CHAPTER 22
Magali
Syd was late. I was seated at our usual booth at The Two Lions, trying to block the thought of her standing me up. I knew she’d been avoiding me. I was hungry and exhausted, having spent the better part of the day walking around Valley Forge Park, trying to make sense of what was happening in my life. I’d been doing a lot of walking lately. The movement soothed me and tired me out so I could sleep.
Micheline and Piet were sitting across from me with expectant looks on their faces. Micheline was rounder in the belly but otherwise didn’t look pregnant.
“Oh, Magali, s’il-te-plaît, at least say you will think about it?” Her eyes were shining, definitely in the second-trimester-glow part of pregnancy.
“She must make her mind, yeah?” said Piet.
“You would be perfect.”
Would I? Micheline and Piet had just offered me a job as head chef for the first shift, lunch. With the baby on the way, they wanted to cut back, but were determined to maintain the authenticity of their kitchen.
“Of course! You are belge, expertly trained, and a wonderful chef. You would be in charge. You could change the menu.”
“Carte blanche,” Piet added.
Micheline shot him a look. I didn’t think she was completely on board with the “carte blanche” idea. I sipped my beer, a St. Feuillien Cuvée de Noël.
“I haven’t worked in a restaurant in years.” I shook my head.
“It’s like a bicycle,” Micheline said.
I wanted to say no. This was not my dream. But it had been once, said a stubborn little voice in my head. And your current dream is two sentences long and gathering dust in the attic. Maybe this was the universe telling me to forget about being a Great Author and pushing me in the direction of the kitchen. Again.
Syd walked in.
“I’ll let you know.”
“Before New Year? Because if it’s no, we must interview chefs.”
“Hi,” Syd croaked.
To her credit, she did look as if she’d been sick. Her skin was pale and her nose was red and chapped around the edges.
“I don’t think I’m contagious anymore but no hugging, just to stay on the safe side.” She sat.
Micheline and Piet rose, he cradling her elbow. She shook him off.
“Soup for you,” she told Syd.
Then she looked at me.
“I’ll have the same.”
When they were gone, I said, “I wasn’t sure you were coming.”
“What part of ‘C U 2nite’ left any room for doubt? God, I’m beginning to feel almost human again.”
“I tried to call. I even stopped by your house.” I tried for lightness, but missed. I knew I sounded accusing.
“I went to a friend’s house. He nursed me back to health,” she said. She hadn’t removed her coat.
“I thought I was your friend.” I couldn’t help it.
“And I’m yours. Which is why I refrained from spreading my germy self all over your house and your girls.”
“Which friend?” I asked.
She took a deep breath and coughed. I softened. “Oh, you poor baby. You should take off your coat. It’s warm in here and you’ll just get colder when you leave.”
“ ’Bout time I got some sympathy out of you.” She opened her bag and pulled out a crumpled tissue.
“Oh, for the love of Mary. Here.” I opened my bag and pulled a pocket-sized pack of tissues and handed it to her. She took one and pushed the pack toward me. “Keep it. I could open up a shop I have so many.” The legacy of motherhood.
“So what’s your news?” she asked.
I debated about telling her about Leo’s book but didn’t want to get into that with anyone at this point. I had read it over the weekend, with Leo hovering like a mother hen concerned about her favorite chick. Finally I sent him out to the park with the girls so I could read in peace.
The book was good. A page-turner with a strong plot, offbeat humor, and a solid dose of understanding of human behavior. It needed work but nevertheless, envy pierced my heart with every well-turned phrase. I don’t know why I was surprised. The very qualities I married him for were the same qualities that made his novel wonderful. One part brilliance, one part humanity, and two parts quirky sense of humor.
My jealousy made me feel small.
“Nothing much,” I finally answered. “Missed you at the party, though. We also missed Art.” I looked at her, hard. “Did you know he’d left?” I asked, all wide-eyed innocence, but Syd knew me too well.
Her face crumpled. “You know?”
“I don’t know what I know. I know Elly and Charlotte saw you two kissing and then you slapped him?”
She nodded, but didn’t speak. My pocket tissue packet was getting a workout.
Duncan came with our soup. “Soup du jour. White asparagus with chervil.”
“Chervil? How did Micheline get her hands on chervil?” Chervil—cerfeuil—was Belgium’s national herb. Soup made with it tasted like a tender spring garden.
“Secrets of the trade. But seeing as if you might join the family—” He leaned in and peered around the room, as if he were about to impart top-secret information. What a clown. Syd shot him a questioning glance, but he didn’t notice. “Micheline has a garden—a greenhouse.”
“So that’s how she does it.” Brilliant woman brimming with energy. I’d always toyed with the idea of having one myself but it had seemed too overwhelming. Not to mention my decided lack of a green thumb. If unleashed in the Amazon jungle, I could probably kill it in a matter of weeks.
“What was that about?” demanded Syd.
I stared her down. “First, you.”
“Maybe we should eat our soup while it’s still hot.”
“Maybe we should stop looking for delaying tactics. But fine, yes, let’s.”
“We don’t want to incur Micheline’s wrath.”
“True.” So, we ate in silence for a few minutes. The soup was a masterpiece, not too thick or creamy, light and flavorful, exactly what this evening needed. Soup was the original comfort food.
“Besides,” added Syd, “you need to eat. You’re looking thin.”
I put my spoon down. “Thin?”
“Gali, you must have lost at least ten pounds since you got back from New York.”
“But it can’t be. I’m not dieting.”
“Clearly, because if you were, you’d be miserable and a few pounds heavier than before. You can’t not have noticed.”
I shook my head, comprehension spreading through my body. “It’s the jeans. They’re magic.”
“Nope. Not just the jeans, though they are nice.”
Come to think of it, the waistband was feeling loose. Since I spent most of my time these days in yoga pants and sweats, I didn’t have much of a reference point. And Leo had thrown out my scale years ago after seeing me obsess about gaining and losing the same three pounds over and over.
Maybe it was all that walking. After sitting in front of my screen and fidgeting, my heart would start pounding and I felt as if I were suffocating. Walks were the only thing that seemed to help.
“Thanks.” Would Daddy also find me thin? Or at least thinner? I shook my head. “Much as I love you for telling me I’m thin, you’re not off the hook.”
“Okay. I won’t cry. I won’t cry.” She tapped her spoon against the rim of the soup dish. “Art and I have . . . I don’t know how to say this.”
“You like my brother?”
“What are we, in seventh grade?” She grinned. “Actually”—she took a deep breath—“it started in high school.”
“But he’s . . .”
“Four years younger than I am, exactly. Not to mention he’s my best friend’s brother.”
“And he . . . ?”
“Feels the same way, yeah. But nothing’s happened, Gali, I swear. I promise.”
It was strange, I had to admit, the thought of Syd and Art together, as a couple.
“It never will.” She put down her spoon and started tearing little pieces off a slice of baguette. “I wouldn’t ever want anything to jeopardize our friendship. Guys come and go, but friends are forever.”
“Let me get this straight. And stop persecuting that piece of bread, it hasn’t done anything to you. You have been holding each other off because of me?”
“Of course because of you. What if it didn’t work out? What would it do to us? You are my family.” She looked miserable.
Suddenly it made sense, why neither of them, luscious as they were, could sustain a relationship. Years under my nose and I saw none of it. How observant of me.
“So you’re the reason he keeps disappearing?”
“You see? It’s starting already. No, it’s in his nature. But”—she ate another spoonful of soup—“he did ask me to give him a reason to stay.”
“And?”
She shook her head. “Too risky.”
“Are you crazy?” I slammed my palm on the table. “You know where he is?”
She nodded, her eyes shiny.
“Go after him.”
“How can—”
“How can you not? Don’t you know how short life is?” I waved to Duncan and mimed signing my name on my palm. “So where am I driving you?”
She shook her head. “What if we break up? You would have to take sides and it would drive a wedge . . . I can’t lose you.”
“Not even in a relationship and already planning the post-breakup? How did you become so optimistic?”
“Sheer talent.”
I jingled my car keys. “Where to?”
“The Poconos.”
I felt my eyes widen. “Our cabin?”
She nodded.
Duncan came over with our check and a chocolate mousse with two spoons. “Compliments of la patronne.”
“We should leave.”
“Yes.” Our gazes locked on the mousse.
“It would be a shame,” I conceded.
“A crime, really.”
“And Micheline might get upset.”
“And we wouldn’t want that. Not in her condition. What if something happened? It would be our fault.” Syd picked up one of the spoons.
I picked up the other. “Plus, we need energy for the drive.”
So, we fell in.
“Amazing.” Nothing could create happiness like a truly wonderful chocolate mousse.
“Almost as good as yours.” Syd scraped the dish.
“Better.”
“No.”
“Yes.” And it was okay. There could coexist many different yet divine chocolate mousses in the universe, each special in its own way. And each necessary.
“I can’t believe he’s been so close all this time.” I squinted my eyes at the glare from the headlights of an oncoming car.
“He knows no one uses it,” said Syd.
Too many happy memories. “I may have to strangle him.”
“You see? Problem.” She blew her nose.
“Kidding.”
“Oh.”
We got on the turnpike, having already stopped for gas and Starbucks.
“Gali. I’m going to say this once, then we can drop it if you like. You have no idea how much I missed you those years you were in Belgium. When you came home, I swore I’d never let you get away again. I can’t lose you.”
“You think I can? You are my sister. We chose each other. Let’s stop talking about this or I’ll start bawling and won’t be able to see and end up running us both off the turnpike.”
“Okay.” She handed me a tissue.
“Funny thing, though. I really thought you’d go for Simon. I also knew Brandy was not a contender the minute you asked her what kind of eyeliner she used.”
“And she answered ‘On my eyes?’ I thought I was going to explode.”
“And Art’s face!”
“I told him that if he was going to bring someone to make me jealous, he should rustle up a more plausible girl.”
“Girl being the operative word,” I said.
We drove for a long while in easy silence listening to Roxy Music. We were off the turnpike and almost at the cabin when Syd, keeping her eyes straight in front of her, said, “Since this is the night of hard conversations, I need to tell you something. About Simon.”
“I still think you two would have made a good match.” I felt in control, bringing Syd to Art with my blessing. If it didn’t work out, so be it but at least they’d have taken their shot.
“He told me you tried to seduce him.”
“What?” I yanked the car over, in a shower of gravel. Probably nicked the paint on the Volvo. Damn.
“He said you insisted on coming to his apartment. You cooked for him and got him drunk. Then you left. ‘Chickened out’ was how he put it. But he’s sure you have feelings for him.” She turned and looked at me.
“That bastard. I told you what happened. It wasn’t like that at all!”
“I wanted you to know how he saw it. Because I don’t think he intends to leave you alone.”
“But I didn’t lead him on.” Or had I? Was that the way I’d come across—like some unhappy married woman on the prowl? Was he lying for Syd’s benefit? Out of a sense of revenge? Had he planned the whole thing to get back at Leo?
Either way, I’d have to confront him. I sighed. Unless Syd was wrong and it would go away on its own.
I pulled back onto the road and headed toward the cabin. I drove carefully, refusing to let my fury rise.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah. You know it was nothing like that. I’d had a lousy day. I needed to cook. I felt sorry for him all alone. He was fun and had a kitchen.”
“I know.”
I couldn’t let this pass. Was this him trying to manipulate me into getting in touch with him? I turned into the driveway. “Here you are.”
“You’re not coming in?”
“No. I’m going home. Art can drive you back.” I kissed my friend on the cheek and watched her go into the cabin. Then I drove home.
My kitchen was now laden with an assortment of cakes, pies, and pastries that would put the most bountiful pâtisserie to shame. I barely had any counter space left to make dinner.
I knew I had to have it out with Simon.
Had the whole thing been my fault? I’d flirted on the train, even lied a bit, but that had been a harmless game. People did it all the time without it turning around and biting them in the derrière.
I picked up the phone and booked tickets to How the Grinch Stole Christmas. The girls wanted to see Seussical again, but I thought it best to avoid physical proximity of my family with Simon.
I eyed the stack of Christmas cards waiting to be signed, addressed, and mailed. If I didn’t get them done soon, they’d never arrive before Christmas.
Feeling a bit Grinch-like myself, I decided to take measures. Music. Strains of “Carol of the Bells” filled the air. That was more like it. I made coffee, grabbed a cookie, and sat at my desk. My mug was festooned with grinning, rosy-cheeked snowmen. Very cheery. Then why did I just want to lie down and take a nap? I felt as if my veins were shot through with sludge.
I dug my mobile from out of my bag and dropped my keys in the process. Simon’s number was still programmed. Phoning was the coward’s way out, but I couldn’t bring myself to take a day trip to the city and face him. And I certainly didn’t want to see him around here. The phone was a great invention, after all. Especially when dealing with dangerous people, those who could, with one flick of a pinkie, topple my beautiful house of cards.
I cut the music.
“Hello?”
That accent. It got to me every time. It’s just an accent. A way of pronouncing words. I hardened myself. “It’s Magali.”
“Oh. Hello there. Wondering when I’d be hearing from you.”
I shut my eyes. Might as well plunge right in. “You told Syd that I tried to seduce you.”
“And as I recall, you would have succeeded had you not chickened out at the last moment.”
I couldn’t believe I was hearing this. “But you know the day I’d had. I needed to cook, and you were alone, I was alone, you had a kitchen, end of story.”
“You were giving out mixed signals.” He chuckled.
“I’d had too much to drink.” Why was I feeling guilty? “It was all in your mind. My signals were very separated.” As I said the words, a new thought hit me. “Did you know who I was? On the train?”
Silence.
“You did!”
“I recognized you from a photograph on your husband’s desk.”
“So you planned this? It was deliberate?”
“I didn’t plan on us being on the same train, if that’s what you mean.”
“But once you recognized me? You . . . decided to get back at Leo?”
He sighed. “The thought had crossed my mind. Not often you get a chance at hurting someone who hurt you. He was ruthless.”
“So you used me?” I couldn’t breathe. Of course. Why would he want me? An old married woman.
“It did amuse me that you were playing at being someone else. That doesn’t really scream ‘happy marriage,’ you know. I saw a chance and took it.”
“Leo is right. You are a bastard.” I was seething.
“Wait. It started out that way. But as the game went on . . .” He stopped and I could hear him taking a deep breath. “I became smitten. You’re quite wonderful.”
“And you expect me to believe that? Just leave me alone. I have a home. A family.” As soon as I hung up, I would go somewhere and die of embarrassment. “Hanging up now.”
“No, wait.”
For some reason, I did.
“Are you listening? That’s exactly what I want. What you have. What you make. It was gorgeous. You’re gorgeous.”
I swallowed. “But you had it and threw it all away.”
“What makes you think it was my doing?”
“My husband was your wife’s lawyer.”
“It wasn’t what it seemed.”
“It never is.” I went to the kitchen and stood by the window. A squirrel scampered up the maple tree.
“Do you have any idea what it’s like to live with someone who wants you to be perfect? Always?”
My breath was stuck in my throat.
“I never measured up to her standards. She was always finding fault. So I ended up having an affair.”
“And that didn’t work out either?” I asked, my gaze still on the squirrel. He was on a very small limb but seemed completely at ease.
He sighed. “She was married too.”
“You make a habit of this.”
“No. She ended up patching things up with her husband. But Elizabeth—”
“Found out.”
“Yeah. In some crazy way, I thought it would make her see me in a new light. If someone else wanted me, maybe I wasn’t so flawed.”
“That didn’t really work out for you.”
“Couldn’t get rid of me fast enough.” He chuckled, but it was a grim sound.
I was trying not to feel sorry for him. He’d played me. I went to the counter and broke off a piece of brownie. “So you decided to show up here at Thanksgiving . . .”
“I hadn’t really thought it through. But yeah, I wanted to try my luck.”
Fury overtook me again. “Your luck? At breaking up my marriage?”
“Sounds awful, I know. But how was I to know your marriage was any good? You certainly didn’t spend the evening with me extolling the joys of marital bliss.”
“It would have seemed insensitive, seeing how your ex reacted to your accident.”
“I thought I’d take a shot. I’m sorry. But I miss being a family, having kids running around, the whole thing.”
“Should have thought of that before.” I crushed the brownie, then swept the crumbs into the trash.
“She would have found a reason to unload me regardless.”
“But what you tried to do to me? Good-bye, Simon.”
“Wait.”
“Don’t call me. Don’t come here.” I hung up, feeling queasy. Air. I needed air. I laced up my shoes and left the house. I don’t know how long I walked, my mind numb. I couldn’t shake an underlying feeling of guilt. I kept hearing him ask, “Do you know what it’s like to live with someone who wants you to be perfect?”
When I got home, there was a carton waiting for me on the porch. I brought it in, recognizing Ana’s scrawl. Advance copies of my book already? Impossible. I left the carton by the door and went up to take a nap. Just before drifting off, it hit me. I’d said no to Simon. That was why I felt so guilty. I was the one who always said yes.
That evening after supper, Leo asked, “What’s in the box?”
“Oh, just some stuff Ana sent. I’ll get to it in the morning.” I was finally addressing Christmas cards. Rote work was just what I needed to keep my mind numb.
The next morning, I opened the carton. Inside was a gift-wrapped package and a note. Open before Christmas. She’d probably been mistaken and rushed, forgetting the Do Not. I hid them on the top shelf of my closet till Christmas Eve when all the presents would go under the tree.
Soupe aux asperges blancs et cerfeuil
WHITE ASPARAGUS AND CHERVIL SOUP
We love white asparagus in Belgium. Every time I taste this soup, it feels like an explosion of spring. So whatever you are planning on making for dinner, if you come across fresh white asparagus and chervil, change your menu and make this instead.
You’re welcome.
For 4 to 6 people.
1½ pounds white asparagus
6 tablespoons unsalted butter
6 cups chicken broth (homemade or high-quality organic)
Generous handful of freshly chopped chervil, plus leaves for garnish
3 tablespoons flour
Sea salt
Freshly ground pepper
1 large egg yolk (optional)
½ cup heavy cream (optional)
Peel the asparagus. Remove the tips and reserve them. Meanwhile, melt 4 tablespoons of butter over medium-low heat in a soup pot. Snap the stems into smaller pieces.
When the butter is hot but not brown, throw in the stalks and let them cook for about 5 minutes, stirring regularly. Add 2 cups of broth, cover, and simmer until tender, about 20 minutes.
Serve yourself a nice glass of chilled white wine. You deserve it after all that peeling and chopping and stirring.
Chop a generous handful of chervil and set aside.
When the stalks are tender, remove from heat and let cool.
Meanwhile, cook the asparagus tips in boiling salted water for a few minutes, but no more than 2 or 3. Drain in a colander and rinse under cool water.
Once the stalks have cooled down a bit, purée them, in batches, using a blender or food processor. Set them aside to be used later.
Melt the remaining 2 tablespoons of butter. Add the flour and mix with a wooden spoon. Once the flour is bubbling, grab your whisk and, whisking steadily, add the remaining broth. Bring to a boil then remove from heat.
Now, take a sip of wine.
Add the puréed asparagus to the broth, mixing well. Season with salt and pepper. (The soup can be made ahead up to this point and chilled.)
Here you get to make a decision:
1. Throw in the chervil and the asparagus tips and serve the soup with a garnish of chervil leaves. The sun comes out from behind a cloud and birds are chirping.
2. Or, for a richer, creamier, altogether superior soup, mix the egg yolk with the cream. Add it to the base along with the chervil. Then in go the asparagus tips. Serve and garnish.
If you chilled the soup, then reheat it slowly but do not bring to a boil or it will curdle.
Voilà! It’s springtime in a bowl.