3.

Cassie pulled up in front of the Edible Schoolyard and tugged on her rubber boots. She loved arriving early, while the students were still in class, chewing on pencils and filling in their workbooks. She walked straight to the shed, selected a spade, and slipped on her gardening gloves.

The ground was wet and the chickens darted out of their coop as if checking for rain. Cassie chatted with the ducks and watched the hummingbirds extract breakfast from the feeder. The purple broccoli was flowering, and the lemon trees bulged with lemons.

“Good morning, Mrs. Blake,” a small voice called.

Cassie turned around and saw Heewon Kim, a sixth-grader who recently transferred from an inner-city school in Oakland.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in math, fretting over logarithms?” Cassie stopped tossing compost and leaned on her shovel.

“I hate math,” Heewon groaned. She was small for her age, with glossy black hair that fell straight to her shoulders. She wore overalls and old tennis shoes with shredded laces. “I’m not going to use logarithms when I grow up. I want to work in a garden, like you.”

“Remember, I volunteer. You need a profession and math might be necessary. You don’t want to limit your options.” Cassie smiled.

“My teacher said I could check on the chickens,” Heewon explained. “I collected six eggs yesterday.”

“We can make omelets for lunch.” Cassie zipped up her sweater. Thick gray clouds hung low in the sky and the air felt damp. “I want to pull some vegetables before it rains. Will you help me?”

“Yes, please.” Heewon nodded as if she had been singled out to receive an award.

“What would go well in an omelet?” Cassie studied the vegetables lined up in neat rows. “How about you pull green onions and mustard greens, and I’ll pick heirloom tomatoes and snow peas for a salad.”

Cassie and Heewon worked together. Cassie loved the stillness of the garden, the way the students took pride in the fruits and vegetables, as if the schoolyard was their own personal fiefdom. The bell rang and children spilled onto the dirt, jostling one another to claim their favorite spades and shovels.

“Good morning,” Cassie said loudly, waiting until they were quiet. “I hear your chickens have been laying eggs. Heewon and I thought we’d collect vegetables to make omelets. What are your favorite omelets?”

A redheaded girl raised her hand. “Ham and cheese.”

“A classic.” Cassie nodded. “But let’s be more creative. We have so much to choose from: mushrooms, cauliflower, spinach, broccoli. Let’s make omelets you’ve never tried before.”

“Peanut butter and bacon?” A boy with short brown hair snorted, glancing around to see if his friends appreciated his joke.

“I don’t know where you’ll find bacon unless you slaughter a pig.” Cassie shook her head. “Everyone pick one vegetable and we’ll pool our resources. Please hurry, I think it’s going to pour.”

“Awesome,” another boy cheered. “Mud fight!”

Cassie directed the children. The girls gathered beans and peas, squash and zucchini, filling their baskets with pride. The boys shifted from foot to foot in the corner, waiting for others to do the work.

“Paolo, Manny, you don’t get lunch unless you help.” She handed them each a basket.

“My mother gave me one piece of toast for breakfast,” Paolo complained. He had big black eyes and light brown skin. “I grew six inches last year. She doesn’t feed me enough!”

“You’re not going to faint from doing a little manual labor. You’re the tallest boy here so why don’t you pick lemons? We’ll make lemonade with brown sugar.”

When the first raindrops landed on the ground, the children’s baskets were full. Cassie ushered them into the industrial-sized kitchen where chopping boards, knives, and large bowls waited on scrubbed counters.

“How do you get these kids to dig in the mud?” One of the teachers stood at the sink, rinsing spinach leaves. “I can’t make them open their math books unless pictures of Justin Bieber are hidden inside the cover.”

“You can’t eat fractions.” Cassie pulled off her gloves and washed her hands in the warm water. “That’s why gardens and kids go well together: instant gratification. In twenty minutes the beans they pulled will appear in piping-hot omelets.”

“You’re the Pied Piper.” The teacher wiped her hands on her apron. “Will you teach my geometry class this afternoon?”

“Now that sounds scary.” Cassie filled a pot with water and turned on the stove. She surveyed the room. Clusters of girls chopped carrots and green beans. Heewon stood by herself, squeezing lemons into a ceramic bowl. Paulo and Manny made paper airplanes out of napkins.

“Manny, Paulo, help Heewon with the lemons. Bethany”—she signaled to a tall girl with a neck like a young giraffe—“please help me set the table, our young men left their manners outside.”

The room quieted as the students cut into their steaming omelets. They scraped the plates clean, drank tall glasses of lemonade, and asked for refills. Cassie rewarded each child with a homemade brownie she had warmed in the kitchen’s double oven. By the time she got in the car she was pleasantly exhausted, longing to stand under a hot shower.

“Darling, is the weather as miserable on your side of the bay?” Cassie’s mother called as she pulled out of the parking lot.

“Alexis wanted me to go to Mexico till March. I should have taken her up on it,” Cassie said laughing. “I haven’t seen the sun since Thanksgiving.”

“This apartment is frigid. I keep turning the thermostat up and Maria keeps turning it down.” Diana Fenton’s voice was low and throaty.

Cassie pictured her mother in the library of her Nob Hill penthouse, standing by the window and looking out over her city. Cassie thought San Francisco belonged to her mother ever since she was five and they moved to the top of the tallest building on Sutter Street. Cassie’s father had keeled over from a heart attack on the squash courts. Her mother sold their Pacific Heights home and bought a two-bedroom penthouse with giant balconies and no place for a little girl to play.

Diana coped with the loss of her husband by devoting herself to Fenton’s. Cassie only got her attention by trailing along to Fenton’s after school, or parking herself in her mother’s library when she needed help with her homework. Diana usually waved her away and said Maria could help her, though Maria’s English was limited to words she used at the neighborhood shops.

“I’d like you to join me for lunch tomorrow; there’s something I want to discuss with you,” Diana continued.

Cassie hesitated. “Aidan doesn’t start classes for a couple of weeks.”

“You can’t come into the city because you’re babysitting your husband? He’s a big boy, Cassie. Noon tomorrow. I’ll have Maria make vegetable paella. You can take Aidan home some in a doggy bag.” Diana hung up before Cassie could reply.

Cassie pressed the end button and sighed. Aidan and her mother got along by keeping each other at arm’s length. There were so many things about Aidan that Diana didn’t approve of: his age, the fact that he didn’t want more children until Isabel was out of the house, his failure to provide Cassie with the lifestyle she had as a child. Yet Cassie knew her mother admired his wit, his intelligence, and the way he truly loved Cassie.

*   *   *

Cassie nodded to the doorman in her mother’s building and took the elevator up to the thirtieth floor. She wore a cream-colored knee-length skirt and a matching cashmere sweater. Cassie examined herself in the elevator mirror, wondering if she would pass her mother’s inspection. She had spent extra time on her makeup, had applied mascara and lipstick, and had tied her hair in a knot at the nape of her neck. Diana expected all young women to dress a certain way, and despite herself Cassie wanted to measure up.

“Darling, I’m so glad you came.” Diana opened the door. She wore wide cashmere slacks with a thick black belt and black ankle boots. Her blouse was exquisite: turquoise silk with tiny pearl buttons and large cuffs that hung perfectly at her wrists. Diana carried an enamel cigarette holder with an unlit Virginia Slims cigarette.

“Aidan is wrestling with a paper he’s submitting to a conference.” Cassie kissed her mother’s cheek and put her purse on an ivory end table.

Walking into her mother’s apartment was like walking into a modern art museum. Every inch was designed to elicit a reaction. Diana redecorated every two years, employing San Francisco’s brightest design star.

The penthouse was in its “white phase.” The floors were imported white marble covered with white wool rugs. The fourteen-foot windows were hung with white silk curtains, and the dining table was tinted white glass under a white pendulum chandelier.

“Darling, sit.” Diana led Cassie to the conversation pit: three artfully arranged love seats under a white canvas in a white gold frame.

“Mother, I love the flowers.” Cassie glanced around the room. Flowers were everywhere: bunches of lilies in crystal vases, birds-of-paradise in long glass tubes, yellow roses, purple daisies, orchids on end tables, side tables, and on the fireplace mantel.

“Thank you, darling. I love the white but I felt a bit like I was living in a Swiss clinic. The flowers add drama. Maria complains about having to refresh the water but what else does she have to do? She’s getting lazy.”

Cassie smiled. Maria had been with her mother for thirty years and Cassie had never seen her without a dust mop in her hand.

“We’ll have lunch in a minute, but I have something exciting to discuss.” Diana leaned forward on the love seat. “Next birthday I’ll be sixty, God willing. It’s time you came to work at Fenton’s.”

Cassie gazed at her mother. It was hard to believe Diana would be sixty. Her skin was smooth as alabaster, and she had the hands of a debutante. Diana’s eyes were pale blue like Cassie’s, and she wore her auburn hair in a pageboy cut to her chin.

“I have a full life, Mother. Working at the Edible Schoolyard and being a professor’s wife keeps me busy.”

“I adore Alice, she is a dear, dear friend”—Diana waved her cigarette holder in the air—“but you’re mucking around in dirt with schoolchildren. It was fine when you were in your twenties but you’re thirty-two. It’s time to grow up. Fenton’s needs you.”

*   *   *

Cassie leaned back on the white silk cushion and remembered the last time her mother demanded she work at Fenton’s. It was a year after she graduated from Berkeley. Cassie had managed to turn her extra summer into a full year and was still in the first flush of love with Aidan. She kept her studio apartment in North Berkeley because Isabel still coveted Aidan’s undivided attention, but they managed to spend long nights together in his king-sized bed.

“You’ve been playing for a full year now.” Diana sat at the desk in her office at Fenton’s. “It’s time you came to work.”

“I’m not sure I want to work at Fenton’s,” Cassie had replied, hearing Aidan’s voice in her head. “Alice is starting an exciting project and I want to be part of it.”

“Volunteering is fine.” Diana stood up and walked to the window overlooking Union Square. It was spring and the trees were covered in pink buds. Shoppers had shed their winter coats and wore bright colors: lime green dresses, orange pants, canvas loafers instead of knee-high boots. “But Fenton’s is your store.”

“I love Fenton’s, but I’m not really made for it.” Cassie averted her eyes from her mother. “I don’t have your fashion sense.”

“Nonsense.” Her mother turned and looked sharply at Cassie. “You’re young, your look will mature. The trick is to surround yourself with people who excel at what they do.”

*   *   *

After that first conversation with her mother, Cassie had driven over the Bay Bridge and gone straight to Aidan’s house. Aidan was in the kitchen, preparing an egg white omelet.

“Sweetheart”—he kissed her on the mouth—“I picked up a 1996 Rutherford sauvignon blanc. Wait till you taste it.”

Cassie sat on the stool and watched Aidan crack eggs. Her lower lip trembled. She loved spending Saturdays at the Berkeley Co-op with Aidan, combing the aisles for exotic vegetables. She loved growing spinach and zucchini and giving them to Aidan to use in their dinner.

“My mother wants me to move back to the city and work at Fenton’s,” she blurted out.

Aidan put down the spatula and wiped his hands on his apron. He led Cassie onto the deck and wrapped his arms around her.

“Tell her you can’t do that,” he said.

“I tried.”

“Tell her you’re going to be very busy because we’re getting married.”

Cassie pulled away and looked at Aidan. He was smiling his white, brilliant smile.

“We are?”

“We are.” His black eyes flashed. “In the Redwood Grove on campus, followed by an intimate dinner at Chez Panisse.” Aidan got down on one knee and took her hand. “Cassie Fenton, will you marry me?”

“Yes,” she murmured.

Aidan stood up and kissed her softly on the mouth. “I hear there’s a little bistro serving egg white omelets with a fine Rutherford sauvignon blanc.” He drew her into the kitchen. “I think it’s time to celebrate.”

*   *   *

“Aidan needs me,” Cassie replied. “Working at Fenton’s is all-consuming. You should know.”

“If that’s a dig that I didn’t give you enough attention as a child, I’m not listening. You had a wonderful childhood: we had front-row seats at the ballet; we ate at all the new restaurants; and you had your pick of clothes from top designers.”

“I didn’t get to wear them. I was stuck in the Convent uniform every day,” Cassie mumbled.

“You loved the Convent, you cried at graduation. You and Alexis are still thick as thieves.”

“Mother, I’m not arguing. I’m just don’t have time to give Fenton’s that kind of attention.”

“You don’t want to give it your time, but I have an idea I think you will find more interesting than pulling weeds and folding Aidan’s T-shirts.” Diana tapped her cigarette holder on the glass.

Cassie sighed. “I’m listening.”

“I went to the opening of a fabulous new restaurant last week, Le Petit Fou. It’s right up your alley: organic everything. I had watercress salad with the dearest little yellow tomatoes. The entrée was organic lamb’s shank on a bed of wild rice with truffles that melted like butter. If I closed my eyes I thought I was eating caviar, not mushrooms.” Diana walked over to the coffee table and examined a vase of purple irises. “The restaurant was divinely decorated: sea green walls and an orange mosaic floor. The tables were covered with some sort of ‘green’ tablecloths, made from recycled dollar bills. Can you imagine? We were eating on money.” Diana pulled an iris out of the vase.

“Sounds delicious, but what does that have to do with Fenton’s?”

“I sat at a table with the young architect who designed the space. His name is James Parrish. Lovely man from Chicago, terribly young. I suppose everyone seems young these days.”

“Mother, I’m getting hungry from all this talk about food.”

“Wait till I finish. You always were impatient,” Diana huffed. “James works for an architecture firm in Chicago that specializes in interior design for restaurants. His mother is from San Francisco, and she flies out regularly to shop at Fenton’s. He said she has a whole closet of Fenton’s boxes. We started talking about Europe. James spent last summer in England and he raved about Harrods. Then he said the most fascinating thing. He said wouldn’t it be brilliant to have a food emporium on the ground floor of Fenton’s, like Harrods, but have everything organic and locally grown.” Diana paused to let the idea sink in.

“I said not the ground floor of course, Fenton’s isn’t a supermarket, but the basement has been a dead zone for years. A whole floor dedicated to stationery when no one writes letters anymore.”

“A food emporium,” Cassie repeated.

“Fresh fish caught in the bay, oysters, crab when it’s in season. Counters of vegetables you only find in the farmers market, those cheeses they make in Sonoma that smell so bad they taste good. Wines from Napa Valley, Ghirardelli chocolates, sourdough bread, sauces made by Michael Mina and Thomas Keller. Everything locally produced. And maybe a long counter with stools so you could sample bread and cheese, cut fruit, sliced vegetables. Not a true café because we’d keep the one on the fourth floor. It would have more the feel of a food bazaar, with the salespeople wearing aprons and white caps.”

Cassie closed her eyes and saw large baskets of vegetables, glass cases filled with goat cheese and baguettes, stands brimming with chocolate-covered strawberries.

“The design of course is key. It has to be something exceptional, a reason itself to go down the escalator. James drew some sketches. Look.” Diana walked over to an antique desk and picked up a leather binder. She placed it on the coffee table and took out four sheets of paper.

Cassie leaned forward and looked at the designs. James had drawn a space with a checkered floor, yellow walls, and display cases of all different colors. Pots and pans hung from the ceiling, and every counter was filled with vegetables, fruits, loaves of bread, and wedges of cheese.

“It looks like a Roman orgy,” Cassie said.

“Exactly!” Diana beamed. “Produce spilling into the aisles, wine bottles lined up like soldiers, oranges and lemons forming pyramids. And I want wonderful smells. Fresh croissants, just-baked apple pie, stinky cheese.”

“It’s interesting,” Cassie conceded.

“It’s revolutionary! I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. Of course all the interior design would be ‘green.’” Diana paced across the marble floor. “James works mainly in Chicago but he doesn’t have another project lined up for a few months. He said he’d consider taking it on.”

“It would cost a fortune,” Cassie said doubtfully.

“Reinvention is the key in marketing and I’ve fallen behind. Of course Fenton’s gets the old guard, and the thirtysomethings who need Ferragamo shoes and Chanel bags. But that’s the beauty of young ideas and young energy: James was inspirational.”

“Why are you pacing, Mother?”

“Because I’ve been up all night thinking about this. I need you to run it.”

“Me?”

“You’re young, you know all the women who would shop there. Think if we can convince the girls in the Junior League and the Young Friends of the Opera to buy their produce and cheeses from Fenton’s.”

“I’m not a member of those organizations.” Cassie shook her head.

“But you went to school with them. And you’d be the perfect buyer. You can find local growers who produce twenty different kinds of lettuce. You can stock asparagus tips, artichoke hearts, avocados, pomegranates. No other store would offer a greater selection.”

Cassie looked out the window at the skyline. She could see Coit Tower and the red cable cars crisscrossing the streets like figures on a Monopoly board. Her mother’s excitement was contagious. She imagined herself presiding over the food counter, handling heirloom tomatoes the size of cantaloupes. She pictured herself encouraging customers to purchase the sweetest snow peas, to stay away from peaches when they weren’t in season, to buy locally grown strawberries instead.

“It would be a huge undertaking.” Cassie fiddled with her wedding ring. “I don’t have the time.”

“You don’t know how satisfying it is to wrap something in a Fenton’s box, and know when the customer takes it home it will give her and her family pleasure. You’d be making a difference in kitchens all around San Francisco. Don’t you think Aidan would find that worthwhile?”

“It’s not about Aidan.” Cassie blushed.

“It’s always about Aidan. He’s like a black bear, growling at everything you do.”

“Aidan told me just a couple of days ago how proud he is of my volunteer work.” Cassie sniffed.

“Volunteering doesn’t compete with Professor Aidan Blake’s sense of grandeur.” Diana sat on the love seat opposite Cassie.

“Cheap shot, Mother,” Cassie replied.

“Darling, let’s not talk about Aidan. A food emporium might be terrifically successful, and I can’t think of anyone more suited for the job.”

Cassie took a deep breath. “I’m starving. You invited me to lunch. I smelled Maria’s paella when I walked in.”

“I’ll tell Maria we’re ready for lunch on one condition.” Diana stood up.

“What?” Cassie asked.

“You have dinner with James and me next week and hear his vision.”

Cassie glanced at her mother. She resembled a modern Katharine Hepburn, all angles and hard edges. “Either you are a very good saleswoman or I’m so hungry I can’t think straight. I’ll have dinner with you and James.”

“Excellent. Tuesday at eight o’clock at Boulevard. I already made the reservation.”

“Of course you did.” Cassie smiled, following her mother into the dining room.

*   *   *

When Cassie left her mother’s building, carrying a Burberry lunch box of Maria’s paella, a familiar Range Rover was idling at the sidewalk.

“I’m not stalking you.” Alexis rolled down the passenger window. “I called your house and Aidan said you were having lunch with your mother. I need a favor.”

Cassie peered into the car. Alexis wore oversized Oliver Peoples sunglasses and a Miu Miu purple shirtdress.

“What kind of favor?”

“Hop in and I’ll tell you.” Alexis opened the car door.

Cassie climbed into the passenger seat, moving a stack of books to the floor. “Do you read all these?” Cassie flipped through Jane Green, Jennifer Weiner, Lauren Weisberger, and the latest Shopaholic.

“I belong to four book clubs. We don’t actually read the books, we use them as coasters for our wineglasses.” Alexis laughed.

“Where are we going?” Cassie remembered when Alexis would drive her home from school, and they’d cross the Golden Gate Bridge on a whim, or go down to Fisherman’s Wharf and eat ice cream with the tourists.

“Thursdays is couples yoga and Carter is in Dallas. Will you be my yoga partner?”

“You’re hijacking me to attend couples yoga?”

“I can’t go alone to couples yoga,” Alexis protested. “The class will think my marriage is in trouble.”

“They might think your marriage is in more trouble if you bring me.” Cassie grabbed the dashboard as Alexis took a sharp turn onto Chestnut Street.

“Please, yoga really centers me. I don’t want to miss it.”

“I don’t have yoga clothes.” Cassie pointed to her pleated skirt and wool sweater.

“I brought an extra leotard, just in case.”

“I’ve wasted most of the day, I guess I could be Zen for an hour. As long as they don’t make me stand on my head because it gives me a headache. Can we go to Just Desserts after and have those amazing custard Danishes?”

“What good is yoga if you follow it with custard Danish?” Alexis shook her head.

“I meditate better if I’m imagining custard,” Cassie replied.

*   *   *

“How did it go with Aidan before the make-up sex?” Alexis asked over cups of steaming chai tea. They sat at a window table at Just Desserts, watching the joggers run around the Marina Green.

Cassie peeled off a layer of Danish. She was flushed and sweaty from the yoga. The instructor was a German woman who had glided around the room pressing in stomachs and straightening backs.

“That wasn’t yoga, that was boot camp.” Cassie poured hot milk into her tea.

“You’ll appreciate it if you take a few more classes. Gerta is a disciplined teacher, but she gets great results,” Alexis replied.

“If you want your body to be shaped permanently like a pretzel. I’m going to stick with early morning walks to the Rose Garden.” Cassie added two spoonfuls of honey.

“You’re avoiding my question. How is the professor?”

“Aidan was only trying to do good,” Cassie mumbled. The Molly episode still hurt, like a pin stuck in the hem of a dress.

“I thought charity began at home.” Alexis ate a thin slice of Danish.

“He bought the pendant for me for Christmas. He ran into Molly at Peet’s on his way home. She was all broken up because her boyfriend ran off with her best friend, so he just gave her the box.”

“Handed her a Fenton’s box in the middle of Peet’s?” Alexis raised her eyebrows.

“He said he preaches about doing good in his lectures, but never gets the opportunity to put his words into action.” Cassie shrugged.

“He could volunteer at the soup kitchen, or adopt a stray kitten.” Alexis pushed her Danish aside.

“No kittens, thank you. I still have to feed and clean up after Isabel.” Cassie dipped her finger in the custard. “I think he meant spontaneous good. Helping someone without being asked, just because the situation presents itself.”

“Are you going to keep the pendant?” Alexis asked.

“I don’t think so,” Cassie said. The box had been sitting in her closet all week. Somehow she couldn’t bring herself to open it. “The color doesn’t do much for my eyes.”

“Then exchange it for something fabulous, like another cashmere scarf. One of the new patterns.”

“You get one, and I’ll borrow it.” Cassie ate the center of the Danish. The custard was light and sweet.

“I’m sick of shopping.” Alexis put down her teacup. “I know that sounds spoilt but I’ve been shopping since we got married. First it was for a wedding gown and bridesmaids’ dresses, then bikinis and sarongs for the honeymoon. Then a whole year of shopping to furnish the house. Christmas presents for Carter’s clients, hostess gifts for their wives. I’m shopped out.”

“Don’t let my mother hear you say that. Women should never get tired of shopping.” Cassie laughed.

“How was Lady Diana at lunch?” Alexis asked.

Cassie smiled. Alexis referred to Diana as the “The Duchess” during high school because she dressed as if she was attending a royal tea. Alexis said she never saw Diana without a silk scarf tied around her neck, or without her gold Cartier dangling from her wrist.

“Mother wants me to work at Fenton’s. She met a young architect who had this brilliant idea of turning the basement of Fenton’s into a food emporium, with locally grown produce. Vegetables, fruits, local cheeses, bread, wine. She wants me to run it.”

“Is he cute?” Alexis leaned forward.

“Is who cute?” Cassie frowned.

“The young architect.”

“You’re married, remember.” Cassie shook her head.

“I’m kidding, I’d never cheat on Carter. I just see Carter so rarely; sometimes I forget what he looks like. Every girl needs a little eye candy.”

“I have no idea. He’s from Chicago. I’m having dinner with him and my mother next week,” Cassie replied.

“So you are considering it.” Alexis looked at Cassie. “What would Aidan say?”

“I don’t know if I’m considering it, though it is interesting. Can you imagine driving to local growers and finding their best produce? Discovering white eggplant, Chinese broccoli, cheese made with chives and garlic. Then displaying it all in a beautiful space.” Cassie’s eyes sparkled.

“Broccoli doesn’t excite me, but I think it would be a gas to work at Fenton’s. I’m dying to work; I sit at home and watch my nails grow.”

“Why don’t you get a job?” Cassie asked.

“I was a dance major. I don’t think the San Francisco Ballet is hiring hedge-fund wives for the corps de ballet. We don’t want to have a baby yet. I read if you have a baby too early in the marriage you’ll never be a ‘fun young couple’ flying to Europe, trying new restaurants, attending the theater. The problem is Carter travels nonstop on business. When he’s here he entertains clients at night, or he’s so tired he falls asleep before I can fix a pre-dinner martini.”

“You could open a little boutique on Sacramento Street. You have the best style,” Cassie suggested.

“Every wife in Presidio Heights has a boutique on Sacramento Street. I can’t walk a block without one of my friends waving hello from their bath boutique, or their antique furniture salon, or their high-end consignment store. It’s like a never-ending Tupperware party.”

“Yoga instructor?” Cassie grinned.

“I’d have to hold in my stomach all day.” Alexis blotted her mouth with her napkin and re-applied pearl pink lip gloss. “Carter has his eye on a summer home in Napa. It’s on an acre of vineyard. He wants to gut it and furnish it in ‘early Californian.’ That will keep me busy for a year and by then it’ll be time to shop for bassinets and booties.” Alexis looked at her watch. “I should go. He’s on the six o’clock into SFO and I need to pick up a dozen oysters.”

“Don’t you think you spoil him?” Cassie put her napkin on her plate.

“Oysters are a natural aphrodisiac. Carter’s been gone for five days, at least we can have great ‘welcome home’ sex. I’ll drive you back to your car.”

*   *   *

Cassie drove into the parking lot of the Berkeley Co-op. She walked into the co-op and looked around with new eyes. She noticed how the green vegetables were grouped together, and the front of the store was piled with citrus fruits. One corner was devoted to varieties of lettuce: endive, bok choy, arugula, mesclun. A wooden table held pots of mustard with handwritten labels. Cassie sampled a horseradish Dijon on a stone wheat cracker.

“Are you looking for something special?” the clerk asked. He had a scruffy goatee and wore a green T-shirt that said, “Order Whirled Peas.”

“My husband loves to make soup. Which are the tastiest vegetables in season?” Cassie asked.

The clerk scratched his chin. “Our buyer just scored some turnips from a farm in Stockton. With the right herbs, they make a delicious base.”

“I’ll take a bag. Do you have any chard? And brussels sprouts. My husband can make brussels sprouts taste like candy.” She loaded her shopping basket with produce.

Cassie stood at the checkout. The paper bags also said “Order Whirled Peas” under a picture of two doves. The clerk put a sample of organic fruit loaf in her bag and suggested she try a jar of kiwi jelly. Cassie walked back to the car, her arms filled with produce, thinking about her mother’s idea. A food emporium, having a job involving the things she loved, was suddenly tempting.

*   *   *

Aidan was hunched over his laptop when Cassie walked into the house. He had a pencil tucked behind one ear and a box of dark chocolate truffles on the table beside him.

“You came home at just the right time. I’m out of truffles and getting nowhere with this paper. Maybe you could create a diversion.” Aidan kissed Cassie and lifted a grocery bag from her arms.

“I bought ingredients for soup. But I don’t know how exciting that is after a box of truffles.” Cassie carried the other bag into the kitchen.

“I was thinking of a horizontal type of diversion. In bed, with a bottle of warm brandy. I can’t get the thermostat up high enough.” Aidan placed the bag on the counter and put his hands around Cassie’s waist.

“Didn’t you say Isabel would be home for dinner tonight?” Cassie laid her purchases on the counter: a bunch of turnips, a head of purple cauliflower, a tree of brussels sprouts.

“All the more reason to climb into bed now. She said she has something to tell us, which means she’s failing a class or has a new boyfriend. Fucking you will make me a better listener.” Aidan kissed Cassie’s neck.

“Can we make the soup first?” Cassie took butter out of the fridge. “The co-op had sourdough bread fresh out of the oven.”

Aidan kissed the top of her head. “Soup before sex? That sounds very bourgeois.”

“Just tonight.” Cassie smiled. “The clerk gave me a recipe he said was delicious.”

“Okay, but you have to sit here while I slave at the stove. I’m having trouble relating Aristotle’s tenets on treating your fellow man to the Facebook age.”

Cassie watched Aidan slice turnips. Driving across the bridge she had rehearsed how she would broach the subject of the food emporium, but suddenly she was nervous. She looked at Aidan’s hands, imagining how later they would travel over her body, touch her in places that made her ache with desire. Cassie took a deep breath.

“My mother sent me home with Maria’s paella and I bought you a slice of red velvet cheesecake from Just Desserts.”

“How did you end up at Just Desserts?” Aidan smeared a thin film of olive oil inside the soup pot.

“Alexis coerced me into doing couples yoga with her, so we rewarded ourselves at Just Desserts.”

“Powwows with my favorite two women on the same day? Did they bring an Aidan doll and stick pins in it?” Aidan frowned.

Cassie blushed. “My mother likes you as much as she likes anyone who doesn’t spend every minute shopping at Fenton’s. You and Alexis just need to spend more time together. We should have dinner with her and Carter.”

“At their mosaic dining-room table imported in pieces from Italy? Going to their wedding was enough. I was the only man in the room not wearing an Armani tux, including the waiters.” Aidan opened a bottle of red wine and poured himself a glass. “And Carter only drinks French wine. What kind of guy drinks wine from the Loire Valley when he lives an hour from Napa?”

“Actually Alexis said Carter’s thinking of buying a summer home on a vineyard.”

“Of course, then he’ll drink his own ‘private’ label.” Aidan poured a glass for Cassie.

“I agree with you about buying locally.” Cassie sipped the wine. “My mother actually had an interesting idea.”

“I’m listening.” Aidan threw turnip, baby onions, and chopped kale into the pot.

“She met an architect who specializes in the interior design of restaurants. He just did a new restaurant in the city that is all ‘green.’ He suggested we turn the basement of Fenton’s into a food emporium, featuring locally grown produce, cheese, bread, wines.”

“The Fenton’s crowd doesn’t strike me as particularly ‘green.’ Don’t they all drive Range Rovers and hop on planes the way most people hop on buses?” Aidan added basil and oregano to the soup.

“My mother wants to attract a younger clientele. The young moms whose kids are learning to be environmentally responsible. They recycle in the classroom and want their school lunches to be packed in reusable containers.” Cassie took a large sip of wine.

“I guess it could work, though I don’t see them trading their alligator boots for Keds.” Aidan shrugged.

“We’d have a counter where you could sample the produce, maybe even a chef who would demonstrate recipes using different vegetables,” Cassie said, excitement creeping into her voice.

“You keep saying ‘we.’” Aidan put down his wineglass.

“My mother thinks I’d be the perfect person to be in charge,” Cassie replied.

“In charge of a food emporium? That sounds pretty demanding.” Aidan frowned. He put down his knife and sat on the stool next to Cassie.

“Mother has wanted me to work at Fenton’s for so long. She’ll be sixty on her next birthday.” Cassie smelled Aidan’s aftershave. His navy shirt was unbuttoned and she could see the gray hair on his chest.

“Fenton’s isn’t a child. It’s a department store,” Aidan said quietly.

“What do you mean?” Cassie glanced at Aidan. Usually when Aidan sat so close to her, she could think of nothing but sex. She stood up and walked to the pantry.

“Diana talks like Fenton’s is a baby that you have to take charge of when she retires. It doesn’t have to stay in the family, it’s not your responsibility.” Aidan’s eyes flashed.

Cassie tried to keep her voice steady. “What if I want it to be my responsibility?”

“Our marriage is your responsibility. Running this house, caring for Isabel when she’s here. Working at Fenton’s is a seven-days-a-week commitment.” Aidan took the loaf of bread from the pantry and cut it in thick slices. He stabbed a stick of butter and spread it on the bread.

“I could do both. It doesn’t have to be seven days a week.”

“How often was your mother home when you were a child? Didn’t you have dinner in her office, peanut butter sandwiches packed by Maria and eaten on Diana’s Louis XIV rug? How many times have you told me you did your homework in Fenton’s café?” Aidan swallowed a slice of bread and washed it down with red wine.

“I love Fenton’s, I just don’t have the eye for fashion. But a whole floor of fruits and vegetables!”

“You have that at the Edible Schoolyard. I don’t want you spending all your time in the city.”

“Isabel’s sixteen. She’s hardly here.…” Cassie kept her eyes on her glass of wine.

“I’m here. I need you. Christ, Cassie. I’m not the young genius professor anymore. This paper is very important to me. If it doesn’t get accepted at the conference it will reflect badly on the whole department.” Aidan put his hands on Cassie’s shoulders.

“I’d like to think about it,” Cassie said stubbornly.

“I’d like to put this soup on simmer, take our wineglasses upstairs, and show you how much I need you.” Aidan kissed Cassie gently on the lips.

Aidan put his hands behind Cassie’s head and pulled her against his chest. He caressed her back and then he lifted her skirt and slipped his fingers under her panties. Cassie’s knees buckled and she felt herself opening up, her body tensing, and wanting him inside her.

“Come on,” Aidan whispered in her hair, “I’ve missed you all day.”

Aidan took her hand and led her upstairs. He closed the bedroom door and pulled Cassie’s sweater over her head. He unbuttoned his shirt and slipped off his shorts. His legs were covered in dark hair; his calves were strong and muscled from years of running. He kissed her again, his arms wrapped around her, guiding them onto the bed. Aidan kept his eyes on Cassie’s face as he entered her, moving like an athlete, wanting to fill her up, not stopping until she shattered against him.

*   *   *

Cassie and Aidan walked downstairs dressed in terry robes as Isabel slammed the front door. Isabel at sixteen was like a fashion model that stepped off a runway straight into the kitchen. Everything about her was intense and exaggerated. She was the only person Cassie knew who could pull off the clothes designers splashed across the fashion pages. Baby-doll dresses with fishnet stockings and four-inch heels. Cargo pants with lace halter tops and ankle boots. Isabel’s mother gave her an allowance bigger than Cassie and Aidan’s house payment, and Isabel spent it all on clothes.

“Your mother shouldn’t let you out of the house dressed like that,” Aidan observed tightly. Isabel wore a wool dress barely covering her thighs and knee-high boots with suede tassels. Her hair fell to her waist in glossy black waves and she wore a minimum amount of makeup: thick black mascara and sheer lip gloss.

“Come on, Dad, I need to express myself. You’re the one who says it’s important to embrace who you are.” Isabel tossed her bag onto the counter and buttered a slice of sourdough.

“You could embrace who you are more quietly, by wearing a longer skirt,” Aidan muttered.

“Look at you two, you’ve already finished off half a bottle of wine and it’s only six o’clock.” Isabel held up the wine bottle.

“Put that down and set the table,” Aidan said tersely. He put the bottle of wine in the fridge and filled three glasses with water and ice.

“Honestly, you’re supposed to be my cool Berkeley parent. Mom is getting so uptight these days; she walks around in tennis skirts and bobby socks.” Isabel rolled her eyes.

Cassie watched the exchange between Aidan and Isabel silently. The warm flush of sex was wearing off and her head hurt from the red wine. She wanted to curl up in Aidan’s lap in the living room and listen to Prince or U2.

“Discipline is a virtue. The second semester of your junior year is the most important of your high school career.” Aidan placed a bowl of carrots and hummus on the table.

“Like I don’t have that drummed into me twenty-four-seven. Between Mom and the guidance counselor, you’d think if I don’t find a cure for cancer I shouldn’t show up for school. Your generation isn’t making life for our generation easy.” Isabel put her elbows on the table.

“And take your elbows off the table,” Aidan replied.

“I was wondering if you’re going to be around this summer,” Isabel said casually as they ate their soup.

“I’m teaching a summer course on Socrates and Plato. Guaranteed to entice incoming freshmen that’d rather be surfing in Santa Cruz.” Aidan sprinkled a large spoonful of grated cheese in his bowl.

“Mom and the dreaded Peter are taking a six-week cruise around the Arctic Circle, Scandinavia, and Norway, and other impossibly boring places.” Isabel dunked a bread crust into her soup.

“I may not be fond of your mother’s husband but he clothes and feeds you pretty nicely. Not to mention bought you the little sports car in my driveway. Don’t call him ‘dreaded,’” Aidan replied.

Cassie concentrated on her soup. The turnip had been even sweeter than she expected and Aidan had added just the right amount of spices. She thought about some of the other vegetables the co-op clerk had suggested: yellow squash, zucchini, shiitake mushrooms. Tomorrow she’d go back and get some more recipes and try a vegetable crepe or an egg white omelet.

“Those cruises are fine if you’re over forty and want to play shuffleboard and learn swing dancing. Mom wants me to go with them and I’d rather be stranded at a Justin Bieber concert.” Isabel looked at her father.

“You’re asking if you can stay with us.” Aidan put down his spoon.

“Yes, if you plan on being around. Mom won’t let me stay at the house by myself,” Isabel mumbled.

“Of course you can stay, but you have to live by our rules: a reasonable curfew and some sort of productive labor during the day. You can get a job or help Cassie at the Edible Schoolyard.”

“I’m not ruining my nails in all that dirt.” Isabel inspected her bloodred fingernails.

“The Edible Schoolyard doesn’t do much during the summer,” Cassie said. She felt a big lump in her throat. She thought about the meeting with her mother and the architect. She wanted to say she wasn’t sure what she’d be doing this summer but she knew it was important they present a united front.

“Then any kind of job, at Peet’s or the yogurt store. I don’t want you sitting around texting your friends,” Aidan replied.

“It’s summer before senior year,” Isabel muttered. “Doesn’t anyone remember you’re supposed to have fun in high school? Cassie, you didn’t go to high school that long ago.” Isabel looked sideways at Cassie.

“I worked at Fenton’s every summer.” Cassie got up and put her soup bowl in the sink.

“Then we’re all in agreement.” Aidan smiled. “We’re happy to have you stay with us. I’ll call your mother and let her know.”

After dinner Isabel grabbed a Häagen-Dazs bar from the freezer and announced she had to meet her calculus study group. She kissed her father on the cheek, grabbed her bag, and flew out the front door. Aidan put two bowls of ice cream and the slice of red velvet cheesecake on the kitchen table and handed Cassie a spoon.

“Remember when Isabel would sit with us after dinner and eat a bowl of vanilla ice cream?” Aidan asked.

“No,” Cassie said. “I remember her running up to her room and slamming the door while we ate her bowl of ice cream.”

“That’s why I’m getting soft in the middle. I’ve been eating Isabel’s dessert for sixteen years. She’s not getting any easier.” Aidan ate a bite of cheesecake.

“She’s sixteen.” Cassie shrugged. “When Alexis was sixteen she dated identical twin brothers. Her parents never knew. She said she liked getting double the attention, and double the presents. Sixteen-year-old girls like to push the envelope.”

“Except you.” Aidan grinned. “You were the model Catholic schoolgirl.”

“I just didn’t fall in love,” Cassie mumbled.

“That’s why I got lucky.” Aidan kissed her on the lips. “I’m guessing Isabel has a new boyfriend she doesn’t want to leave unattended. Even a cruise to the Arctic is more attractive than staying home unless there’s a boy involved.”

“You’re probably right.” Cassie got up and put the dishes in the sink. She was suddenly tired. It seemed like ages ago she had lunch with her mother and took the yoga class with Alexis.

“I’m glad you’ll be home to keep an eye on her.” Aidan stood beside her and filled the sink with soap.

Cassie wanted to reply, but she kept silent and watched the dishes disappear under the bubbles.