isn’t a Santa Claus.

“My word,” Jag’s mom says, clutching the top of her sari, and looking horrified.

“This is the sweet girl you couldn’t live without? Who disrespects her parents in this way?” Jag’s dad turns to look at him. “This is the girl so magical you give up your career and schooling to work like a slave, this foul-mouthed creature?”

“That is enough, Appa, you have no idea what Anneke has done for me.”

“What has she done, besides ruin your chances at a decent future?” Bahal throws his hands in the air.

“Because your son is such a prize,” Anneliese mutters.

“Excuse me?” Bahula spins and looks at my mother.

“She was perfectly happy with a good job and a fiancé who was a world-class famous chef, and your son comes along and suddenly she has quit her job and is living in this monolith, supporting him financially, as far as I can tell. Who are you to pass judgment?”

My mouth falls open. I realize that of course she assumes that Grant, whom she met at Grand-mère’s funeral, was displaced by Jag. That I left MacMurphy at Jag’s behest. The very idea of her defending me is laughable, but weirdly nice.

“Stop, Anneliese, that is not how things happened. Jag is the most wonderful man I’ve ever known. And nothing about my current situation is his fault.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure out how it’s all my fault,” she says petulantly.

“Anneliese, could you please just shut the fuck up,” I say. “None of this is your business. These people are the most wonderful loving parents, they are concerned for their son, and they have every right to be. Because they have always been there for him, they have earned his love and his respect. They get to have an opinion. You on the other hand are a sack of vanity and self-absorption, and you have never ever been there for me, so you don’t get to say ANYTHING.”

“My word,” says Bahula, clearly shocked by my outburst.

“Mr. and Mrs. Singh, I’m so sorry you had to be here for this. The truth is that my mother was never really a mother to me, and I don’t really know why she is even here. But I regret that I invited her, because I truly like and respect you both, and would have loved to have this opportunity to get to know you in a calmer situation. But for what it’s worth, know that you have raised the most amazing and spectacular son, and just knowing him has brought a tremendous richness and joy to my life.”

Bahula beams in spite of herself, and Bahal strokes his glossy beard thoughtfully.

“I’m sorry, Alan, I’m sure this is all very mortifying, and I’m sure you’re a really nice guy.”

“AUGH! That’s it,” Jag yells. “Sit down, all of you. Right now.” The forcefulness of his voice makes almost everyone comply. Carl and John come over to stand behind their women protectively. Jag takes a deep breath. “This was a mistake. We thought we were doing the right thing, but clearly we have made a huge mistake. There will be no more dishonesty. Amma? Appa? Anneke and I are not in love. We did not get swept away by romance. I had already quit school when we met, to pursue my dream of becoming a homebuilder, and was standing in the parking lot of a home improvement store trying to work for a pittance as a day laborer just to be near the business, and being ignored day after day. Anneke took pity on me and hired me, and when she saw that I wasn’t unskilled, took me on as a full-time apprentice.”

Jag’s parents are looking confused, and Alan is concentrating so hard I think his head might explode. My mother, of course, is checking her perfect manicure. The girls are looking agape. Jag doesn’t stop.

“When I found out that since I wasn’t going to be going to school my student visa was going to expire, Anneke married me so that I could get my green card and stay here to do the work I love. She sacrificed so much to make my dreams come true, and I am blown away by her generosity and kindness. She put my name on the deed to this building, and has invited me to be a partner in her new firm, despite my inexperience and lack of reputation. And, beyond that, by staying here and marrying her, I was able to realize my own deepest heart. Nageena and I are the ones who are in love. And as soon as she is naturalized, I will be able to give Anneke her freedom and marry the woman who is the true love of my life.”

It’s like a soap opera. The girls are just sitting looking shocked, except for Marie who is looking slightly smug. Carl and John look like they want nothing more than to run away. I can’t even make eye contact with any of them, as Jag keeps talking.

“Amma, Appa, we didn’t want to tell you because of Appa’s job, we thought it could reflect badly on him for work if you had to keep such a secret. We didn’t want you to have the burden of it.” He turns to the couch where Marie and Caroline and Hedy are sitting with John and Carl behind them. “Or to you all. You’ve been so generous and welcoming of me, and I want you to know that it was only at my absolute insistence that Anneke didn’t share the truth with you. Not telling her best friends has been the hardest thing for her to bear, and she only did it because of my fears. So please be as angry at me as you like, but do not be angry with her for acquiescing to my wishes.” Marie is crying, Caroline looks pained, and Hedy looks pissed.