Good Enough to Eat (29 page)

I grab a table for us in the window and order a tea while looking over the menu.

“Hey, beautiful,” Nate says, kissing me on the top of my head and taking the seat across from me.

“Hey, you.”

“You are a sight for sore eyes.” He nods to the waitress when she waves the coffeepot at him.

“Back at ’cha. Crazy week.”

“You aren’t kidding.”

We order: scrambled eggs, fruit, and an English muffin for me, and a cheese omelet, bacon, potatoes, and rye toast for Nate.

“I got an offer for a film,” he says, once the waitress leaves the table.

“Great! What’s the project?”

“It’s fascinating really. It’s about the new young professional class in Russia, the money they are making and spending, the lifestyles they are leading. The production company has found a dozen possible candidates to film, they are going to pick the best four and have four crews follow them for a year. They want me to oversee the whole project, coordinating with the different crews, and working with the editors to make sure the whole thing comes together. They want to fly me out in a couple of weeks to interview the twelve candidates and help narrow them down.”

“It sounds fascinating. But what does that mean in terms of you? Would you have to be in Russia the whole time, or just checking in periodically?”

“I’d need to be there essentially the whole time.”

Wow. He’s talking about leaving to move to Russia for a year as if it is no big deal. “That’s pretty major. Do you want to live in Russia for a year?”

“I think the project is interesting and compelling, and the company I’m working with has a great reputation. It’s the first project I’ve done that would be qualified to be under Oscar consideration. Would I prefer it was Paris? Sure. But my family is from Russia originally, so there is a sense of history that is attractive about it.”

I poke at my tea with my spoon. I’m not going to be the one who asks what this means for us. “Well, congratulations, Nate, that is amazing and I’m really happy for you.”

“Thank you. Wanna come?”

I almost choke on my tea. “Come where?”

“To Russia. With love.” He grins.

“To visit?”

“For the year.”

“Oh, Nate, be serious.”

“I am serious. The money is really good, not just documentary good, really good. Housing and living costs are covered, as is transportation.”

“What the hell would I do in Russia while you are running around making a movie for a year?”

“I dunno. Take Russian cooking classes. Teach American cooking classes. Come hang out with me while I work.”

I suddenly feel like this man has no idea who I am at all. “Nate. I can’t just up and leave for a year. I have a business, a business that is expanding; I have a home and responsibilities. I appreciate that you have the thought of wanting me there but you have to see it just isn’t feasible.”

Our food arrives. Nate takes a big bite of his omelet. “Well, never let it be said I didn’t ask.”

“Are you upset?”

“No, honey. Not really. I just don’t know what to do. I want this job, it’s what I do, and it’s a great project. I’m not in a position to turn it down because it’s inconvenient for you and me. And I do love the idea of coming home at night to your smiling face and your home cooking. I knew it was a long shot. And I’m not upset that you don’t feel you can come. But I am concerned about what it means for us.”

“You mean whether we wait or not.” I can’t imagine that in one breath he is going to invite me to come to Russia for a year and then break up with me when I say no.

“Mel, here is what I know. When I’m making a movie, I’m involved in the movie. Absorbed. Not easily distracted. I don’t want to lose you, and I love the idea of us communicating through e-mail and phone calls, and picking up where we left off when I get back.”

“The store keeps me pretty busy. It doesn’t sound too bad . . .”

“But . . .”

Oh shit. “But?”

“But. You and I have only been together a few short months. It seems weird to ask you to wait for me for a time that is exponentially longer than the amount of time we’ve been together. And I have no idea what other projects this film will bring. If you say yes, you’ll wait, I want to know that it’s with full understanding of who I am and what I do and how uncertain the future really is.”

“You sound like you don’t actually want us to wait for each other.”

“No, honey, it isn’t that. I want to stay together. I want to have you come visit me, and to sneak back a couple of times to visit you. I want to exploit the current advances in communication technology to sustain us. But I don’t want you to lose out on any of your life waiting for me, I don’t want to come back in a year to find that we have another few short months together before I ship out again, never getting enough sustained time to see if we should be together forever.”

“Maybe you should make a film about a former fat girl who opens a healthy café instead.” I’m trying to be flip, but I know that ultimately this decision is going to fall to me. And I don’t know that I can wait for someone who may never be ready to be fully mine. And I don’t know if I am ready to lose him so soon.

“Maybe next one.”

The waitress comes back. “Everything okay? Can I get you anything?”

“Yeah,” Nate says. “I’ll take another order of bacon, please.”

I look down. I have eaten all of his bacon without even thinking about it.

“Make it two,” I call after her.

 

 

I pick up the phone and dial what seems to be an endless string of numbers.

“H’lo?” Yikes, that is one groggy voice.

“Gilly, it’s me. I’m sorry, I know it’s late there. . . .”

Her voice is immediately awake, lucid, and clear. “What is it, what’s wrong?”

“I’m a mess.”

“Tell me.”

And I do. Everything. It pours out of me, all my anguish, all my fears, every piece of the backstory I never shared with her about Nathan and about my money troubles and Nadia. I tell her about how scared I have been, how conflicted about myself and my relationships with the people closest to me. I tell her about Nathan’s offer and how much I love him and don’t want to lose him, and yet, that there is a part of me that is somewhat relieved at the idea of him going away for a few months.

She listens. She prods here and there, but mostly umms and ahhhs in the right places. When I finish, she is quiet for a very short time.

“Can you hang in there for two days?”

“Gilly, it isn’t like . . .”

“It is like. It is exactly like. And I don’t want to do this over the phone. I don’t want to give you pat answers or trite axioms. I want to think about it, process it all, and be present for you. Two days. I can be there Sunday. I’ll come, and we’ll stay up all night and hash it through, and we’ll have Fakesgiving on Monday and hopefully have stuff to pretend to be thankful for.”

“Gillian. I just needed to share, to vent. You’re coming in the fall . . .”

“Either I’m coming there, or you’re coming here. Full stop.”

“Tell me what time your flight gets in Sunday and I’ll come fetch you.”

“I’ll call in the morning with my travel stats. In the meantime, deep breaths and don’t make any decisions, don’t have any important conversations. Just do that thing from
Finding Nemo
.”

“That thing from
Finding Nemo
?”

“Yeah. That Ellen fish thing. Just keep swimming.”

I laugh, remembering the blue fish called Dory, endearing in her simplicity: “Just keep swimming.”

“You got it. Love you, sis. I’m there in two days.”

“I love you. Thank you.”

“And I want your real stuffing, not that low-fat shit you make for your customers. And the brussels sprouts with the bacon.”

“Done.”

I hang up the phone and my neck unclenches.

Gilly is coming.

“Hello, big sister.” Gilly throws herself into my arms. She is a slip of a thing, lithe and sophisticated in her sleek traveling clothes, her hair is blonder and shorter than the last time I saw her, and it flatters her creamy skin and wide blue-gray eyes.

“Hello, little sister. You’re looking wonderful.”

“I’m looking knackered. Let’s get home and order in and hunker down.”

“Deal.”

Kai is watching the store, and Nadia is staying at Daniel’s tonight, so it is just the two of us for the evening. We’ve already prepped all the food for tomorrow’s feast, the turkey is brining, the cranberry sauce is done, the stuffing is already assembled. We’re doing it at the store for ease. My apartment is too small, and since Nadia has agreed to attend in spite of the fact that Nathan will be there, I think it will be easier on her to have it in a place that she feels strong and secure. I’m also seating her and Nathan at opposite ends of the table with Delia and Kai and Phil and Daniel buffering the space between them.

Gilly fills me in on her life in London, her fancy new office, and the nightmare of finding a decent assistant. She tells me about her best mates, about the guy she is sort of dating, but is thinking of dumping because the sex is only mediocre. We get to my place and I show her around, and she makes all the right noises at the changes since she was here last.

We order in sushi from Hachi’s Kitchen and sit on the floor of the living room eating and talking.

“So you love him, but not enough to wait?”

I sigh. “I think that if we were further along, if it weren’t still so close to my divorce, that maybe waiting would make sense. But the more I think about it, the more I think that my impulse to wait for him is a way of protecting myself. Because if I’m waiting for him, then I don’t have to be open to the idea of anyone else. It makes it safe and keeps me cocooned in work, and I feel like, I don’t know, it’s just too soon to be limiting myself, you know?”

“I think if there is anything making you question the idea of waiting for him, then that is your answer.”

“Yeah. I guess it is.” The tears begin to come.

“But it doesn’t mean that not waiting doesn’t suck a little bit . . .” Gilly hands me her napkin, and I blow my nose.

“It was so hard and scary to open up to him, what if . . .”

“What if what? It’s like anything else; if you can do the hard thing once, you can do it again. Look, I have nothing against him, I’m looking forward to meeting him tomorrow, truly, but he isn’t the last man in the world who is going to find you amazing and lovable and desirable, and now that you know that you can be with someone new, the next time will be that much easier, you’ll be that much stronger, and you and I can both be grateful to him for being the first.”

I snuffle into the napkin. “You’re sure he isn’t the last?”

“If he is supposed to be the last, you’ll end up there anyway.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

 

 

“Well, I’ll start.” Kai jumps up. “I’m fake thankful for the elliptical machine at the gym.”