Skinny Bitch Gets Hitched (24 page)

I could see her influence all over Harry. His usually surfer-dude unruly hair was looking more Euro, and so were his long-sleeved, button-down shirt and dark gray pants. And was that a Cartier watch? Harry was more a T-shirt-and-faded-jeans kind of guy, except for the usual work clothes.

“Clem, this is my girlfriend, Nadia. Nadia, my cousin Clementine, the bride-to-be.”

She gave me a stiff smile, and I instantly knew he had had to talk her into coming. An engagement party for family in LA was one thing. But a three-hour drive on a Sunday morning? To a farm? She'd probably fought him all night on coming.

“I like your dress,” she said, but her eyes were on the crowd, checking out the scene, heavy on the sensible farm shoes.

I looked around for Zach, who actually liked making small talk, to get him to come over, but I saw him slipping out the sliding glass door to the deck and over to the barn. He glanced in, hands on hips, and I had a feeling he was thinking about my idea for the Outpost. I caught the slight shake of his head.

Instead of coming back, he went around the side of the barn, and I thought he was considering expansion or renovation possibilities, but then I saw him emerge on the farm side and head toward the fields. One of my parents' dogs loped over, and Zach just stood there, staring out at the rows of crops, absently petting Pete.

Jeez. Was he torn up about disagreeing with me on the Outpost? Or did this have zippo to do with that? Maybe he'd slipped away from the engagement party because it was a big, honking reminder that he was . . . marrying me. Maybe he'd changed his mind about the whole thing and couldn't deal with telling me. Maybe he'd jumped on axing the Ouptost because it was really me he wanted to ax.

“Where's Zach?” Harry asked as Nadia drifted over to the bar my dad had set up.

“Out there.” I upped my chin toward the deck. “I have an idea for a new restaurant and he's not ‘on board,' as you corpo types say. It's coming between us a little. I think, anyway.” Or something was. Grandkids comment or not.

Harry glanced out the deck doors, and you could just make out Zach in the distance, walking a bit farther away, the dog beside him. Harry put his arm around me. “You'll work it out.”

I shrugged. “Forget business today anyway. What's going on with you and the model?”

He smiled, the slow, moony smile of a guy in serious love. “She's
it
. Everything I've ever wanted.” He leaned closer to whisper, “I know she might seem a little unfriendly, but she's just kind
of serious. She's constantly booked as a model too. She has a go-see to do runway for Dolce and Gabbana tomorrow.” He was gazing at her by the bar, slowly sipping what looked like a martini.

“She is beautiful. How long have you been together?”

“Just a few months. Took me forever to get her to go out with me. I think she's more used to Zach types than junior accountants, but I finally won her over with my Cooper charm.”

I smiled. “Thanks for coming, by the way. I know it's a big schlep up here.”

“Like I'd miss your engagement party? And a chance to see drunk Uncle Bob drop a mini-black-bean empanada on his wife's foot—again?” He nudged his chin by the bar, where Nadia was edging away.

I glanced over to see long-suffering Aunt Lee grit her teeth and wipe her sandaled foot clean of goo.

And out the deck doors, I saw Zach slowly walking back toward the house. Very slowly. As if he couldn't take long enough to get back to me. And our
engagement
party.

“Dear, will you show me the grounds?” Jocelyn asked, wrapping her arm around mine. “I'd just love to see the fields where your parents grow their food. How wonderful that they grow what they eat.”

Jocelyn would probably drive up all the way from LA to have dinner at the Outpost.

Arm in arm, we walked past the orange grove and lemon trees, Jocelyn's face lifted up to appreciate the beautiful seventy-degree weather and fresh, clean air, the scent of citrus carried on the breeze. I told her how the farm operated, about my father's CSA, and the farm stand.

“And how are the wedding plans going?” Jocelyn said. “You and Dominique getting along?”

“We don't agree on
anything
.”

Jocelyn laughed. “Well, I think she's met her match in you, Clementine. She's used to intimidating people and having them jump to do her bidding. Now her son's fiancée has a mind of her own and speaks it.”

“That gets me a lot of grief. Even with Zach. I know he loves that I don't hold back, that I say what needs to be said, but what are you supposed to do when what needs to be said isn't being said—by
him
.”

“Oh, I have one of those. Frederick keeps it all inside. I can always tell when something's bothering him, but he'll never talk about it. Just huffs off to his den to tinker with who knows what or goes on long walks with the dogs.” She stopped to admire the strawberry bushes. “I knew he was like that when I married him, of course. But I didn't work on the things I should have. It's why I sent you the list, of course.”

“I wish I knew how to get Zach to start talking.”

“You know him best. Just remember that. But more importantly, Clementine, you know yourself best. What you can live with
and what you can't. What you need to compromise on and what you can't—or won't. That's how you begin to figure out how to deal with what bothers you but can't be changed.”

“You mean by just accepting it?”

She glanced out over the rows of carrots. “Sometimes—the small stuff, as they say. But most times, you've got to fight for what matters. And you should.”

How great was she? “Should I confess that one of the reasons I want to marry Zach is so I can call you my aunt?”

She laughed and we headed back to the house, just in time to catch the tail end of Harry's trying to argue-whisper with the model by the buffet table. Nadia shot him a look of pure disgust and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Now there's a couple I don't see lasting,” Jocelyn whispered.

When the party started winding down, I was finally able to sneak my dad, who took his host duties seriously, out the back door and over to the barn.

We walked in, and my heart started booming in my chest—that's how
right
this felt, how juiced I was about it. Right now, the building was used for equipment and wheelbarrows and my mother's huge baskets. Six months from now: the Outpost. “Dad, I've been thinking about something. I want to open a second restaurant right here on the farm, in this barn, with you as executive chef. Clementine's No Crap Outpost, farm-to-table. What do you think?”

“Executive chef,” he repeated, a smile breaking out on his weathered face. “That's always been my dream.”

“I know. You made mine come true by teaching me everything you know. Now I want to pay you back.”

He hugged me. “And you really think this is doable? I assume you've done your research?”

“I have. And it's definitely doable, thanks to the work you've already done here over the past thirty years. You've built a base of customers, Dad. Even Elizabeth thinks it'll work.” I went over all the details, the logistics, the numbers, the potential menu—and backup for those times when he wouldn't be up to standing on his feet.

“Well, then, sign me on,” he said, his voice almost breaking. “I can't wait to tell your mom.”

Awesome.

I waited until we were almost back to Santa Monica before I told Zach I was going ahead with my plans for the Outpost. I ran down the list of checkpoints, as I'd done for my dad, but I went more in depth for Zach, since he was in the business.

“You should have seen my dad's face. He's so happy.” Just the thought of how my father had looked when I told him made
me
so happy.

“Maybe you shouldn't have told him yet, Clem,” Zach said, both hands on the steering wheel, not as usual with one on
my thigh. “Why get him excited about something that may not happen?”

“I just told you all the reasons why it will happen.”

“Clem. What sounds okay on paper and what works in reality are two different things. You
know
I believe in you. But two restaurants—three hours apart—both needing you on a daily basis, especially a brand-new one? And a month after the novelty wears off a farm-to-table meal, the Outpost will very likely stall.”

No, it wouldn't. Not if the food, service, and experience were incredible. Marketing power, publicity, and word of mouth would take care of that. The Outpost would fill a niche. I
knew
it.

Still, I wanted his support. His
hellz, yeah.
Was he just going all conservative on me? Or did he think I couldn't pull it off? If I believed in me, shouldn't he?

I glanced at him, ready to say just that, but I could tell he was dead set against the Outpost.

Shizz.

“We'll have to agree to disagree on this, Zach,” I said, using one of his expressions. “I'm going ahead with it.”

He put his sunglasses on and didn't say a word until “Bye” when he dropped me off at my apartment.

K
eira had been doing her homework. When I arrived at the restaurant on Monday at just before noon, she was already hard at work on her red sauce for the lasagna, sautéing onions in coconut oil. In a neat line at her station were the other ingredients: minced garlic, the tomatoes, basil, oregano, fruity red wine, and my secret weapon—a pinch of agave nectar. She picked up the little bowl of garlic.

“Add the garlic only when the onions are tender,” I said, glancing into her pan.

She wiped her hands on her apron. “Oh, right. There are so many steps. I practiced making the sauce last night, and it didn't taste right.”

“Your sauce will be perfect by the time you get on that
Eat Me
stage. You're gonna bring the panel of judges to their knees
with your lasagna. Half of making sure that happens is about confidence.”