Together at the Table Read online

  “You’ve told me about work,” I said, after taking another bite of pie and a deep breath. “Have you been seeing anyone?”

  Food is just something you grow and recipes are just words written in notebooks.

  They are nothing until the right person comes along.

  And that’s when the real magic happens.

  —SARAH ADDISON ALLEN

  Neil looked down at his pie. “I’ve been seeing another doctor at the hospital here,” he said. “It’s casual. She keeps me company.”

  “That’s great,” I said.

  But no. It did not feel great. I felt like my heart had been slipped into a vise three sizes too small.

  “She’s originally from Kentucky, so we’ve got the mid-South background in common.”

  “I’ve heard Kentucky is lovely,” I said, vaguely aware that he was probably the person to tell me so.

  “It is. Her family’s in Lexington, which is nice.”

  “Is she in the immunology department also?” I asked. Each answer squeezed my heart tighter, but I embraced the pain. Embraced it because it was pain I knew I shouldn’t be feeling.

  We’d broken up.

  I’d been dating Adrian for three months.

  Both of those decisions were mine; I had no right to begrudge Neil the companionship of a smart, southern lady doctor.

  Who was probably pretty. And blond. And without the extra curvature my thighs had developed lately.

  I cut another bite of pie, ending the string of insecure thoughts with the finality of my fork against the pastry crust. My thighs were fine, and I wanted Neil to be happy.

  “She is,” Neil answered, “though our focuses are different. Her work centers on cancer research.”

  “Good for her. I hate cancer.”

  “I’m sorry, Juliette.”

  “No, no, don’t be. She works in cancer research. I’m not allergic to the word.” Except that I was. The word still had the power to make me short of breath.

  I looked up at Neil and knew I wasn’t fooling him in the least.

  “Tell me about it,” he said, his voice soft.

  I looked around. We were the only ones in the dining room.

  “It was awful,” I said. “I won’t sugarcoat it. But work is a great distraction, if you can stop crying often enough to talk to customers. Once everything finished—the funeral plans, the memorial—I didn’t have the energy for much more than work. Some of the Italian family came out, so someone was crying all of the time. Auguste flew out to be with Sandrine.” I shrugged. “It was good to see everybody, but it was a sad time.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “But we all worked hard here, and it’s paid off. Lots of media coverage, steady reservations, good word of mouth.”

  “I bet Adrian’s been good company.”

  “He has.” It was true. “He’s been very kind and very patient.”

  “I’m glad,” Neil said, his face looking both glad and…not.

  I had to look away from his eyes. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. We weren’t supposed to see each other again—not ever. That was the one benefit of ending a long-distance relationship: it wasn’t as if we lived in each other’s neighborhoods.

  Not until now. Of all times.

  “This is hard,” Neil observed.

  “Yes. Yes, it is.” I rested my head in my hands.

  “Can I be honest?”

  “Sure,” I said, my face still hidden away.

  “We live in a social-media age.”

  “It’s true.”

  “I…looked you up.”

  I sat straight. “You did?”

  “I found your Instagram account. And Adrian’s. I figured you guys were together.”

  “Oh.”

  “And…you seemed happy. So I didn’t tell you about being in Portland because I didn’t want to get in the way of your being happy.”

  “That’s sweet of you.”

  “Not really.” Neil gave a rueful smile. “The truth is—I’m not over you. So I thought it was best to stay away.”

  “Oh.”

  “But Portland’s a smaller town than I thought.” He gave an easy shrug. “I really am glad to see you, Juliette. I’m sorry it’s been such a difficult time, but I’m glad you’re doing well.”

  “Thanks,” I said, because I had no other words. Not yet.

  “And I’m sorry you haven’t found the resolution you were hoping your grandmother’s letters would bring.”

  Letters. Yes—the letters. “I’m still hopeful,” I said. “Sandrine invited us to the chateau for Epiphany.”

  “Really?” I watched the memories of our time in Provence flash across his eyes, the accompanying emotions flickering over his face. “Are you going to try the key?”

  I nodded eagerly. “That’s the hope.”

  “What do you think you might find? What would your grandmother leave behind?”

  “Leave behind while taking the key? No idea. And maybe she didn’t mean to, maybe it just wound up in the drawer of her prep table and she didn’t remember until later.”

  “But she never returned it,” Neil pointed out.

  “True. I’ve been looking for Benjamin,” I told him. “Gabriel’s brother, my great-uncle.”

  “Any leads?”

  I gave a rueful laugh. “Nope. Not yet, at least. But he’s the youngest, so I figure…there’s a chance, you know?” I glanced at my plate and back at Neil. “I don’t have a lot of hope left, in general. It just…dried up. But I still believe there’s a chance I might find more family. Do you think that’s naive?”

  “No,” he said. “I think it’s admirable.” He took a deep breath. “When you go back,” he said, “give your family there my best. I enjoyed meeting them—they’re good people. Kind, even when I didn’t speak a word of French.”

  “Of course,” I told him. “Of course I will.”

  “Neil!”

  And there they were. I turned to see Nico and Adrian approach, still in their chef’s whites.

  “I’m sorry in advance,” I whispered to Neil.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he whispered back, before standing to shake hands with my brother and my boyfriend.

  My brother, my boyfriend, and my ex-boyfriend, all together in the same dining room.

  Peachy.

  There were handshakes and greetings, and each man stood more upright than usual.

  Adrian stood close to me, his shoulder touching mine.

  Neil complimented them on the restaurant, on the deliciousness of his lunch and the success they’d seen.

  “Two Blue Doors owes a lot to Juliette,” Nico said. “We wouldn’t be anywhere without her.”

  “She’s one of a kind,” Adrian agreed, clasping my hand in his.

  “You’re both sweet,” I said. “And I hate to break up this lovefest, but both of you need to get cleaned up. I’ll close up here shortly.”

  “I need to get back to work too,” Neil said. “I’ve got a class shortly. Thanks for lunch. And dessert,” he added, with a nod to me.

  “Here, let me get you a box for the rest of the pie,” I said, heading toward the kitchen. “It reheats really well.”

  “Ask her how to reheat it,” Nico prodded Neil.

  Neil cleared his throat. “How do you suggest I reheat it?”

  “The microwave,” I called back from the kitchen, grabbing a box from the top of the stack before returning to the men.

  Nico and Adrian stood looking at me. Waiting.

  “Fine.” I boxed the pie and turned to Neil. “Take a paper towel or a cloth napkin, and dampen it,” I said, handing him the box. “Place it over the crust and microwave it for forty-five seconds at seventy percent power, which will steam the crust and help the filling to heat through.”

  Neil nodded. “Makes sense.”

  “See?” I turned to Nico and Adrian. “He’s a scientist. He gets it.”

  “Physics,” Neil said.

  I gave him a g
rateful smile but found once I looked at him, I couldn’t look away. Neil held my gaze; I couldn’t breathe.

  That face. That man. I forgot how much I’d loved him.

  How had that happened?

  Neil’s mouth quirked into a regretful smile. “I need to head back. Thanks for the lunch—and the pie.”

  With that, he left.

  Adrian stepped toward me, pulling me into a hug. “That couldn’t have been easy. You okay?”

  “I think so,” I said, putting my hands on either side of his face and lifting myself onto my tiptoes to give him a quick kiss.

  “He seemed like he was lingering,” Nico said. “We came to rescue you.”

  “That’s very considerate of you. It was fine—really.”

  Adrian pressed a kiss to my temple. “I’m glad. I’m going to shower downstairs. Want to take Gigi out afterward? Grab a bite? Find a taco?”

  “Sure,” I said, wrapping my arm around his waist.

  “Careful, there’s grease there. Don’t want you getting dirty.”

  “You’re sweet,” I said, smiling. “I’ll see you when you’re cleaned up.”

  Nico headed home for a nap before the dinner seating. I considered staying in my work clothes but decided three hours in my most broken-in jeans would be three hours well spent.

  “What did he say?” Adrian asked as we walked down the street toward our favorite taqueria, Gigi trotting beside us.

  I picked through the words available to me, searching for the ones to summarize all that had been shared.

  Maybe not all.

  “We talked about our breakup,” I began. “Regrets about how it happened, that sort of thing. He told me he’s seeing someone at the hospital, casually. And he caught me up on his job. He’ll be at OHSU through the winter, then be taking a position with a research group in Atlanta. In January.”

  “Atlanta,” Adrian repeated. “That’s cool. So he’s only around for a couple more months, then.”

  “It is. In Atlanta he’ll be doing further research on probiotic strains.”

  “Huh. Whatever floats his boat, I guess.”

  “It’s cool research, especially with the antibacterial resistance we’re seeing. There’s a reason we’re careful about the produce we use at Blue Doors.”

  “And we get the stuff that tastes good.”

  “That too.” I flashed him a smile.

  “So is he…” Adrian rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know, I just got a vibe.”

  “Vibe?”

  “I don’t think he’s over you, babe.”

  I sighed and threaded my arm through his. “Does it matter?”

  “It matters if you’re not over him.”

  “Seeing Neil—it’s a lot to process.” And it was. It felt like it had been somehow years and seconds since he and I had been together. “I never expected to see him again.” I held tighter to Adrian’s arm. “But we broke up for good reasons.”

  “No second thoughts?”

  I adjusted my hold on Gigi’s leash. “Second thoughts don’t matter. It’s the next thought after that counts.”

  “What does that mean, Juliette?”

  “It means you’re the one I’m walking to get tacos with.” I stepped onto my toes to land a kiss on his stubbled jaw. “Neil and I have a history,” I said. “But we decided against having a future last summer.”

  “What do you think about our future?”

  “I see tacos in our future,” I said. “Tacos and a birthday gathering, if I can’t talk you out of it.”

  “You deserve to be celebrated.”

  “What if we celebrated just the two of us? Dinner out, somewhere private and romantic?”

  “How about we do something after?” he offered. “You’ll want to see your family. Caterina will be here.” He squeezed my hand. “We’ll get everyone together, you don’t have to cook, and I’ll make sure Nico doesn’t try to use trick candles.”

  “That’s very sweet of you,” I said, “but the one you really have to watch for is Damian.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Usually because he’s Caterina’s henchman.”

  Adrian gave a sage nod. “That I can comprehend.”

  The dinner seating was quiet that night, not unusual for a Tuesday. Nico called out orders and the echoes of “Yes, chef!” called back in an orderly fashion.

  By the time the doors closed for the evening, the dishes were already sparkling and the till closed out. Nico and Clementine slipped out the back door together.

  Adrian showered in the basement before climbing the stairs to my apartment, where we curled up on the couch together and flipped through the TV channels.

  “Hey, Doctor Who!” I exclaimed as a TARDIS flew across the screen.

  Adrian paused his flipping. “What is it?”

  “Doctor Who, classic British TV show.”

  “That looks like one of those old-school phone booths.”

  “It’s close—it’s a police call box.”

  “Fine by me.” Adrian leaned back, his hand burrowing into my hair.

  “That feels nice.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said, continuing to rub my scalp. When he stopped, I glanced over, only to see he’d fallen asleep.

  I watched the rest of the episode and didn’t move to change the channel when the next episode began.

  The next one…it seemed familiar.

  I’d seen it. I’d seen it with Neil, in Memphis. My heart squeezed with the realization.

  A breath in, a breath out. I changed the channel, found an episode of Parks and Recreation to watch instead, and rested my hand against Adrian’s.

  I am exactly where I want to be, I reminded myself as the sound of a saxophone filled the room. I leaned back and closed my eyes, willing myself to remember.

  ~ PUMPKIN-CUSTARD PIE ~

  2 eggs

  ½ cup sugar

  ¼ cup molasses

  1½ cups canned pumpkin

  1½ cups whole milk

  ½ cup cream

  ¼ teaspoon salt

  ¼ teaspoon ground ginger

  1 teaspoon cinnamon

  ⅛ teaspoon cloves (I use ¼ teaspoon)

  ½ teaspoon allspice

  Scant ½ teaspoon lemon juice

  1 recipe pastry (see this page)

  1 egg (beaten)

  Demerara sugar

  In a stand mixer, beat eggs until pale. Add sugar and molasses, and continue to mix for another 2 minutes. Slow to a stir, adding the pumpkin, whole milk, cream, spices, and lemon juice.

  Roll pastry dough to ⅙-inch thickness, and arrange inside pie plate. Trim the dough to about 1 inch around the circumference of the plate, and tuck the edges under. Brush the top of the crust—the crust you’ll see after the filling is poured in—with the beaten egg, using a pastry brush or your fingers. Sprinkle demerara sugar on top.

  Butter the base of the piecrust to prevent the crust from becoming soggy while baking. Fold aluminum foil loosely around the edge, to cover the top of the crust. Pour in the filling.

  Bake at 425°F for 15 minutes, then turn the oven down to 350°F for about 30 minutes. Remove the foil, and bake for another 15 minutes, or until the pastry is golden and the pie is set around the edges.

  Serves 8.

  There is nothing better than a friend, unless it is a friend with chocolate.

  —LINDA GRAYSON

  “Juliette!” my sister Caterina called out the moment she saw me at the Portland International Airport.

  “Caterina!” I called back, ignoring the heads that turned.

  She approached with open arms. “My darling,” she said. “My everything. My all.”

  “It’s been too long!”

  “It’s been forever!” She wrapped me in a giant hug. The close contact, her perfume—it was the closest thing to a hug from my mom, and I almost dissolved into tears right there by the luggage carousel.

  “Hi, Juliette,” Damian said, a camera bag and son Luca
in one hand, a Thomas the Tank Engine backpack and son Christian in the other, both boys writhing like eels out of water.

  “Hi, Damian,” I said, not budging from my sister’s hug. “Thanks for bringing her.”

  “You’re welcome,” he answered cheerfully. “Happy birthday.”

  “It’s not my birthday yet,” I said, which only caused the boys to hear the word “birthday” and begin to chant it like a mantra.

  Caterina threw a chagrined glance at her flailing, chanting twin boys. “I gave them M&M’s during the flight to keep them quiet. They’ll be coming down off that high for the next few hours, I’m afraid, and it won’t be pretty.”

  I reached down and picked up four-year-old Luca, hoisting him into the air. “Grandpa’s house for you!” I said. “No better place to come down off a sugar high.”

  Luca squealed and giggled, and I repeated the process a moment later with Christian. And then Luca again. Followed by Christian.

  “You’re committed,” Caterina said. “I hope you know that.”

  I shifted Christian to my back, where he clung like a monkey. “They’ll sleep sometime, right?”

  “That,” Caterina said, “is a vicious urban legend.”

  Damian snorted.

  “I want to ride on your back!” Luca demanded, tugging my free hand.

  “I’ll carry you, buddy,” Damian offered, reaching for him, but Luca shook his father off.

  “I want to be with Auntie Etta!”

  Caterina gave a sage nod. “Surely you are blessed among women.”

  “Christian gets three more minutes,” I said, “and then we’ll switch.”

  “And no arguing,” Caterina added, “or you’re both walking on those big, strong feet of yours.”

  “The man at the store said they were small for my age,” Luca pointed out.

  “Small but strong,” Caterina answered. “Like a chicken hawk.”

  Within seconds the boys regaled me with their collected knowledge on the nature of the chicken hawk, which turned to a recitation of every notable bird they’d ever learned about or seen speak in an animated feature.