Love and Miss Communication (31 page)

Going dark had changed the course of her life. Evie just hoped it was for the better.

# # #

Stasia called her unexpectedly a few days after her visit with Bette.

“I miss you, Evie,” she said, in a voice that sounded tired but genuine. “Can we meet for coffee?”

“Anytime, anyplace. Thank you for giving me another chance.”

They arranged to meet at Starbucks later that afternoon. Too many months had passed where Evie had let her preoccupation with Edward, and now Edward and Jack, divert her from the task of repairing that friendship. She finally understood that the only barrier between them all these years had been her own envy. And it was misplaced envy at that. All that time, Evie had avoided sharing romantic troubles with her, feeling like her friend—who’d never seemed to know loneliness or heartbreak—could not relate. Now things were different, and Evie suspected there would be more reciprocity in their discussions, even though she was distressed that it took a marital crisis to get to that point.

Stasia looked thinner than Evie had ever seen her, and her normally shiny hair was lackluster and unkempt. She was still a beauty, though, like the true ones always are.

“How are you?” Evie said, though she felt foolish asking the question.

“I’m healing. Rick moved all his stuff out last month. Not seeing his disgusting boxers every day has been helping. I came really close to burning his things, but I restrained myself. What about you? Things with Edward still going strong? I’ve been keeping tabs on you through Tracy and Caroline.”

“Actually, things are rocky now. I’d love to get your advice.”

“You sure? It’s nice to know someone thinks I’m capable of giving romantic advice given my husband’s disappearing act.”

“Hey,” Evie said in a stern voice. “Nobody was better than you at getting every cute guy in school to fall in love with them.”

“That’s true,” she said, shrugging in earnest. “But believe me, this has been very humbling.”

“I’m so sorry, Stasia. I wish there was something I could do to make you feel better. I know it doesn’t compare, but I’ve been humbled before too. Giving Jack the marriage ultimatum and seeing him willing to let me get away—that was a doozy. And now, well, I just don’t know where I stand with anything.”

Evie filled her in on her string of dates with Edward and running into Jack on New Year’s Eve.

“I acted pretty nutty after I saw Jack. We had this talk in his office. I don’t know—it just felt like something was still there. Then I went back to the table and Jack came over to introduce himself to Edward. They shook hands, and I’m telling you, it was like watching my past and future implode simultaneously. Jack said to Edward, ‘Don’t let her get away.’ What does that mean? Why would he say that if he didn’t have regrets? Anyway, the rest of the dinner was a disaster. Half the time I was trying to make Jack jealous by throwing myself at Edward, the rest of the time I was trying to prove to Edward that Jack was history. Then get this—Jack called me. Told me he’s been e-mailing me too. Said he missed talking to me. And my face. Now Edward wants to hear me say that I definitely have no
more feelings for Jack. And I can’t seem to get myself to utter that simple sentence.”

“Well, do you?” Stasia asked. “Still have feelings for Jack?”

“I don’t think so. I mean, I love Edward. That’s for certain. But there is a part of me that needs Jack to know I’m winning or at least make him regret he didn’t marry me. If I still care about that, does that mean I’m not really there with Edward?”

Stasia took a sip of her chai latte and didn’t respond for a long minute. “I really don’t think so. Take me, for example. I genuinely despise Rick now, but I’d love for him to think that I’m dating some superstar right now. Does that mean I want to get back together with him? Not one bit. But I still want him to think I’m doing great.”

“I get that,” Evie said. “I really get that, actually. That’s kind of what Facebook is all about.”

“Totally. Oh, did you happen to see my lab equipment when you were at JAK, by the way?”

“What in the world are you talking about?” Evie asked, wide-eyed.

“I lent Jack a whole bunch of test tubes, droppers, and beakers when he was experimenting with molecular cooking. He never returned them. It was like five hundred dollars’ worth of stuff, but it was right before you guys broke up so I couldn’t say anything.”

“Sorry, hon, I don’t recall any science instruments lying around,” Evie said.

“Asshole,” Stasia clipped. “Edward is so much better than that.”

“So what do you think? How can I show Edward that I’m committed to our relationship? I don’t want him to think I’m still into Jack, or worse, that he’s my rebound guy.”

“Well, I hate to borrow a page from Jack’s book, but you can never go wrong with food. Why don’t you cook a really fabulous dinner for Edward at your place? Make his favorite foods. Light
candles. And then sit him down and do what you were planning to do on New Year’s Eve. Tell him how much you care about him. How you haven’t been this elated in ages—or ever. Reassure him about Jack. Tell Edward how hurt you were when Jack let you go and got married so soon after you guys broke up. Keep in mind that Edward has been married before. You worry that there’s no room for Jack in your psyche if you move forward with Edward. That’s not how things work. Rick will always be a part of me. These people who take up space in our lives, they don’t just vanish entirely. They leave scars. Do you see what I mean?”

“I think you’re spot-on,” Evie said. “All this time I was feeling guilty whenever Jack crossed my mind. But it’s not like I can feign amnesia about an entire two years of my life. I think Edward would understand if only I could explain myself coherently for once. He said himself that Georgina will always be a part of him.”

“Exactly. So, is there anything else? I’m on a roll.”

“That’s all for me. What about you, Stas? I’m really worried.”

“I’ll be okay. I have great friends.” She put her hand on Evie’s.

“Not me so much. I should have been banging down your door after that night at the hospital or at least putting out a hit on Rick. I got caught up in my new relationship like some teenager.”

“Stop it. I’m happy for you that you’ve found someone,” Stasia said.

“Speaking of finding someone, how do you feel about accountants?”

“I feel positively. Rick did our taxes. It’s almost April and I’m screwed.”

“I mean romantically. My grandmother’s boyfriend’s grandson is apparently looking for love.”

“Oh dear. Let me think on that. I’ve recently joined something frightening called Hinge. Anyway, you have a phone call to make and cooking to do. And I’m heading to the lab.”

“The lab? It’s Saturday.”

“I prefer the rats to men these days. Though they have a lot in common.”

“Things will work out for you,” Evie said.

Stasia raised an eyebrow and said, “You never believed us when we said that to you.”

Evie laughed. “I guess I’m an optimist now.”

“Jeez, maybe I should quit the Internet,” Stasia said. “I could use an attitude adjustment. And the focus at work. I check Rick’s Facebook status about every five minutes. Not good for all those people counting on a better Alzheimer’s drug.”

“Ahh, the Facebook stalk. I know it well,” Evie said wistfully. “Or should I say I knew it well?”

Evie took a last sip of her drink and asked, “So you really are just going to let Rick get away with this? No revenge? You are a better woman than me.”

“Well,” Stasia said, her voice but a whisper. “Remember I told you my father was appointed to the Committee on Homeland Security?”

“Yeah,” Evie said, unsure where this was heading.

“He added Rick to the no-fly list. I cannot wait for him to take his little spinning mistress on a trip to nowhere.”

# # #

Evie called Edward the moment she parted with Stasia to invite him to a home-cooked meal at her place that night. She said she needed to see him. That she missed him terribly. And that she wanted to feed him. Luckily, he agreed.

She dashed to the oversize gourmet grocer in her neighborhood. When she passed the yams, her menu was inspired. She would cook Edward a Thanksgiving meal, in January. He told her he regretted that he only feasted like that once a year, so she
filled her cart with turkey, green beans, gravy, a prepared pecan pie, and the ingredients for sweet potato fluff. Confused by the different checkout lanes—did “13 items or less” mean she had to count each individual yam or did the bag count as one?—Evie felt like a tourist in the grocery store. She was used to ordering online through FreshDirect, lazily selecting “refill existing order,” even though it meant receiving multiples of cumin and cilantro and other aspirational items that had no business in her kitchen. When she couldn’t do that anymore, she bought cereal and other essentials from Duane Reade and the corner store.

Afterward she visited the liquor store and picked up two bottles of award-winning wine recommended by the manager—a white from the Rhone Valley and a red Bordeaux. Then she rushed back to her building. The grocery bags were piled high in her hands so that she couldn’t see two feet in front of her. She fumbled around for the proper elevator button and hoped she was getting off on the correct floor.

“Need some help?” a familiar voice said, startling her. The brown paper bags blocking her vision came crashing down to the floor.

“Jack? What are you doing here?” Evie asked, without even looking down at the mess of food at her feet.

He was seated outside of her door, dressed in a button-down and the bottom half of his chef uniform, with a newspaper open on his lap.

“Finally, you’re here. I’ve been rereading articles.”

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Evie said caustically. “Why are you outside my apartment?”

“First let me help you. I never knew you to cook. I don’t suppose this is for Edward, is it?” Jack bent down in front of her, and the familiar scent of butter and garlic mixed with his ginger shampoo wafted up to her. Evie inhaled deeply in spite of herself.

“It is. Let’s get this stuff inside.” Evie fumbled with her keys, annoyed that her hands were trembling. She looked at her watch. There wasn’t much time for her to prepare the meal and get dressed. She really should ask Jack to leave.

“How’s Manhattan Maison going?” he asked, arranging the groceries in the fridge. Evie’s face froze as she tried to remember what he was talking about. It clicked by the time he turned around to face her.

“Oh, terrific. I just did a huge project on the Upper East Side.” Caroline and Jerome lived there, so at least part of what she was saying was true.

“I’m happy to hear it. You know, Evie, I said I’d leave you alone if you wanted, but I’m finding it harder than I expected. I also wanted to run something by you. I’m opening another restaurant and I’d love you to collaborate. JAK was just going to be a renovation, but here’s a chance for you to execute a vision all your own.”

Another restaurant? She couldn’t help begrudging him. Edward had recently been awarded a prestigious teaching prize, and she wanted to share that with Jack. But it seemed too obvious, too out-of-left-field to bring up casually. So she said nothing.

“Anyway, I tried to contact you through your website but I guess you haven’t gotten around to setting it up yet. I was thinking of pretending to be a stranger. Maybe then you’d take the job,” Jack said. “Anyway, I’m doing a high-end French-Argentinean concept in Midtown. For theatergoers, but definitely not for tourists. Just locals.”

How could Jack be such a New York snob when he was from an entirely different country? Edward would never act so uppity, and he was Manhattan born-and-raised.

“Sounds great,” she said, not protesting when he started chopping the vegetables she had bought.

“I’m calling it Evita,” he said, looking up from his knife work. “Do you like the name?”

“It’s nice,” Evie said neutrally. Was he implying that the restaurant was named after her? Was that even possible? She honestly didn’t know how to react.

“I hope you think it’s more than nice. It’s inspired by you,” he said.

By now he’d moved on to prepping her sprouts. His hands worked effortlessly. She remembered him telling her that knife skills were all about the wrist. If your bicep bulges, you’re doing something wrong.

“After all, you supported me before I really made it,” he said. This was news to her. By the time she and Jack met, he was already a well-regarded name in New York City’s competitive culinary sector. She doubted if she would have even gone out with him if he’d in fact been a struggling restaurateur. Either Jack was trying to flatter her, or he’d rewritten history in his mind.

“Whose is this?” Jack asked, picking up one of Wyatt’s baby bottles that was left behind.

“Aunt Susan’s, if you can believe it. She adopted a baby.”

“Oh dear. That lady thinks I’m rubbish,” Jack said. “Didn’t she say I was poisoning my customers when she found out only half my produce was organic?”

“She definitely said something about you being toxic. But I talked her down.”

“Well, I still don’t think she’s going to root for me.”

“There’s nothing to root for. I have a boyfriend. And if people aren’t rooting for you, it probably has more to do with the fact that you’re married than knowing your broccoli gets sprayed with pesticide.”

“Touché,” he said with a forlorn expression, and Evie warmed to his conciliation. “Listen, Evie. I know my reappearance in
your life is sudden. But I know you. You require complication.”

“I don’t know,” Evie responded truthfully. A marriage was more than a complication. And she was annoyed with his presumptions about her. He never had especially good insights into her needs, except when he was putting a plate of spaghetti Bolognese in front of her.

“I’m sure your wife is very proud of you,” Evie said, trying to focus the conversation on the more important matter at hand—why the hell Jack was naming a restaurant after her when he was married to someone else.

“Zeynup? She likes the publicity,” he said, with a one-shouldered shrug.

Evie delighted in hearing Jack insult his new wife, but she didn’t let the pleasure creep onto her game face.