I was outside in the parking lot of the marina bright and early Saturday morning.
Well, it was early, anyway. Late November wasn’t any too bright at that time of day. Or any time of day, really. At least it wasn’t raining. Yet.
Gen’s car pulled up at the stroke of eight. With my knife roll and a bag of assorted other tools—I was particular about things like towels and oven mitts—I trotted up and slid into the passenger door as she unlocked it.
I looked across at her in the driver’s side and my breath caught. She was wearing jeans that fit well—not in that constricting movement way I’d seen more often these days—boots without heels, a button up shirt with the collar pulled out atop a rust-red sweater, and a stylish light blue peacoat. Her hair was still wet from the shower, and slicked back, it emphasized her high cheekbones, her chin, the way she was smiling at me. She wore makeup, subtly done, but enough to emphasize her eyes and make their size seem like some kind of special effect.
“What?”
“You’re…perfect. That’s all.”
“Flatterer,” she said, putting a hand on my arm and leaning across the console to kiss my cheek.
“Well,” I said, flushing a little at how mush-mouthed I got around her. “It’s true. Wherever we go, whatever we do together, you always…just, look perfect for it.”
She laughed as she put her car in gear. “You know, you usually look pretty good yourself.”
“Usually?”
“I have only ever seen you in a suit the once, Jack. I could handle another view.”
“I should’ve gone shopping yesterday.”
She chuckled. “How was your Thanksgiving?”
“It was great. I sat on my boat and read all day.”
She paused in the parking lot. “Your family situation is…that bad?”
I shrugged. “You’re meeting the people who matter most today.”
That seemed like a good answer. I pulled up the GPS on my phone. Gen had one of those suction-cup devices on her windshield, so I plugged it in there. “How was yours?”
“It was good. My dad asked about you. Said he was hoping I might bring you with me.”
“If I had the choice to make over again,” I said, trailing off intentionally.
She chuckled again and we drove in silence for a bit.
“So…how many people will be here?”
“At one time? Maybe twenty. I’ll know five of them and…there’s really only two I want you to meet.”
“Danielle, and…”
“Her wife Emily.
“And they do…”
“Dani’s a physician’s assistant and sometime paramedic. Emily is a Unitarian minister.”
“Unitarian?”
“I’m not real clear on the theology but she won’t talk about it unless you ask. And even then, she’s pretty uncanny about knowing how much someone actually wants to hear. She’s no kind of fire and brimstone preacher.”
“Good to know. What’ll the menu be like?”
“For breakfast, there’ll be fresh baked bread, honey-butter, coffee, tea, and fruit. Finger foods and cheeses in the late morning and early afternoon until dinner is served. It’ll be the standard Thanksgiving menu but…”
“Better?”
“I didn’t want to insult your family’s cooking, but hopefully. I put the turkey in a brine yesterday and I’ll pack it beneath the skin with compound butter before it roasts. Couple of ducks are hanging and will be ready to roast. There’s three kinds of dressing, there’ll be a roasted root vegetable casserole…”
“You doing all of this?”
“Sort of…overseeing it, I guess. Emily’s a better baker than I am so most of the bread and such is on her.”
“Can I ask a question?”
“Of course.”
“If you can whip up this kind of spread for twenty people in two days, why aren’t you cooking for a living?”
“Because it doesn’t accommodate my workout schedule.”
“Really, though. Why not?”
“It’s hot and boring and repetitive and never-ending. It exploits the workers pretty thoroughly. If I went and applied at a chain restaurant around the mall, I’d get hired in a heartbeat. And because I’m a white guy and a veteran, I’d immediately get put in charge over immigrants who’ve been working their asses off in kitchens for twenty or thirty years.”
“Didn’t think about it that way.”
“At the end of the day I’d have a lot more responsibility and not a whole lot more money.”
“Wouldn’t want to start your own restaurant?”
My stomach actually flipped menacingly at the words. “Oh, God, no,” I said, practically groaning. “I could not handle that kind of stress.”
We drove in silence for a little while. Finally I brought up the subject I didn’t want to.
“You know I’ve…gotta go out of town on Monday. I don’t know for how long.”
“I know. And let’s put that under things I don’t want to talk about, okay?”
“Done,” I said. I slid my hand near the console and she took one of hers off the steering wheel long enough to grab it and squeeze it. I tried to gather up the anticipation of Monday, of my absence, of whatever stupidity or danger I was likely to encounter, and shove it away from me. Live in the moment, I told myself. I had never been great at that.
I was bringing Geneva Lawton to meet my closest friends and spend one day of the damn year eating whatever I wanted. If I couldn’t live in this moment, when could I?