Off the Menu (22 page)

“I win.”

“Yes you do. I cannot WAIT to meet him.”

“And he, you.”

We get to my place, which is already mostly set up for the party. I stashed the dining room chairs in the basement, so there is plenty of room to walk around the antique oak table Bennie and I found at a flea market last summer. The buffet on the side is decked out with warming trays for the hot items. Plates and napkins are all set. I did all the cold platters last night, so we just have to bring them up from the extra fridge in the basement. We’re just doing champagne and sparkling water and Coke in little glass bottles, all self-serve. I hate playing bartender at my own house.

For a party like this, I do mostly cold nibbles, cheese platters and charcuterie displays, beef salami sticks and tall Grissini breadsticks in vases. A bowl of clementines. White-bean hummus and veggies. And on the side, for those who need something more substantial, a lemony chicken pasta casserole and my go-to salad, hearts of palm, celery, cucumber, raw zucchini, and artichoke bottoms with a creamy champagne
shallot vinaigrette. I never do a lettuce-based salad on a buffet; it just gets all sad and depressed and wilty and you have to throw out any leftovers. This one stays fresh and crisp, and is just as delish the next day.

Bennie and I pull everything out, set up the buffet and the bar, put the pasta in the oven to reheat, catching up on her progress with Maria and her other clients.

“So,” she says, helping me rearrange part of the living room so it will flow better for the party. “Who is coming tonight?”

“RJ, of course, Barry, Mina and her guy, Emily and John, Lacey, Patrick, Bob and Gloria said they would pop by. All my siblings are dumping their kids with Mom and Dad for a massive sleepover so that they can have date nights, but they are swinging by here to smooch you. And to do RJ recon for Mama and Papa, I’m sure.”

“Maria told me she isn’t coming after all, some awards ceremony?”

“You know Maria. All any charity has to do is say they want to give her an award, and she pulls out the sparkle and the checkbook.”

“It’s why we love her.” Bennie laughs.

“Indeed. She did say if it didn’t go too late she might stop by after, but you know she always intends to and doesn’t.”

“I promised that I would come find her when I got home to tell her everything. She is especially excited to hear about RJ.”

“Well, I’m excited to hear what you think too!”

“Based on everything I’ve heard, and the sheer wattage of the glow coming off you, I have no doubt that I will love him. And where are we with the Bruce situation?”

Ooops. “I haven’t told him yet.” One of the problems with
a casual no-strings-attached sex thing is that if you find something real, you completely forget about the very existence of your other dude. Especially if he lives nine hundred miles away. Since Bruce and I have very little reason to be in direct communication for work, I haven’t really spoken with him since RJ and I started to get serious.

“Back-up plan?”

“No, of course not. I’m not hedging my bets. I just feel like he deserves me telling him in person, you know? I mean, we are friends, and we’ve been hooking up for over four years. I just want to handle this really well.”

“But you are going to tell him.”

“Yes, of course. He’s coming here in a couple of weeks; I figured I would tell him then.”

“And you aren’t worried about anyone else telling him? Patrick for example?”

“Shit. I hadn’t really thought about that.” For a no-strings thing, I forget what a tangled web it can be.

“Look, for what it’s worth, if it were me, I would call him and acknowledge that you would have preferred to tell him in person, but that you also didn’t want him to hear it from anyone else. He’ll respect that.”

“You’re right. I’ll call him. Thanks, Ben, you’re a lifesaver, as usual.”

“Just don’t want anything to mar this time for you. I’ve never seen you so happy, and I want it to be smooth sailing.”

“You and me both!” My voice is upbeat, but it takes effort to stay positive about RJ. I realize that I’ve never really had much experience in grown-up relationships, and the more I let myself care about him, the more danger I put my heart in. I want to be giddy and throw caution to the wind and chat with my girlfriends and family about how wonderful my life
is right now, but I can’t. I’m suspicious by nature, I have a tough time really believing in the fairy tale, and the better things are with RJ, the harder I’m sure I will fall. I’m the host who always presumes no one will show up, the girl who doesn’t trust the reserve in the gas tank and frantically fills up the minute the empty light goes on. Things fall apart. Things go wrong. And I’m usually certain that I’ll be stuck in the middle of the maelstrom. I want to trust what I feel for RJ and what he says he feels for me. But it takes conscious effort. I shake off the creeping doubties that always sneak in, and finish getting ready for the onslaught.

When everything is set, we both sass up a bit, and pop a cork on a bottle of bubbly, toasting each other and our friendship. I’ve asked RJ to come a half an hour before everyone else so that he and Bennie can have a few quiet moments before the horde descends, and the bell rings right on the dot.

“God, you look beautiful,” he says, kissing me right into my bloodstream.

“And you are very handsome,” I say, taking in his crisp black slacks and lovely soft gray cashmere sweater. When he looks at me the way he is looking at me right now, it is easier to ignore the pit of the stomach reservations. Not eliminate them, but quiet them.

“And I am a vision of loveliness,” Bennie says behind us.

RJ peers around me, and says, “Well, you certainly are at that!” He hands me a bag, and goes to greet Bennie. “You’ll forgive me if I hug you. I feel like I know you already.” He takes her in a full embrace, nothing hesitant or restrained.

I watch her melt. RJ gives great hug.

“Well, Alana, now you are in trouble, because I’m going to steal him from you.”

“Bennie, with all due respect, there isn’t a woman, living
or dead, who could turn my head from Alana, but I swear that if I were woo-able, you would be the girl to do it. I’m a sucker for a redhead with an Aussie accent.”

Bennie blushes prettily, gentle pink rising in her porcelain cheeks, making her usually pale freckles go copper. She tosses her shiny hair, strawberry chestnut shot with deep auburn, and turns to me. “Oh, honey, you are in TROUBLE.”

We all laugh, and head to the kitchen. RJ has brought some wines from his cellar, which he specifically tells me are for me and not to just put them out for the party. He pours himself a glass of champagne. “How is everything here? What can I do to be helpful?” he asks after we have dutifully toasted each other.

“I’m pretty close to done in here; why don’t you two go hang in the living room and chat before the locusts descend.”

He leans over and kisses me. “Will do. Come, you vixen from Down Under, I want to hear all about how you transformed this apartment, because I hear it was significantly fuller before you got hold of it, and frankly I can’t imagine any more stuff in here.”

“Oh, it was fine. I mean it wasn’t fruit salad or anything, it just needed an update.” She is so politic.

“It was a hot mess and she saved it and me. Now scoot!” I shove them toward the living room, not eager to hear how this story comes out.

My condo hadn’t been so much decorated as it had been cobbled together. When I first bought it, I was moving from an apartment half the size, and was very concerned about getting it furnished completely. I spent my spare time at flea markets and consignment stores, and took a lot of wonderful hand-me-downs from Maria. I didn’t have money for real art,
so I bought a beautiful old antique book with hand-colored plates depicting classic recipes and old cooking equipment, took it apart and, with the help of some IKEA frames, managed to fill a lot of the wall space. In my travels around the antique stores of Illinois, I managed to acquire way too many small pieces, endless occasional tables, tchotchkes, and general household detritus.

Last summer, I had finally asked Bennie for help. She came in for a visit, and in three whirlwind days we edited, moved around, redressed. She took my whole condo, which was full of stuff, and made the stuff make sense. We shifted things around, and put many former treasures out in the alley for the next generation of young people in need of furnishings. By the time she was done, my place was still full, but more logically so. And there were some places for breath. I had confessed to RJ that, while my place seemed jam-packed with stuff, it had been reduced by nearly a quarter of its volume. He just laughed and told me that I would get the joke when I saw his place, which I did. While I lean Victorian, in the spirit of my 1906 stately stone lady, he stayed true to the Arts and Crafts sensibility of his little Ravenswood Manor bungalow. And while I have a lot more stuff, it is only because I have nearly three times the space. But where I have a lot of furniture and cooking and entertaining equipment, he has music equipment, gorgeous artwork, beautiful rugs. I have worked very hard not to imagine too much how our households might merge, but I am guilty of mentally redecorating my place with some of his stuff. Can’t help it, I’m a girl, and we indulge in such madness.

When I finally come out to the living room, the party all ready for the rest of the guests, RJ and Bennie are chatting like old friends, much to my heart’s delight. She winks at me,
and I know they are bonding well. I sneak off to the bedroom, ostensibly to do a final primp, and call Bruce.

“Hello! I was going to e-mail you. Shall we hit Girl and the Goat when I’m there in a couple of weeks? I’ll have to pull a favor to get us in, so I thought I should ask sooner rather than later.”

“I’d love to have dinner there with you, if you still want to.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to? Oh, shit, what’s up with Patrick that you couldn’t fix?”

“It isn’t a Patrick thing. Look, I was going to wait till you were here, to tell you face-to-face, but then I was afraid someone else might tell you and I thought you’d rather hear it from me, even if it is over the phone.”

“That sounds serious.”

“It’s just, I’ve, well, I’ve met someone. And we’ve been spending a lot of time together, and I think he is going to specifically ask me to be exclusive and I’m going to say yes. And I needed to know that when I say yes, that you and I have already agreed that we are going to go back to a non-naked friendship.”

“Alana, that is wonderful news and I could not be happier for you.”

“Really?”

“Of course, kiddo. Look, I always knew you were a gift with an expiration date. And lord knows if I were cut out for a real relationship, I would have jumped through a lot of hoops to get you all for myself. And I know that I’m probably going to be really depressed about it pretty soon. But we always said we were friends and colleagues first, and so we shall remain.”

“Thank you, Bruce, and thank you for everything you
have been and for being a very good friend. I’m glad that we get to keep each other.”

“Me too. And I hope you’ll forgive me if I say that I’m going to need some time before I meet him, but that I do want to meet him eventually. I really hope he’s the one, Alana, you deserve it. And I hope if he turns out to not be the one, that you’ll come back to me until you do find the one.”

“It’s a deal.” But it isn’t. Because I know that as great as my thing with Bruce was for its time, you don’t come back after a guy like RJ. You are changed forever; your context is entirely different. I know that if RJ and I don’t end up together, I won’t ever be able to be with someone who is a placeholder.

“Okay, sweetie, then Girl and the Goat business instead of pleasure. I’ll invite Patrick so there is an appropriate buffer and I won’t be tempted to pounce on you. Maybe by next time I’ll be able to invite your fella too.”

“Ha-ha. Just remember, whatever you might feel isn’t really about making a mistake with me, it’s just because someone else has me; it isn’t real.”

“That is very sweet to say, and I appreciate your willingness to try to give me an out for being enough of an ass to lose you.”

“Bruce, if either of us had really wanted or needed more from each other, we would have figured it out years ago. I think this transition will be much less onerous than you think it will be.”

“All right, I’ll focus on that. And don’t worry, this will bring all kinds of interesting things into my therapy sessions.”

“I do try to be helpful.”

“So you do. Be well, honey. I really am very happy for you. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.”

“Okay, bye, Bruce.”

My whole spine feels longer and straighter. I come out of the bedroom, and see my man and one of my dearest friends, sitting on my couch and laughing and talking like they’ve known each other forever. RJ looks over at me and smiles, and I think, I really belong to him, and that it is finally starting to be the least scary thing I have ever felt.

Before I can get all the way over to the couch to join them, the doorbell rings and we are off to the races.

My night is a blur of mini conversations. I find that the two best things I can do as a hostess are to put out food and drink that don’t need tending, and to be like a hummingbird, flitting from group to group for five to eight minutes at a time before moving on. Lucky for me, I have no worries about RJ; he fits anywhere, and everyone has been dying to meet him. So I spend a few minutes here, then a few minutes wherever RJ is, a few minutes there, then a few minutes wherever RJ is.

“Look at you,” Sasha says, putting on Dad’s accent. “One foot’s here the other’s there.”

Alexei laughs and, not to be outdone, mimics Mama. “And here we thought you couldn’t split them apart with water.” He gestures at RJ across the room, where he is surrounded by Mina and Emily and Lacey.

“You can throw Russianisms at me all you want. I like that he doesn’t need me to hold his hand in this shark pond.”

“We’re just teasing, Lana.” Sasha puts an arm around me. “We like him.”

“Yeah,” Alexei says. “He seems really great. Happy for you, sis.”