Market Street (7 page)

“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.

4.

It was
turning into the wettest January the Bay Area had experienced in years. The Berkeley hills were emerald green, the sky was heavy with rain clouds, and the streets were muddy and windblown. Cassie hadn’t worked at the Edible Schoolyard for a week. She picked up fresh produce from the co-op each morning and spent her afternoons in the kitchen trying different recipes. She pictured herself presiding over a gleaming marble counter, handing out samples of asparagus crepes, mushroom tarts, and spinach soufflés on red plates inscribed with Fenton’s signature.

They hadn’t discussed the food emporium again. Aidan was caught up in the first week of classes. On Tuesday morning, Cassie served Aidan whole-wheat toast, soft-boiled eggs, and organic coffee.