Luckily, lunch continues with no further interrogations. But when the meal’s over and everyone has had coffee—except for Julia, who opted for a fennel infusion—I’ve already had enough of the family reunion, so I take the excuse of showing Diego around town to get the hell out of the house.
“Congratulations, you survived the first drill,” I tell Diego as we exit the car and stroll toward the town’s center.
Downtown is not that impressive, just a road with shops and restaurants on either side. But with the snow crunching under our feet and fairy lights dangling from every tree and shop window, I have to admit the Christmas flourish makes it prettier than usual.
“Mmm, I don’t think your dad was a fan of my job,” Diego says, offering me his arm.
“Don’t worry, he won’t have time to try to turn you into an accountant,” I reassure him, linking our arms together. “Five more days and you’ll never see him again.”
“Right.” Diego’s face doesn’t look relieved.
“Come on, I promise I’ll keep my dad off your back.” I pull him toward the main shopping street. “Ready to dive into my past?”
Diego nods and follows me obligingly around town as I show him all the local attractions.
***
“And I worked at that café for two years when I was sixteen to eighteen,” I say about half an hour later. I kept my favorite coffee house for last. “Hot chocolate? They make the best in town with melting marshmallows and a side of cookies.”
Diego rubs his hands in a warming gesture. “You had me at hot.”
Old Saybrook is only two hours north of Manhattan, but the climate is considerably more frigid up here; even a short time outside is enough to freeze one’s ass over.
I push my way into the shop, making the little bell over the door chime in greeting. If the atmosphere was Christmassy outside, in here it looks like a drunken elf threw up all over the place. But not even the Christmas overload and cheesy tunes can keep me from enjoying the best chocolate ever brewed.
“Nikki,” Mrs. Cravath, my former employer, greets me. “So good to see you! And who is this young man?” She eyes Diego from behind the counter with sparkly eyes.
“Hello, Mrs. Cravath. This is Diego, my boyfriend,” I introduce.
“Oh, how wonderful. See? I was right, and they were wrong,” she says, and I have absolutely no clue what she’s talking about. “Dora owes me one of her famous pumpkin pies.”
“Excuse me?” I say.
“Your mom and your old crone of an aunt always complain you’re never going to find a man. But I told them how wrong they were and bet Dora a pie you’d be married before forty, which is the new thirty.” She winks at me.
Again, if Diego really was my boyfriend, I’d be dead from the shame. Now I’m just livid. I’m not sure what makes me angrier: the fact that my mom openly discusses my dating life with the whole town or that, apparently, the prize of my happiness is a pumpkin pie. I’m almost tempted to turn on my heel and get the hell out, but then I get a whiff of cacao and can’t help myself. No gossiping old ladies will keep me from my hot chocolate.
“Still ten years to go,” I point out, putting on a sterner and definitely less cordial tone. “I’m sure you’ll get your pie, eventually.” I rejoice in knowing that my lifelong spinsterhood will at least deprive Mrs. Cravath—who I honestly liked until five minutes ago—of her pie.
“So, what can I get you two lovebirds?” she asks, unaware of my shifted demeanor.
“We’ll take two hot chocolate specials, thank you.”
“Go sit… I’ll be right there with your order.”
We choose a table by the window, and I can’t help but notice how Diego’s mouth keeps twitching.
“You have something to add?” I hiss.
“No, sorry.” He finally lets the smile dance on his lips. “It’s just that I grew up in Chicago, and now I live in New York…”
“So?” I ask, impatient.
“I never got that whole ‘small town where everyone knows everyone’ thing. But now I do.”
“Welcome to my personal ho-ho-hell.” I roll my eyes. “See why I needed you here?”
“I’m starting to.”
***
When we leave the café, it’s already dark outside. We hop into the car and I take Diego to the final spot of our tour.
We cross a stretch of open water toward Lynde Point, and I pull over on the other side of the bridge. “Our famous lighthouse is over there, but I can’t get any closer with the car. Want to take a stroll? It’s really pretty at night.”
“Sure,” Diego says.
I open the car door, and a freezing blizzard attacks me. “On second thought,” I say, pulling the door close again. “It’s too windy out there. Another day?”
“At least we’ll still have an excuse to get out of the house.” He grins.
“I see you’re getting into the right Christmas spirit.” I glance at the car’s clock. “Oh, and it’s late, anyway. My parents like to eat dinner early.”
Diego massages his belly. “If dinner is anything like lunch, I’m all in. Your mom is an amazing cook.”
“Yeah.” I reverse the car and hit the road again. “The food is one of the few perks of coming home for the holidays.”
As we drive, I keep up my role of improvised tour guide whenever we pass a building of interest, like the local brewery, or the Katharine Hepburn museum and the cultural arts center. “And that’s my high school,” I say, pointing. “And right there, under the ledge near the entrance, is where I had my first kiss.”
“And who was the lucky guy?”
“Michael Connell, a real jackass. The jerk dumped me for Rebecca Miller three weeks later.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah, my first heartbreak. Took me a whole month to get over him,” I joke. “What about you? Who broke your heart for the first time?”
“Ah, freshman year. Sally Parker agreed to come to the school dance with me only because her parents knew me, then she ditched me to go make out with a senior all night.”
“So, you weren’t a ladies’ man in high school?”
Looking at him now, I find it hard to believe.
“I was a late bloomer. In the ninth grade, I was your typical skimpy kid: skinny and short. Then the summer between freshman and sophomore year I shot up a foot and started playing basketball, packed on some muscle.”
“Did Sally Parker ever regret her decision?”
Diego shrugs. “Don’t think so. We never talked much after that night.”
I don’t know why, but I’m pretty sure old Sally did curse herself for not sticking with the ugly duckling until he turned into a swan.
***
When we get back home, the house smells like kale and rotten eggs.
“Mom,” I call. “We’re back.”
“Great.” She comes out of the kitchen, looking a little frazzled. “Dinner is almost ready.”
“Yeah, what is this smell? What did you make?”
“Your sister…” She lowers her stare to the floor for a second before answering. “She’s offered to cook us dinner tonight.”
“Julia’s cooking?” I ask, horrified.
“She swears we could all use the detox, and she’s put a lot of effort into making dinner, so don’t you dare be nasty about it.”
Of course, we wouldn’t want to hurt poor Julia’s feelings.
“Now, go sit at the table,” Mom orders.
Filled with dread, I step into the dining room and stare at the laid table, aghast.
I quickly turn toward Diego and whisper in his ear, “I’m really sorry for what’s about to happen. Please pretend you still like me after this.”
But if anyone wanted to know what real terror looks like, they should watch my father’s face as Julia presents our multi-course vegan dinner. To my credit, I’m trying to keep a neutral expression, as is Diego, while Paul has the resigned look of someone who has listened to this speech multiple times. The only one showing an ounce of enthusiasm is Mom.
Jules is lecturing us on all the benefits of abandoning unhealthy eating habits to cleanse our bodies of toxins, clear our minds of food-induced headaches, and save our stomachs from bloating… and our arteries from clogging… and our skin from breaking out… and on, and on, and on…
I’ve lost count of all the damages I’m inflicting on my person with my daily diet when my dad asks, “But is a little meat really that bad?”
“Yes, Dad,” Julia confirms. “Do you know that we have an herbivorous digestive system, and not carnivorous?”
“Aren’t we omnivorous?” he asks, hopeful.
“Not in origin. In fact, the human intestine is twenty-eight feet long. A lion, for example, only has ten feet. A long intestine is a characteristic of herbivorous animals. That’s why we can’t digest meat properly. It takes too long for it to journey through our guts, and it starts to putrefy while it’s still inside our bodies. And I don’t know about you, but I prefer to keep my intestines free of rotting corpses.”
“Sure, honey,” Dad concedes, defeated.
I don’t even want to know where she gets her information. And from the various expressions around the table ranging from disgust to despair, it seems my fellow diners are of the same mind.
When the introductory speech is over, Julia finally presents the first course: pumpkin soup with chia seeds.
Pumpkin soup doesn’t sound that bad; I love soup. As Julia sets the bowl before me, I’m even encouraged by the color: a deep, rich orange. And the smallish brown seeds she’s used as a garnish don’t seem too scary. I’m actually kind of enthusiastic as I grab my spoon to have a taste.
When everyone is served, Julia claps her hands. “Tuck in, everyone.”
I take a large spoonful, and wince. “Julia,” I protest. “The soup is cold.”
“It’s not cold, it’s lukewarm,” she says, her tone of voice implying I just said something really stupid.
“Well, I prefer my soup hot,” I say, getting up. “I’ll microwave it real quick. Does anyone else want me to microwave theirs—”
“You can’t microwave it!” Julia shouts. I freeze in place as she explains, “First of all, microwaves are really toxic.” She turns toward Mom. “You should get rid of that death trap.” Her focus shifts back to me. “And second, you can’t warm the pumpkin. Keep it at two hundred degrees for even a minute and you lose half of all the thermolabile vitamins.”
“I think I can live with fewer vitamins if it means I can eat hot soup.”
“Suit yourself, but that’s not how it’s supposed to be eaten. You might as well go out and order a burger.”
That actually sounds like a great idea.
“Why don’t you give Julia’s cooking a try,” my mom intervenes. “She’s put so much effort into preparing this lovely dinner for all of us.” She gives me a long, now-be-good-and-eat-your-disgusting-cold-soup stare.
I sit back down, resigned, and do my best to force a few more spoonfuls of this cold poultice down my throat. Cold soup in December! This is a madhouse.
Unfortunately, the main course—tofu steak—doesn’t prove any tastier or more filling. The only saving grace is the salad side. Not really much you can do wrong with a salad, even if Dad isn’t allowed to use his favorite ranch dressing as it has dairy in it, which is supposedly even worse than meat. Cow Milk & Co are guilty of containing lactose—we don’t possess the enzymes to digest it—as well as casein, a dreadful animal protein capable of causing cancer, respiratory problems, inflammation, bloating, headaches…
Makes me wonder if at the agency we should put side-effect warnings at the end of our food commercials like we do with pharmaceuticals.
As for me, I’m happy I’m allowed to use olive oil to dress the salad, even if the salt gets rationed down—it’s bad for blood pressure.
The cherry on the cake of the most horrible dinner ever is the dessert: an oatmeal pudding made with maca root powder, so dense it has the consistency of glue. Of course, not a pinch of sugar in it.
I really try to finish mine, but I can’t; each tiny spoonful I ingest makes me want to gag more than the previous one. Diego, definitely a much better sport, manages to finish all his pudding, and even has the poker face to compliment Julia, gaining an appreciative nod from my mom.
And so, after an hour and a half of suffering, we’re all allowed to retire for the night and go lick our wounds in private. I don’t know if this is a behavior typical of herbivorous or carnivorous species, but right now, I’m only hoping I can find a cereal bar hidden at the bottom of my bag.