Comfort Food (29 page)

Aimee had watched her like a hawk when they were young, following Gus on her errands at the mall or the grocery store. Sabrina, she suspected then, might just become distracted and walk off, getting herself lost or stolenby some stranger. Disappearing and leaving them heartbroken and all alone. And then what?

“Do I really suck all the oxygen out of the room?” Sabrina asked, openingjars, and Aimee felt a wash of guilt run through her.

“I never said that,” she mumbled, submitting to the slathering of the cold green lotion on her face, grateful for a reason not to speak.

“Yes, you did,” said Sabrina. “You might be right. Who wants to be around that?”

She continued talking—about Billy, about Troy, about the discussion with their mom—as she administered to Aimee, whose hair was slicked back under a shower cap, absorbing the proteins and nutrients that were supposed to make her brown hair shine.

“Do you think it’s possible to love one man and still want another?” Sabrina asked.

“I guess,” said Aimee. “But you’ve got to stop comparing guys. They’re not always interchangeable, you know.”

“A lot of it is the same in the beginning,” said Sabrina. “Sharing the excitement of getting to know each other. New sex.”

“TMI,” Aimee said. “What I don’t get is why they all put up with you.”

“Billy says he likes me because I’m creative and I take risks,” Sabrina said proudly. “He’s actually very encouraging.”

“Well, I’m not very optimistic about what you’re doing to my hair,” said Aimee.

Sabrina pretended not to hear. She enjoyed pampering her older sister in ways that Aimee would never make time for on her own. In middle school, she’d once bedazzled Aimee’s book bag with gold and orange sequins. The gesture had not been appreciated.

“Do you think I’m lovable?” she asked, and Aimee couldn’t say a word, her face genuinely tight from the hardened cream.

She’d never have given her sister a straight answer anyway. That would have been too much. Instead, she would have admonished Sabrina for fishingfor compliments. She knew it. Being kind felt too much like weakness sometimes. And Aimee had worked hard to be brave.

She headed to the bathroom to rinse off, returning to find Sabrina tucked into the bed. She’d stolen the extra pillows, leaving Aimee with just one on her side.

“Typical,” she said, clicking off the light. The computer screen still glowed over on the desk.

“You’re glad I’m here, right?” asked Sabrina.

“No,” said Aimee. “And no snoring. I hate when you do that.”

22

When Sunday morning arrived, it seemed to Gus as though a lifetime had gone by since playing tag even though it had only been twenty-four hours. She’d barely slept all night, worried about her daughters, her finances, her future.

“You’re fine, you’re fine,” she told herself, a familiar refrain she used to repeat to herself when she cleaned the house after a long day at The Luncheonette.The puffy face she saw in the mirror proved otherwise.

She dressed quickly, or at least she tried to, but somehow she ended up being the last person down to the lobby. Everyone was milling about until Gary Rose came bustling up, his clipboard swinging. Close on his heels was a plumpish, dark-skinned woman, her hair pinned in an updo.

“I see you found us a yoga expert,” Troy said to Gary. He had a huge lump on his head but was fine otherwise.

“Who is the yoga teacher?” asked the woman.

“Not you?”

“No, no, I am Priya Patel,” she said, beaming broadly. “I am Gus Simpson’s biggest fan.”

“The contest winner,” prompted Porter. “You know, the new participant on
Eat Drink and Be
. In our effort to make things smoother on set, Alan and I decided it would be best that you all meet Priya before we shoot again. We don’t want any personality conflicts on air.”

Carmen snickered.

Porter cleared his throat. “Priya, welcome. Everybody ...”

“Hello, Priya,” said the group in unison. They’d been well trained after a day with Gary.

“So you must be good at karate,” she said to Troy, who looked at her strangely. “Well, you assumed I am good at yoga; I am assuming you are good at karate.”

“That’s stupid,” he said.

“Quite precisely yes,” said Priya.

“Point taken,” said Troy. “So we can be bad at yoga together. I’ve never done it before.”

“Oh, no, I’m very good at yoga, in fact,” Priya said. “They offer it at my gym. It’s free with the membership.”

“But I thought you just said that—”

“Just making a point. One must never assume.”

“I have a feeling,” Gus said, walking over to join Priya and Troy, “that you’ll quite enjoy your hour on the show with us, Priya. I think you’ll fit in just fine.”

After they had all properly twisted and turned their way through various poses, Gary had an instructor take the “gang” on a group hike through a beautiful section of forest.

“You should know where your buddy is at all times,” he explained. “We don’t want anyone wandering off now.”

Priya was quite excited to see Gus waving at her. Would the two of them become buddies? She could think of nothing more splendid. “And then we went walking together,” she could imagine herself saying to Raj later that night. “She loved my recipe for banana mousse pie, said it sounded delicious.” And he would be impressed and agree, finally, that it was a very good thing for her to be on television. You were right, he would say, to apply to that contest even when I told you not to.

She waved back vigorously.

“Did you meet Hannah at yoga?” Gus asked Priya as she neared. “Why don’t the two of you do the hike together?”

The redheaded woman in the ponytail and hooded sweatshirt smiled shyly.

“Hi,” she said softly. “Do you know who I am?”

“Of course!” Priya watched with disappointment as Gus was paired off with the tall, bald man. Now what would she tell Raj? “You’re the one who put out the fire,” she said to the redhead. “I watched that segment several times.”

The last thing she wanted was for anyone to think she hadn’t been payingattention.

“I used to play tennis,” pressed Hannah.

“Well, that’s very nice,” Priya said, trying to keep an eye on Gus as the entire group moved farther away from the resort’s buildings. She was relieved when the bald man handed Gus a red ball cap and she put it on. It looked very cute with her bob, Priya thought, and made her much easier to spot. “Exercise is good for you.”

“I used to play professionally,” Hannah said, feeling ever more confident that this woman not only had no idea who she was but simply didn’t care.

“Do you know that we will typically have over five different careers in our lifetime?” replied Priya. “That’s from a study I read on the Internet.”

“How many have you had?”

“Two,” said Priya. “I used to be an engineer before I had kids.”

“You’re a stay-at-home mom?”

“Yes. It’s very important work, very necessary and therefore fulfilling.” Her voice was flat and she sounded as if she was reading a speech off an index card.

“Well, you certainly seem . . . happy,” Hannah said weakly.

“How did you get on the show?” Priya asked abruptly.

“I live next door to Gus.”

“Really?” Priya stopped walking. “That must be wonderful, living next to Gus. Do you go to her world-famous parties?”

“I don’t know if they’re
world
famous, but I’ve been to a few. I don’t really get out that much, though.”

Up ahead, Oliver was pointing out a red bird in a tree to Gus and she could hear Gus’s laughter float all the way down the line of hikers, over Carmenand Aimee and Sabrina and Porter and Troy and Gary. That’s what she needed, a little bit of Gus’s
joie de vivre
that she could bottle up and bring back to Jersey, to sprinkle around when she was sad. She had never expected that being at home would be so much harder than working in an office. There were no promotions, no raises, no vacations. Just a group of people who wanted, wanted, wanted from her. No one had ever asked Priya if she wanted to be the heart of the home. It was simply her birthright. Her own mother had told her so.

Gus knew how to make a happy home: anyone could see that just by watching her on television. Priya had been surprised by how much she liked watching her because, up until the day she saw Gus on TV, she had strenuouslyavoided all those channels with perky hosts baking muffins and planningparties. But Gus was the real deal.

It was Raj’s fault, really. He had left the television on because he thought it would help, the day after he’d found her lying on the floor of the walk-in closet, crying her eyes out. I don’t know what’s wrong, she told him, and he had sat down with her, right there in the closet, and held her hand. Don’t worry, he said, the malaise will go. We’ll just think good thoughts and the bad feelings will simply melt away. We can all afford a bit of patience, she had heard Raj tell her mother on the telephone, let’s have a little wait-and-see.

But the feelings didn’t go away. They hardened into an invisible lump that only Priya could feel, absorbing all the joy she knew she was supposed to be experiencing. Why couldn’t she delight in all she had? Other women felt that way. Would look at her big tidy home and her healthy children and tell her to just get over herself. She’d said the same words to her mirror image a million times over. The disconnect between the truth in her heart and the way her mind told her she should be feeling left her exhausted and defeated.

“You’re so lucky,” she sighed. “To be able to have a friend like Gus.”

“If we run, we could catch up to her,” Hannah suggested, wanting mainly to savor this last chance to jump around in the open air. She felt conflicted, part of her brain craving the familiar routine back at the carriage house and the other part starting to feel angry that she’d frittered away so much time in hiding. “Let’s move,” she shouted, jogging on the spot.

“Oh, yes,” Priya said, very glad she’d worn sneakers after all. She’d been nervous about getting dressed that morning, Raj nattering at her as she changed out of a navy suit and even considered wearing a sari. Certainly the email from Porter Watson had specified casual clothing but seeing as she was only coming up to the resort for the day—and it was to be her introductionto Gus—she had spent a long time choosing an outfit that seemed quite right. She’s not really your friend, Raj had said, and she won’t care what you wear, which Priya thought was more unkind than was necessary. Of course not, she’d told him, Gus hasn’t even met me yet.

In the end, she opted for khakis and a long cardigan, just like the sweater Gus had worn on the last episode of
Eat Drink and Be
. She had recognized immediately when the show aired that Gus was trying out a bit of a different style, and Priya wanted very much to support her in her fashion choices.

“Let’s move,” she repeated, though Hannah was already far, far ahead.

Carmen watched Hannah dash On by, her ponytail bobbing as she weaved her way around the members of the group, followed a few beats later by the contest winner, her khakis straining a bit over her well-padded derriere.

“This isn’t a race,” she called out after them. She and Aimee had, withoutdiscussing anything, agreed to exert themselves as little as possible. They weren’t about to jog an inch.

“I’m sure Hannah’s running over to talk to my mom,” said Aimee. “As usual.”

“I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait until this weekend is over,” Carmensaid. Alan had left shortly after dinner, and she and Oliver had stayed up late in the bar, enjoying a good bottle of cabernet, talking about old times. She’d suggested a second bottle but he declined and went up to his room. Alone.

“You’re burning a hole in the back of Oliver’s head,” said Aimee. “It wasn’t my choice to be your partner, you know.”

“Don’t have a problem with you,” Carmen said testily. She tilted her head toward Aimee. “What are you doing watching Oliver so closely anyway? Do you like him?”

“Yeah,” said Aimee. “He’s a good guy. I think he might work well with someone I know.”

“Aha!” Carmen elbowed her in the ribs, rather aggressively, in an attempt at chumminess. “You mean yourself,” she said. “Are you . . . interested? He and I go back a ways.”

“No,” said Aimee. “Not my type, really.”

“He’s good-looking. Likes to cook. Quite adventurous in the bedroom.”

Aimee threw her a look of surprise. “Too much information here, thanks,” she said.

“So who are you looking for, then?”

“Anyone who isn’t a fan of my mother or in love with my sister,” Aimee said. “And, seeing as that rules out a heckuva lot of people in New York, I’m pretty much single. And quite happy about it.”

“Umm, yes,” said Carmen. " ’Happy’ is in the dictionary next to your picture. With a big X over it.”

“I am actually a very nice person when someone takes the time to get to know me,” huffed Aimee. “I just have a lot of responsibilities.”

“The UN stuff.”

“Among other things. But that’s how I know Spain produces thirty-six percent of the world’s olive oil. I work in trade and development,” Aimee explained.

“Very good,” Carmen said. “You may just be the smart one out of this bunch of
idiotas
.”

“I speak Spanish, too.”

“
¿Ahora sí entiendes lo que digo?
”

“Yeah, I hear what you mutter in the kitchen,” said Aimee. “Like when you called my mother a—”

Carmen held up a hand to stop her from speaking.

“It’s unexpected,” admitted Aimee. “You swear like a sailor.”

“Well, what do you expect,” Carmen said. “I spent years in beauty pageantdressing rooms.”

Marching along at the front of the group, just behind the hike instructor, was Gus, Oliver’s extra ball cap on her head. He’d noticed her squinting against the sun—she’d forgotten her sunglasses—and promptly presented her with the hat. She always appreciated preparation.