Recipe for Disaster (47 page)

I’m shocked at how good everything is. And I realize that for the first time, there is nothing of Gemma’s here. All the recipes either came from Jacob or Caroline or the Internet. I followed them, and they are delicious. The steak is seared crunchy on the outside and meltingly tender inside, pink and juicy. The corn pudding is crispy on top, moist within. The beans are perfectly cooked, not mealy or mushy, the rice grains are fluffy and separate and al dente. The greens, with their rich pot liquor, are spicy and vinegary and smoky from the smoked turkey wings I used when I couldn’t find a ham hock. I think about when I moved in, all the boxes of Kraft mac ’n’ cheese and frozen pizzas, and I’m suddenly very proud of myself for how far I’ve come.

I promised myself when I turned down invitations from all the girls that I was not going to spend New Year’s reflecting on all I’ve lost this year, but that it would be a night of hopeful reflection on what I gained, most especially Emily. I can’t mourn Grant, the apartment, or my job, or my security, or my mother, or even Liam. I have to go forward knowing that I built a beautiful, special home. That I met a man who may not have been my soul mate romantically, but is my soul mate professionally, and we are embarking on an exciting new adventure together. That I have my friends around me, and now a sister, and that is the only family I really need.

And I learned how to feed myself, and anyone else who might eventually come along.

No one can take any of that from me, and so tonight, I celebrate the New Year, and the new me, with a heart that is ready to be truly hopeful, and maybe, someday, happy.

I’ve decided to leave the journal for the new owner. I think it belongs in the house; I just can’t bring myself to remove it. And I have to trust that whoever is coming to make this place their forever home, will understand why I left it behind.

And I have one more important thing to let go of.

“Em?” I ask as we are cleaning up the dinner dishes.

“Yeah?”

“You mentioned that when you went to look at your apartment that your upstairs neighbor had two puggles?”

“Yeah, Flotsam and Jetsam. So freaking cute.”

“So the place takes dogs.”

“Yes . . .”

“If you want, if it wouldn’t be a pain in your ass, I think maybe you should take Schatzi with you.”

“But . . . she’s your dog!”

“You and I both know that this dog hates me. She is more your dog than mine, and to be honest, she’s lost enough this year. She loved Grant, and she lost him. She had doggie friends in that neighborhood, and she’s lost them too. She loved Liam . . .” I don’t even want to finish that sentence. “The bottom line is that she adores you and has from the moment you first arrived, and I know you love her too. I think it would be great for both of you.”

Emily throws her arms around me. “You are the best sister in the world.”

“I think you are the best sister, I’m just trying to catch up.”

“You’re doing an admirable job. And we’ll be back for the summer.”

Emily finally did some fessing up of her own when she was home with her dad for Christmas. He knows the whole story, including the use of his purported rent money to invest in the house, where he will realize a very decent 50 percent return. And Emily got to meet the lovely woman he has been seeing, so everyone appears to be moving on at last. Emily still wants to be a family therapist, but she has also fallen in love with Chicago and houses, so she is planning on spending her summers here, doing internships as she can get them, and working part-time for Jag and me, and staying with me. I’ve agreed to come out to spend a long weekend over spring break with her and her dad and his family; they all want to meet me.

And for the first time in my life, I think I’m actually ready to be met.

SIX MONTHS LATER . . .

J
ag and I finish our walk-through, and then give each other a big hug. We’ve just bought a redbrick three-flat on the corner of California and Logan that was gutted by fire and left vacant. The previous owners took the insurance money and ran. Because of the damage, it has been on the market for nearly two years. But the foundation and shell are solid, it just needs a complete redo on the inside. Jag and I are going to convert it into two duplex condos. We’ll have to excavate the basement to get the ceiling height we want, but we think it will be worth it to be able to gain the square footage. We’ve got a long haul ahead of us, but we’re both eager to get started. The fact that it is walking distance on a lovely June day like today is a bonus.

Last week we finished up our work on the Lake Shore Drive project, and it turned out beautifully. Hedy will take the next month to get it fully furnished and organized, but the clients are thrilled and have already recommended us to their friends, one of whom is considering hiring us to redo a kitchen and dining room, and another who wants us to create a bigger master suite now that the final kid is off to college, so our income, while not extravagant, is at least steady. And Bahal and Bahula insisted on investing in our company, and their seed money paid for the new Logan property. And in the best possible twist, we have a meeting next week with Oliver Jacobsen, who says that he had an opportunity to tour the Palmer house, and the owner referred him to us for a big project he is looking to do in the neighborhood.

“What time is he picking you up?” Jag asks, as we lock up the front door and head back toward home.

“Seven.”

“Are you nervous?”

“I dunno. A little.”

“It’ll be good.”

I’m having dinner with Liam. He and Jag have kept in touch, they get together about once a month to have a guys’ night out, so we’ve kept up a bit on each other, but hadn’t seen each other in person until last week when I ran into him at Home Depot. It was awkward for a bit, but we talked about work. He told me he had just finished the Manning job and before I knew what I was doing I said we should celebrate, and after a deadly pause that made my stomach knot, he said that we absolutely should, and was I available for dinner tonight. He insisted on picking me up, which makes me think that maybe it’s a date, but then I figured that we were probably just going to some big popular place and he wouldn’t want us both to have to deal with parking.

“I hope so. I hope maybe it will just break through a bit so we can be normal.”

“You don’t hope that it is a first step toward something more?”

I think about this. There’s no one else in my life right now. I’ve been on two dates with very nice, very boring guys that I didn’t spark with, but at least it got me back out there and got Hedy off my case. Sometimes, late at night when I’m alone, I remember Liam’s kisses and wonder where he is and who he is with, but not as often these past few weeks.

“I think I’m just going to see what it is, and whatever that is, I’m ready for it.”

“Good girl.”

“And I still have bourbon at home, right?”

He laughs. “Would I leave my wife without an ample supply of brown goods?” The three of us are in and out of each other’s apartments and pantries and fridges like the gang on Friends, but we do try and not completely deplete someone’s stash.

“No, my husband, you would not.”

“If nothing else, Emily gets here next week, so that will be good.”

“That will be great. Except she’s bringing the hellbeast with her.” My spring reunion with Schatzi was much as I would have expected. She bit me twice, shat in my suitcase, and ate one of my shoes.

“Well, you could always make yeast rolls . . .”

T
he bell rings promptly at seven. I take a deep breath, steel my shoulders, and open it. Liam is wearing dark jeans, and an untucked white linen button-down shirt, with the sleeves rolled up.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi.”

“Shall we?”

“Of course.”

He opens the door of a brand-new, red Ford F-150, which makes me smile. “Thought you should be the first one to ride in her, since I know how you love that new-car smell.” He grins.

“Of course. I’m flattered.” This cuts the tension a bit, and I settle in. We talk about the new project, we talk about the Mannings, he catches me up on the doings at MacMurphy. Apparently Disco Barbie finally snagged Murph, and they are getting married at the end of the year. We drive around for about fifteen minutes before Liam stops the car and parks. I look up. We’re in front of the Palmer house. I’ve walked and driven by now and again since I moved out, but I try not to go that way. Jacob says the new owner is very happy, which makes me happy, but I asked him not to tell me anything else; there is something about it that still stings. I know I’ll probably meet them eventually, since apparently they have become friendly with Jacob, but he and Hedy know better than to discuss it with me or try to arrange a get-together.

“Why are we here?”

“Dinner. C’mon.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know the owner. Thought you might want to come see what the old place has become.”

That is the last thing I want, frankly, but clearly Liam has some sort of agenda, and I don’t know what it is about, so I follow him up the stairs to the front porch. Liam opens the door, and we go inside. The place looks amazing. The living room is furnished with oversized couches and chairs that cry out for a gathering. The dining room, much to my delight, is still orange, and is now home to a long, antique table with mismatched chairs, old pottery and knickknacks in the hutches.

“I thought we’d eat in the kitchen, if that’s okay.”

“Sure.”

I follow him up the stairs, and to where delicious smells are wafting down the hall. There is a gate across the entrance, which Liam moves aside for me, and there is a scrabbling noise as a red blur comes zooming across the room. Liam reaches down and picks up the dervish, who licks him frantically. “Hello, girl. Nice to see you too. This is Anneke, she’s a friend of mine. Anneke, this is Kerry. Like the county.” I can finally see that she is an Irish setter, maybe four or five months old, and I reach out to pet her, and Liam drops her unceremoniously in my arms. She is soft and warm, and immediately snuggles cozily against me.

“Cute pup.”

“Yeah. I have to say, she has stolen my heart.”

“That’s just because she’s Irish.”

“That might be it. Always did have a thing for redheads.” This makes me blush, and I focus on cuddling the puppy to cover my discomfit. He goes to the fridge and pulls out a bottle of wine, which he opens deftly and pours out two glasses. “To being back where it all started.” We clink.

“What smells so good?”

“Braised short ribs. I know it’s a little heavy and off-season, but I’ve been learning to cook, and my teacher says that you can always lean on something braised if you are worried about timing, because it is very forgiving.”

This sounds awfully familiar to me. “Who’s your teacher?”

He looks right into my eyes. “Her name is Gemma. She’s an awfully good coach, and terribly wise.” I look over his shoulder and see the journal, open on a stand next to the stove.

“I don’t understand.” Except I do. In an instant, I understand completely. Liam doesn’t say anything. “May I?” I hold my hand out for the book, and Liam hands it over silently.

I run my hand over the smooth leather cover, the thick pages. I let it fall open and look down at the familiar violet script. It is the introduction to her recipe for soufflés.

There is nothing wrong with believing in yourself, in your heart. It always knows the path you should take, and often, the more you fear it, the more that is probably what you should try. Even if there is the likelihood of failure. Our failures prepare us for our successes, and you never know when you start which it will be.

I look up at Liam, who is smiling at me.

“I’ve always found that braises are quite delicious if you let them go longer than the recipe says,” I say.

“Do you?”

I stand up, and reach for his hand, which he allows me to take. “I do.”

“So, perhaps a more complete tour before we eat?”

“If that’s okay with you?”

“It is.”

“Shall we start in the bedroom?”

“If you like.”

“I know the way.” And we head back to the stairs, and this time, go up.

We eat dinner at midnight. It is delicious. And we are very hungry.