THE WEEK ROLLED BY QUICKLY. THE REALTOR WAS frighteningly aggressive, but after fifteen years in New York I was used to the sharks. And she was my shark, so I let her do her job. She got me a lease on the Madison Street storefront that was so favorable I signed a two-year contract. I was committed. She also found me a small, two-bedroom house in Madrona, about a mile south of Jane. Again, the lease was favorable, and I signed within a couple days. I couldn’t believe how fast life changed. I almost asked her to visit the car dealership with me.
Soon I was unpacking my scant furniture and few boxes from New York and had my head shoved into my own oven.
“Lizzy?”
“Back here.” I pulled myself out and sat on my heels.
Jane pushed through the door of my tiny storefront and stared at me. “Funny finding you there.”
“You want in?”
“No. This is all yours.” She looked around. “It’s interesting.”
“Code for small, dirty, and dark?”
“Something like that.”
“See the potential. Flip that switch over there.”
Jane flipped the last switch on a bank of six, and the room flooded with light. “Oh, it’s just small and dirty.”
I stood up and straightened my back. “Cute. Dirty I can fix, and it’s actually the perfect size for what I want. It’s got a great layout and plenty of counter space.” I pointed to a bag she’d rested on the counter. “What’s that?”
“A welcome home or new business gift, I can’t decide. Open it.”
I unwrapped the small box inside. “I never wear perfume.”
“I know, but the girl who smells everything needs some good perfume. Open it up. It’s fresh and has a little bite, just like you.”
“Funny.” I pulled the cap off the bottle of Jo Malone English Pear & Freesia and sprayed a little on my wrist. “I love it. It is me! How’d you do it? It’s actually me.”
Jane laughed. “I thought so.” She glanced around again. “What are you going to do out front?”
I took a last sniff and then dragged Jane to the front of the store. “I ordered a huge double-glass door freezer for here, and I’m going to put shelves of provisions, maybe a small display cabinet with locally cured meats and cheeses and prepared salads, all through here.” I spread my arms around the room, much too grand for its size, but appropriate for my dreams. “I’m flirting with the name Feaster.”
“You can’t be serious. That’s ridiculous.”
“I don’t want to use Feast. This is something new, but I like what Mom said, I like the idea of choosing the feast, being thankful, being present, coming to grace, and celebrating the freedom—being a ‘feaster,’ always. I want to live large, Jane, and help bring the feast to others.”
“You can’t.” She shook her head. “I mean, you can do all that and you’ll be wonderful, but you can’t use that name.” She paced around the small space. “What about Evergreen?”
“What’s that?”
“It’s always alive, growing, changing, choosing life, thriving—all the same stuff you’re after without the completely awful name.”
“It’s not bad, but—”
Peter pushed through the door. “Peter, I picked a name,” I told him. “Feaster.”
“Fester?” His brows drew together.
I turned back to Jane. “Evergreen it is.”
THE FOLLOWING FRIDAY I INVITED KATE AND DANNY to walk to Evergreen after school so Jane and Peter wouldn’t have to rush home from her final chemo session. As the kids ate cookies in the kitchen, I waited for them, leaning against Evergreen’s doorjamb and feeling almost completely and thoroughly happy. The business hadn’t opened, but I was cooking, prepping, babysitting my niece and nephew—and relishing each sight, smell, taste, and moment. I held my wrist to my nose and breathed deeply. Maybe that was what I’d been missing all along—a good perfume.
The moment of peace felt well earned after a frenetic Thursday and a dinner at Jane’s house for ten of my dad’s firefighter buddies. They had come all the way from Hood River to clean my kitchen and refurbish the storefront—a huge home-cooked feast was their reward. I leaned against the doorjamb and recalled the work, the dinner, and the miracle it had brought.
“I can’t believe you’re opening your own catering business.”
I had turned to Tubs yesterday (if he has a real name, I’ve never heard it) and replied, “Technically one could call this a demotion, you know. I ran a restaurant in New York for years.”
Tubs shook his head, clearly not hearing me. “Your very own business.” He drove in a nail, chuckling to himself. “Who’da thought when your dad kept calling that school that it would come to this? I thought he was crazy to think you’d make it big.”
“What calls?”
“That school where you cooked.”
“Dad never called me there.” I felt my shoulders slump as I remembered that I hadn’t called my dad either—not once that entire summer. I had sent an occasional e-mail letting him know I was alive, but had made it clear I didn’t want more. As far as I was concerned, there was nothing between us.
“Not to talk to you,” Tubs said. “He and that director talked all the time.” Tubs shook his head again and walked away, carrying a stainless steel sink to the back Dumpster.
I stood there for a beat, then beelined to the front of the store. “Tubs said you called the Institute.” I knelt down next to Dad, who was painting the baseboards.
“I’d forgotten that . . . John. Good man. What brought that up?”
“Tubs was waxing nostalgic.” I sat back on my heels. “Why’d you call Chef Palmer, Dad?”
He stopped painting and turned to me. “You were young. The school didn’t want to accept you, so I called. After a long chat, John agreed to not only let you in but to keep an eye on you. We probably talked twice a week that summer. And when you came to work for him during college, he’d call and give me updates. We only stopped chatting a few years ago. He was so proud of you.”
“And when were you going to tell me this?”
“Never.” Dad shrugged.
“Why?”
“I failed you then. I still do, I think.” He caught my narrowed eyes and continued, “You wanted to leave, but I needed to make sure you were safe. John did that for me when I couldn’t do it myself.”
“You’re a good man too, Dad.” I leaned forward and hugged him.
“I love you, too, Lizzy.” He squeezed me and pushed me back to look into my eyes.
I smiled. That’s my dad.
I stood out on the sidewalk in the afternoon light as the memory danced in my head much like the sunlight in the tree above me. I lifted my wrist again and inhaled. I’d gotten so much wrong—for so very long.
“Elizabeth?”
I took a quick breath and looked up. I heard his voice in my dreams; it was only a matter of time before it invaded my reality. My first glance struck upon Matt. His small face was pinched and wary. I crouched down to his level, wondering if I had hurt him, if I’d caused those hazel eyes to tighten and shadow.
“What? No hug, big guy?”
He looked up at his dad, and I followed his gaze. Nick had once mentioned that Matt was not affectionate with others, but that had never included me. An almost imperceptible nod gave Matt permission, and he slowly stepped into my arms.
A quick hug and I released him. “I think you’ve grown.” That brought a small smile. I tried for another. “Kate and Danny are sitting at a counter through there.” I tapped the top of his head. “Could you please make sure they don’t eat all my cookies?” I stood quickly and looked at Nick. “If it’s okay with your dad?”
Without breaking eye contact, Nick replied, “Bring me one, too, kiddo.”
Matt set off at a run while Nick and I stared at each other.
“Hi,” I said.
“What are you doing here?” He wasn’t angry; he was dumbfounded.
“I leased the store. I’m opening a catering business, focusing on cancer patients, and a provisions shop, exactly as you suggested . . . I thought Jane would’ve told you.”
“I haven’t seen her. What about your restaurant?”
“It’s still standing, but I’m not the chef.” I caught myself fidgeting with my hands and clasped them still. “I found something more out here, and when I got back to New York, I realized I couldn’t let it go.”
Nick gripped the back of his neck and stared at me. “What’d you find?”
“Forgiveness. Family. A life. Things I was too obtuse to know I was missing.” I couldn’t stand there any longer. “Come see.”
He followed me inside, and I showed him the storefront space. “A huge double-door freezer arrives tomorrow morning. It’ll go here.” I spread my arms across the wall. “And I have a butcher-block top for this space. I’m leaving this counter stainless—And I have my first client. You remember Tyler?”
“Hemingway.”
“Hemingway.” I chuckled. “He ordered a whole bunch of meals and told me he’d pass my name around.”
“Andy?”
I stopped. “I thought you . . . He died the day . . . the day I saw you on the porch.” I took a tentative step toward him. “About that day, I am so sor—”
“Don’t apologize. It doesn’t matter anymore.” Nick ran his hand through his hair and stepped back.
I stood for a moment, not knowing what to say. I wanted to clear things between us so that we could bump into each other and not feel awkward. Now I felt foolish.
“I made something yesterday. I think you’ll like it. Wait here.” I ran back to the kitchen and grabbed a small square of pastry, catching the honey on a paper towel, and shot back out to the front. I handed my small bundle to Nick.
“Baklava?”
“I’ve been practicing and finally think I got the pastry right.”
“Greek tragedy?” His voice came out in a deflated monotone.
“Just Greek. No tragedy.”
Nick held the pastry in his hands but didn’t take a bite. Instead he stared at me a moment, then nodded. “We should go.”
He passed me and pushed open the kitchen door, calling to Matt.
I rested my hand on Matt’s head as he passed me. “It was great to see you. You can come back for a cookie whenever your dad says it’s okay.”
He wrapped his arms around me and held, just a degree too tight and for a second too long.
ALTHOUGH THE NEXT COUPLE OF DAYS WERE HECTIC, I found Nick creeping into my thoughts—while planning menus, wiping the counters, cutting parsley, rolling out crust for savory pies, and especially as I sat stymied by my nonexistent marketing plan. I called Jane.
“Do you have another capable colleague who could help me?”
“I’ve got a few, and Peter knows the entire industry here, but I think you’re being stupid about Nick. He’s a gifted marketer.”
“I don’t doubt that.”
“I’m sorry. I know you wanted more from him.”
“I must really be transparent . . . to everyone but me. Looking back, I suspect you’re right, but I need to let him go now, and I can’t do that if we’re leaning over spreadsheets.”
“Ah . . . I miss a good spreadsheet.”
“Jane, I’m being serious.” I looked out my window. “Hey, I gotta go.” I hung up the phone as Matt pushed open the door. “Hey, buddy, where’s your dad?”
“Behind me. He’s slow.”
“Okay . . . Do you want a cookie?”
Matt nodded and I grabbed for a tissue and reached into the jar, occupying myself with the boy and his cookie as the dad pushed open the door. “There you go. I added walnuts. Tell me what you think.”
“Why don’t you take that to the bench right there?” Nick pointed outside the window.
I froze as my little shield shuffled outside.
Nick turned back to me. “You shocked me the other day. I had no idea you were back. Were you not going to tell me? Not call me?”
I could feel my eyebrows scrunch together. “I said some pretty awful things, and with Rebecca here . . .” I took a deep breath. “No, I wasn’t going to tell you.”
Nick nodded. “Rebecca’s gone. She left a few days after you did to get her stuff from San Francisco. She didn’t come back. I got a text telling me to say good-bye to Matt, that she’d decided to head down to LA with some guy.”
“Now I feel really bad. Is Matt okay?”
“No.” He swung around and watched his son outside the window. “He cries. He has nightmares. He’s never had those.” Nick shoved his hands in his pockets and faced me again. “You were right about me too.” He shrugged. “I never meant to use him. I honestly thought I was protecting him.”
“I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
He stood for a moment, staring at me. I wondered what he saw. Rather than answer, he turned the question back on me. “Are you?”
I looked around. “I am. For the first time in years, I feel peace. I’m not just working, I’m living. It’s different and it feels great.”
“I understand that. Something changed in me when I got Rebecca’s text, and that’s a good way to describe it. I’m ready to live.”
I looked at him and thought it might be true—that he, too, had gone through his own crucible and had possibly come out different and new. “I bet Matt helps with that.”
“He does. As did you.”
I ran my hand over my eyes. “I still can’t believe I lashed out at you. It wasn’t even about you—”
“Elizabeth.” Nick stepped to the counter and reached for my hand, which still rested on the cookie jar. He squeezed gently, brushing across the scars with his fingertips. “It’s forgotten. Forgiven, if you want. It’s gone. Let yourself off the hook.” He let my hand go.
“Thank you.”
“Now I should take my son to the park or he might be back for another cookie. Do you want to join us?”
“I’ve got a delivery coming soon.”
“I’ll wait.” He said the words low and slow. They carried weight.
“For the delivery?”
“No. For you.” He lifted his hand and waved it in front of me as if wiping away any confusion between us. “I’m not sure what’s going on here. You’re usually so easy to read, and now . . .” He paused. “But I know what I want, New York, and I’ll wait till you want it too.” He blew out a deep breath. “Just so we’re clear.”