Everyone was already sitting around the table. Maddy tried not to notice David’s figure at one end. The lawn seemed very long as she bore her tray in front of her like some ridiculous offering. She looked like hell, too—dirty, smelly, and unshowered. The thought occurred to her that she matched the food—totally unappealing.
She looked everywhere but at David as she set the tray down on the table.
“What’s this dish called, Maddy?” Fred asked. He looked very different in his neatly pressed slacks and sport shirt. She’d never seen him in anything but jeans.
“Ah…Eggplant Surprise.” She sank down into a chair and sneaked a hopeful glance at David. He was staring at the empty water glass in front of him, a studiedly casual expression pasted on his face. Maddy turned her gaze to the table. It looked dismal. The sun was beating down on everything in sight. Her father had almost sweated through his shirt. Maddy’s mind flashed on the image of her birthday dinner, the gracefully set table, the platters of luscious dishes, the glasses and china glittering in the flickering candlelight—and David’s proud, smiling face. She almost had to shut her eyes against the scene in front her. Before her sat a hurriedly set table in the harsh glare of the noon sun, complete with one roll of paper towels and a lonely bowl of vegetables.
Fred lifted the pitcher of red liquid. “Can I pour anyone some…Kool-Aid?” He paused quizzically on the last word.
“Crystal Light,” Maddy muttered. Fred looked at the pitcher more closely.
“Right! Crystal Light, anyone?”
“Sure.” Her dad gamely held out his glass.
Maddy could barely keep from dropping her eyes as her mother’s spoon dipped into the serving bowl. The heat from the vegetables had continued cooking the pasta even more, which was unfortunate—it looked even more like mush than it had in the kitchen. Plus, now that some of it was ladled out, she could see that she had grossly overestimated how much five people could eat. The huge mound of the stuff in the bowl was easily enough for twenty. Her father looked at his plate as if something on it was about to jump up and bite him, but he quickly recovered. Maddy watched in anguish as David’s plate was filled.
Everyone at the table gradually fell silent as the food was handed around. David was the last to get his portion. Maddy could hardly look at him, but he accepted his plate of the frightening substance readily and then, to her surprise, looked directly at her. He shot her a disarming smile. Maddy’s pulse shot into the stratosphere and she felt her face turn flaming red. Ohmygod. What did that mean? He didn’t hate her? No, he was probably feeling sorry for her and her hideous attempt at cooking. It’s a look of pity, Maddy told herself glumly.
“I think that David, as the Ironstone Vineyard resident chef, should try the dish first so he can give us his professional opinion,” her father said brightly.
Lovely, Dad. Thank you very much, Maddy thought.
David obligingly raised his heaping fork and took a large bite. He chewed for a minute, frowning slightly. Maddy found herself holding her breath. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his face.
David erupted in a convulsion of coughing. Everyone started in alarm.
“David!” Maddy’s mother exclaimed. “Are you all right?”
Instead of answering, David leaped up from his chair, knocking it over, and raced toward the house, where he disappeared inside the kitchen. The group, sitting in stunned silence, could hear the faucet running in the kitchen and loud slurping sounds. After a long moment—approximately seven or eight years, in Maddy’s estimation—David appeared on the porch again and walked slowly toward the table. He stopped when he reached them, his face a slightly more normal shade of pink.
“Okay?” Fred asked cautiously.
“It’s good,” David said in a strangled voice. He picked up his overturned chair, and sat down. Maddy couldn’t resist. She reached for her own fork and ever so carefully placed a tiny bit of eggplant in her mouth. The effect was instantaneous—heat exploded down her throat, her lips and tongue turning numb almost immediately. It took all of her willpower not to repeat David’s performance. She coughed violently and chugged twelve ounces of Crystal Light. She set her glass down with a shudder and looked around the table. Now everyone was staring at her.
Maddy’s mother finally broke the silence. “You know,” she said, poking at a piece of green pepper with her fork, “just out of curiosity, did I happen to mention that we’re growing jalapeño peppers as well as sweet peppers in the garden?”
Maddy flopped back in her chair, her cheeks burning now instead of her mouth. She recalled the beautiful little dark green peppers she had admired. She had chopped up nearly a dozen.
“I’m impressed, though, Mad, that you took a stab at the pasta. It’s so delicate,” her mom hurried on.
At the other end of the table, David spoke for the first time. Maddy jumped at the sound of his voice. “How long did you boil it for?”
“Eight minutes.” She stared determinedly at the planks of the table.
Her father cleared his throat. “Well, that might be why it’s a tad…soft. You’re only meant to boil fresh pasta for a minute or two at the absolute most.”
Fresh pasta? That explained why it was in the fridge.
Staring at her wrecked attempt at cooking, Maddy could feel the tears prickling behind her eyes. No. No. She would not start crying like a little kid in front of David because her lunch was not the perfect representation of New Maddy. No. But it was useless. She could feel red patches start to form on her face, like usual, and her throat swelled and ached. She blinked furiously and stared up at the sky.
“Mads.” Her mom reached over to pat her arm. “It’s okay.” Maddy moved away.
“I’m fine,” she said, hearing the thickness in her voice. The first tear dropped onto a piece of onion on her plate. Stop it, you idiot, she ordered herself furiously. Another tear splattered onto her wadded-up paper towel. “Excuse me,” she said, standing up abruptly. She had to get out of here or she was going to bawl in front of everyone. Her parents were looking at her with concern. Fred was politely gazing at a beetle wending its way across the planks of the table. And David stared right at her, his brows knit. Maddy turned and fled across the lawn to the house, her humiliation complete.
Maddy stood in the spray of the outdoor shower at the side of the house. From her bedroom window, she had watched everyone trickle away after lunch—her parents and Fred to the vine fields and David (her heart sank) toward the cottage. It was just as well, she thought. She needed to be alone. The cool spray felt incredible after the hot, dusty morning she’d spent in the garden and the sweaty episode in the kitchen. Around her the redwood walls of the little enclosed cubicle were glistening wet. Maddy’s feet stood on another platform of redwood. The sun poured through the open top, splashing shadows onto her body. She leaned back to let the water soak her hair and worked in a dollop of Kiehl’s shampoo. She scrubbed herself all over with lemon-scented soap and let the water sluice it off.
Maddy sighed and shut off the shower. All she wanted to do was go straight upstairs to her room and fall asleep for about three hours—no, make that three years. She patted at her hair and wrapped herself in a thick white towel. She opened the door. David was standing immediately outside.
Maddy jumped, banging her head on the doorjamb, and let out an idiotic little squeak, like a mouse that had been stepped on. “Ow!” she said, holding the side of her head.
He was holding a backpack in his hand. He looked as surprised as she did. “Hey,” he said softly.
Maddy could hardly look at him. God, what did he think of her now? The awful lunch, and then running away crying? “Hi,” she managed, staring at his tan toes.
“Um, I was looking for a bucket. I don’t know what I did with the one that was in the tasting room, so—”
Maddy clutched her towel a little tighter. “I’m, um, sorry about, you know, earlier.” He didn’t say anything, just waited. “I mean, running off like that…” He looked at her. “I’m just…under a lot of pressure right now.” Her voice cracked on the last few words, and she could feel the tears building up again.
He reached out for her, like he might try to give her a hug. Maddy stepped away slightly and stood there, feeling miserable and stupid, tasting the tears that were now running down her cheeks to her lips. His voice was urgent and quiet. “I don’t know what you’re thinking about, but I hope when you get it figured out…you’ll tell me.”
For a long minute, they both just stood there, staring at each other. Maddy wanted to just say it—everything that was on her mind, everything that had gone wrong and right all summer long. His eyes were so big and dark, she just wanted to lose herself in them. Finally, she whispered, “Yeah,” and rushed past him, almost knocking him over. Yet another graceful exit for Ms. Madeline Sinclaire. She ran down the path, feeling like she was going to implode.
Later that afternoon, Maddy was kneeling in the bean rows, watching an orb-weaving spider spin a huge web on the garden fence while she piled pinto beans into a basket with both hands. A few feet away, the tomatoes hung plump and red. One looked ripe enough to fall off the vine. It looked scrumptious. Maddy sat back on her heels, plucked the tomato. and bit into it like an apple. The juice ran down her chin and trickled a pale pink streak onto her tanned bare arm.
A crunch in the grass caught Maddy’s ear, and she looked up to see David crossing the lawn. She inhaled sharply. She couldn’t help admiring the slant of his shoulders and his easy, springy stride. Talking by the shower had been a disaster, but this was it. She could do it. She tried to smooth her hair with the backs of her dirty hands. Maddy focused furiously on the beans. She sensed David approaching but didn’t turn around as he sat down next to the garden plot. Neither of them said anything. Maddy finally managed to look up at him. He was sneaking a glance at her at the same time. She flashed a quick smile that probably looked more like a grimace and turned back to the stake as if picking beans was her calling in life. Was this really the same guy she had hung out with all summer? Had they really eaten ribs together in a parking lot, doubled over laughing and talking endlessly? Her heart pounding, Maddy forced herself to turn around again. She knelt next to the basket and concentrated on picking out leaves.
“So, how’s the garden doing?” David said.
“Great!” It came out a little loud.
“I love it that it never rains in the summer here,” he said. Wow, they were talking about the weather? What the hell?
“Me too,” Maddy agreed. She felt a zing like a mini electric shock as their eyes met. She swallowed hard. She’d never had to search for things to say to David before all of this. They just talked naturally, without thinking. “So…are you glad summer’s almost over?”
He shrugged, a gesture Maddy found unbearably cute. “Yes and no. I like it here more, but I do miss people in the city. How about you? Are you going to be glad to see…your friends?” She caught the tiny pause before “friends.” This was her chance.
“Well, yeah. I’ll be glad to see Morgan and Kirsten, but…um…Brian and I broke up.” She stopped fiddling with the beans and looked right at him. His mouth opened and shut twice before he found his voice.
“Wow. I had no idea.”
“Yeah. It just wasn’t working out. I think we were just growing apart,” she said cautiously. Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear the blood in her ears. David scooted closer on the grass and brushed some dirt off of her nose.
“Hey, you know something? Earlier, when I ran into you by the shower, I really was looking for a bucket. But I was also trying to find you.”
Maddy raised her head and met David’s eyes for the first time all day. She took a deep breath. “By the way,” she said, “I was thinking…you know, after that eggplant dish…” He gave a fake shudder and she smiled ruefully. “Maybe I could use a few cooking lessons…?” She faltered, but a grin danced on his lips.
“Tomorrow night. Eight o’clock. Come over to the cottage. After an hour with me, I promise you’ll never make Eggplant Surprise again.”