Authors: Irene Preston
Back to the kitchen.
Stupid
. No time to sit and talk to Carlo because he had to prepare the next course. Something more traditional this time, a
carpaccio
of scallops, shiso salad, basil, and lemon dressing.
The scallops were already marinated, so the dish didn’t take long to assemble, but they were only on second course, and he already hated the running back and forth.
He started the water boiling for the ravioli course before he took the plates into the next room, but as soon as he set the plate down, he realized he had forgotten the wine pairing.
Back to the kitchen.
Back to the table.
Grapefruit seeped through the sawdust in his mouth. He looked down at the plate in horror. Too much grapefruit in the marinade.
“What’s wrong, babe?”
He shook his head. “Not right.”
“You’re too hard on yourself, babe. It’s delicious. Is this new?”
“I have to get the next course.”
“Leave it a minute. Let’s just enjoy this one.”
Garrett managed half a bite of the scallop and a few sprigs of shiso. Carlo reached for his hand across the table.
“You work too hard, babe. You should let me cook for you more.” His fingers massaged Garrett’s hand as he talked. The warmth radiated up his arm, releasing a little of the tension. Maybe it would be okay.
Back to the kitchen.
Pea ravioli, lobster foam, salmon roe.
Don’t forget the wine.
Garrett thought he might have improved the presentation, but otherwise the course went well.
Time to go back to the kitchen.
“Sweets?”
He turned around.
“Don’t you want me to come with you? It’s all amazing, but I’m lonely out here.”
God, yes. Having Carlo in the kitchen like normal would be so much better. Just…not tonight.
“I did a big main, sweetheart, just for you. Sit tight while I get it. I won’t have to get up for a while after that.”
For this dish he had set aside his own preferences and prepared something just for Carlo. He had conferred with Nonna for hours, grilling her on Carlo’s favorite dishes growing up. No, not meatball subs, thank you. Not for tonight. They had finally decided on braised lamb shanks. He followed Nonna’s recipe almost exactly, anchovies, vermouth, fennel, baby potatoes, olives. In order to have it ready and still be a surprise, Garrett had broken a personal rule and started the lamb the day before Carlo arrived to accommodate the hours of cooking.
By now the savory aroma of meat and seasoning must have reached Carlo even in the other room. Garrett checked the stove where the liquid from the dish had almost reduced to the proper consistency, tasted and corrected the seasoning.
His eye fell on the counter, where the dessert dishes were already laid out. Not long now. His stomach clenched.
He took the meat and vegetables out of the warm oven and arranged them on two plates. Where was he? Seasoning. Wine---the Rioja, even though he knew Nonna preferred the Sangiovese, he decided.
Wine to the table.
Back for the lamb.
He poured the sauce over the meat and sprinkled fresh parsley over it, but it was still a bowl of lamb and vegetables. He could have elevated it, he could have….
He clamped down on that. Carlo’s favorite dish. Carlo wouldn’t care that it wasn’t “pretty food.” He would want a nice big plate.
The look on Carlo’s face was worth the anxiety and the ugly plating.
He could finally sit down.
“Babe.” Carlo hadn’t taken his eyes off the plate in front of him. “You’re amazing. You’ve never made me anything like this.”
He didn’t have to go back to the kitchen.
He looked at Carlo, and he couldn’t hide anymore. “I hope you like it,” he managed.Carlo picked up his fork. “Come on, babe. You gave yourself a big plate. Dig in.”
So they took their first bites together.
SALT!
Garrett’s palette rebelled.
Nononononono
. How had he over-salted the lamb? The main course? The
one thing
he had been sure Carlo would love?
He stared down at his plate, afraid to look at Carlo.
“Garrett?”
He couldn’t answer.
“Sweets?”
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
“Garrett, please look at me, babe. It’s just the tiniest bit salty. Nonna’s made it twice this salty before, and we all ate every bite. Don’t beat yourself up over this. I love it. I love that you
made
it for me.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Understand what?”
“I should have taken you out. I’m not doing this right. I’m mucking it up. You deserve better.”
****
Carlo stared across the table at Garrett. He had been acting weird all night, but now Carlo sensed a total meltdown coming on.
“Better than
what?
”
“I went to Yes? last week.”
The change of subject almost gave him whiplash. He regrouped and tried to follow.
“Yeah? Checking out the competition? We’re going to knock ’em out of the water, babe. Don’t worry about that.”
“No. I just went to see if I could.”
“Okay?”
“I ate the whole tasting menu. I only took apart one dish and rebuilt it.”
Carlo finally got where this was going. Garrett had never acknowledged that his obsession with presentation could be a problem. “Well, that’s good, right?”
“So, I should have taken you there tonight.”
“I don’t care about going to Yes?, babe.”
“Somewhere else, then. Somewhere you wanted to go. Where would you have wanted to go if I asked you?”
“I’m happy here.”
“Somewhere not here.”
Carlo thought about it a minute. “Nowhere you would want to go. I’d rather us stay in.”
“Where, Carlo? In all of L.A., there must be someplace you’ve thought about eating that isn’t here.”
“Food trucks.” Which he shouldn’t be admitting, but it ought to shut Garrett up. “There’s a company that does food truck tours. I thought that sounded fun.”
“Okay. I should be able to do that with you. We should be able to go on the food truck tour if you want to.”
Carlo just stared at him, suddenly nervous about what was going on in his partner’s head. The next sentence almost knocked him out of his chair.
“I’ve been in therapy.”
He bit back his immediate response.
Without telling me
? What did he say? Any response seemed fraught with danger. Thankfully, Garrett didn’t seem to need a response.
“I thought I was getting better. That’s why I went out to eat. But then, I was scared to take you there tonight, so we stayed home.”
“And you made the lamb, which I
love
, just like I love you. You don’t have to take me out to eat if you don’t want to. I love you exactly the way you are. You don’t have to change.”
“We talked about you, too.”
“Really?”
“About how I don’t want to be your boyfriend anymore.”
“
What?”
Carlo saw red. This whole night was about
breaking up with him?
“What has this goddamn quack been telling you?”
Garrett wasn’t listening. “So I planned this whole night, but I didn’t do it right. I should have taken you out. That’s how everyone else does it. But I’m not
good
at this, Carlo. You’re the one who’s good at this type of thing. Why did you make me do it? Now I’ve ruined it.”
Garrett got up out of his chair. “I’m sorry, Carlo. I have to go out now.”
“No.” Carlo leapt in front of him. “No, Garrett, please. Let’s talk about this. Don’t leave.” But he could tell he had lost him. Garrett just stood and waited for him to move from in front of the door.
“Please, baby, please don’t shut down again. Jesus, I hate when you shut me out.”
“I just need to go out for a little while, Carlo.”
Jesus, he hated that calm tone. He hated the lifeless eyes, with no Garrett behind them. He hated,
hated
Garrett leaving him.
He stood aside, and Garrett walked out.
Carlo stood in the middle of the living room. He was going to find Garrett’s shrink and beat the shit out of him because something was very wrong with this picture.
Why the hell did Garrett always feel the need to run from him whenever he thought they were getting closer? And, thanks to Dr. Asshole, would he come back at all this time?
He’s scared spitless
. Joey’s words.
Nothing ever added up with Garrett. Yesterday they had spent over an hour making out in this very room. Today, Garrett had taken the day off for them to spend together. They had spent the afternoon wandering through the Getty, Garrett’s finger hooked into Carlo’s belt loop, tethering them together.
Carlo stalked over to the table and looked down at the two plates of lamb. Who spent days cooking for someone so they could break up? It didn’t make sense.
A noise on the balcony startled him out of his thoughts. Cat. Cat didn’t like Carlo being on top of Garrett. Garrett had locked Cat out. For a special meal. So he could break up with Carlo.
Thoughtfully, he unlatched the pet door. Cat glared at him, obviously knowing who to blame for the locked door. He walked over to his placemat and bowl of water and sat down expectantly. Carlo picked up one plate of lamb from the table and dumped it into the other. He set the whole thing on the floor in front of Cat.
“Knock yourself out, asshole.”
He carried the other plate into the kitchen. Still thinking about Garrett, he started putting things away. Dishes in the sink. Any leftover food in the fridge. He and Cat ate leftovers, even if Garrett didn’t.
He’s running from his family, but you’re hiding in yours.
Not anymore. Garrett was going to have to do a better job of breaking up with him if he didn’t want him here.
Garrett had made ladyfingers. Tiramisu for dessert? Or maybe some special Garrett-version of it. Carlo wondered what it would have been and if Garrett would ever make it for him in the future.
He was clearing away the plates when he found the jeweler’s box.
What had Garrett bought at the jeweler?
He popped the top.
Chapter Seventeen
He should have known Carlo would find him here.
Garrett sat cross-legged on one of the prep tables with his back against the wall. Not comfortable, really, but comforting. Their restaurant. Still theirs, even if Carlo wasn’t his. After Garrett’s behavior tonight,
his
was seriously in doubt. Even Carlo could take only so much bat-shit crazy in a boyfriend.
He could hear Carlo calling his name, getting closer. He closed his eyes.
“Garrett?”
Right in front of him.
“Garrett?”
The table shuddered, and then Carlo sat next to him. They were pressed together along one side. Garrett wanted nothing more than to shift closer and have Carlo’s arms wrap around him. Instead, he waited to see what would happen.
“You weren’t breaking up with me, were you?”
Stupid. He didn’t answer.
“Okay, that was stupid on my part,” Carlo continued, as though reading his mind. “But you have to admit you weren’t making much sense.”
Carlo’s hand closed over Garrett’s, and he started the massage thing that felt so good.
“I’ve been doing some thinking lately,” Carlo continued, “about what I want with my life and what you want with your life, and where that leaves us.”
“I can’t stay in New York,” Garrett whispered.
“I know, baby.”
“You don’t want to leave.”
“Do you know why?”
“Your family is there.”
“Well,” Carlo said, “Nonna is there, Joey is there, Valentina, my sisters, Aunt Vera, Aunt Camilla, a bunch of other people I love and would miss if I didn’t see them. A lot of them I only see at holidays even though we live close.”
Garrett squeezed his eyes tighter shut, trying to block more of the world out. Carlo kept talking, even though Garrett didn’t want to hear any more. He wished he could squeeze his ears shut. Or maybe it was his heart that needed squeezing shut because it felt like a river of blood was flowing out of it.
“But what I’ve been thinking about”—Carlo’s words crept in through all the squeezing—“is my family. And when it comes down to it, my family is right here. You’re my family.”
Carlo slid off the table, depriving Garrett of his warmth. Garrett struggled through the cold, trying to make sense of the words. They didn’t sound right, like Carlo had said something unexpected.
He felt a tug on his hand.
“Garrett,” Carlo said. “Baby, please open your eyes. I’m trying to do a thing here.”
Garrett didn’t want to open his eyes. He didn’t want to open his ears and hear Carlo tell him goodbye. He needed to squeeze his heart shut.
He opened his eyes.
Carlo wasn’t there.
Confused, Garrett sat up.
Carlo was on one knee in front of the prep table. He held a jeweler’s box in his hand. Not the jeweler’s box Garrett had left on the counter in the kitchen. This box held only one ring.
Garrett looked at Carlo.
“The platinum bands are beautiful, Sweets. We can wear those if you want. But this ring was Grandpa Frank’s. Nonna gave it to me to give the man I want to marry. There’s no one else on this planet I want to give it to but you.”
Garrett stared at the ring. He shifted to put his hands under his thighs so he wouldn’t reach out and take it.
“I can’t stay in New York.” He had been doing some thinking, too. Earlier, he had been ready to propose to Carlo because he knew Carlo would stay with him if he did. But they wanted different things. No matter what his therapist had said about every couple finding compromises, he couldn’t ask Carlo to give up his family, Rotolo’s, his life, to follow Garrett around the globe.
“I know,” Carlo said. “I can’t stay there either without you. We can have a hundred restaurants if you want, as long as we have them together.”
Garrett hesitated. It sounded too good to be true. He wondered if he had finally gone completely around the bend and was making the whole thing up.