Off the Menu (27 page)

“Thank you for coming. And thank you for being.”

“Being what?”

I lean over and kiss him. “Just being.”

After dinner is over and we are all stuffed to the gills, Patrick retrieves the bag he brought and turns it over to the kids who tear into it with wild abandon, unearthing an endless trove of dolls and action figures and new games for the Wii. The gaggle of cousins dig in, finding something for everyone to get excited about.

The rest of us divide and conquer, some of us cleaning up in the kitchen, some getting the tables and chairs squared away, and much to my chagrin and delight, my dad, Patrick, Uncle Eli, and RJ step out on the porch for cigars. That should be fairly priceless. I begin to head in that direction, to save RJ if need be, but a hand on my arm stops me.

“Leave it, Lana,” Nat says. “He’s fine. That’s a man who doesn’t need anyone to fight his battles or protect him. You want him out there, and you want him out there without you. Trust me.”

“I just …”

“Don’t. He’s great, honey. Leave it be.”

When it is finally time to head out, RJ receives hugs, kisses, back slaps, and shoulder grapples from my entire family as we make our way to the door. He receives an open invitation to return from both of my parents, and each of my siblings has requested a double date with us in the near future. And Joshie breaks away from the Wii long enough to come running down the hall and launch himself into RJ’s arms, whispering something very serious in his ear.

“You bet, buddy. That’s a date.”

“Thank you, Uncle RJ!” he says, and runs back down the hall.

“Uncle RJ!” Sasha says.

“What on earth did you promise my kid?” Alexei asks.

“He mentioned that he was sort of interested in art these days. I told him that a good friend of mine is a curator at the Art Institute, and that he can take us on a private tour of the stuff in the vaults.”

“Oh, goodness, he would just love that,” Sara says. “Thank you.”

We head to the car, Patrick following along behind us.

“Nice to meet you, man,” Patrick says as we get to the car, offering a firm handshake.

“Very nice to meet you as well, Patrick, I’m glad you were here.” RJ shakes back.

“I’m sure we’ll hang out again soon.”

“That would be great.”

“You’re a lucky guy, my Alana is the best.”

“Yes, she is.” RJ puts his arm around me.

“Even if she does fart in her sleep,” Patrick says, and my jaw hits the ground. He has just broken the barrier, referenced our one night together, and shattered the unspoken understanding between us to pretend that the incident never happened. And worse, he’s done it in such a casual and insulting manner.

“Only rarely. And I think it’s cute. Sort of musical really.” RJ is unflappable. Luckily for me, I confessed about my error in judgment with Patrick during the trading of basic info about exes, with limited details, and he was totally cool about it.

Patrick seems a little thrown by the lack of reaction from both RJ and me. But I refuse to be baited.

“We should all have dinner or something one of these days. Patrick, you can bring, you know, whoever your agent sends for the evening,” I say pointedly.

“Ha. Funny.” But he doesn’t look amused. He does rally, ever the smooth one. “Alana, my princess, have a great weekend, I will see you Monday. RJ, see you soon, I hope.” He kisses my cheek, jumps into his new Escalade, and takes off.

“Think we should follow him to be sure he doesn’t try to bust a drug dealer or take down a mob boss?” RJ asks.

“I think he is going to have to take care of himself tonight. I have more important things to focus on.”

“Such as?”

“Such as making my fabulous boyfriend know how happy he makes me.”

He opens the car door for me, and kisses me. “I’m up for that. Did he really just try to make me jealous about your one-night stand? Really?”

“I have no idea what the hell that was. Marking territory, maybe. I would imagine he is very threatened by you.”

“Well, at least he didn’t piss on you.”

“That would have been a Dumpling move.”

“Which is why he is having a sleepover!”

We ride back to RJ’s place. Barry has Dumpling tonight. Considering his behavior of late, I couldn’t risk bringing him to RJ’s, even though he was invited. RJ has rugs worth more than my car, and I can only imagine what my crazy dog could do to one of them.

We settle into his den, and he brings in a couple cans of Pamplemousse, which he is now as addicted to as I am. We clink cans, and snuggle up. JP, his cantankerous cat, jumps up into my lap, purring like a kitten.

“That cat hasn’t liked anyone since the first Bush administration. But look at him love you. How is it possible you were single, you wondrous woman?” he asks.

“I’m really really picky. What about you?”

“I had pretty much just written it off. Failed marriage, failed long-term relationships. I just thought, focus on work, friends, family, play my guitar, and head off into the sunset alone like a good cowpoke.”

I look up at his sweet face. “I’m glad you didn’t give up.”

“I sort of had. But you brought me back.” He leans in and kisses me. “You and Michael Chabon!” Apparently it was my listing
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Klay
as the book I was currently reading that was the piece of the puzzle that finally got him to answer me on EDestiny. It’s one of his favorite books, and he took it as a sign. “Falling in love with you is the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

“And the best thing that has ever happened to me.” I pause, and take a deep breath. “I really love you, RJ Oliver.”

He smiles widely, and I can see that there are tears shimmering in his eyes. “Truly?”

“Truly, madly, deeply.”

And nothing in the world has ever felt more utterly and comfortably true.

I
gather the kids around me at the end of class.

“So, one at a time, what did we learn today?”

Joseph throws his hand in the air. I nod at him. “Well, we learned about food safety and proper cleaning and storage, and the danger of cross-contamination, so we really learned that my moms has been trying to kill the family for years.” We all laugh.

“We learned about the differences between processed foods and whole foods,” Max says. “And how it can be healthier to eat some real things like butter and olive oil instead of processed saturated fats like margarine and Crisco.”

“We learned that if something is too spicy you have to drink milk or eat bread and not drink water, and that Helena has a mouth made of asbestos!” says Aretha, referring to the chicken vindaloo that Helena brought in as her traditional family recipe, in which the level of spice blew all our heads off.

Renaldo raises his hand. “We learned that you can take a recipe and make it healthier by replacing certain ingredients.” Renaldo had brought in a rich pork stew that we lightened up by adding more veggies, trading out turkey breast for the pork, and just searing the chunks of meat in a little oil instead of deep frying them.

“Good, guys, what else?” I’m so proud of how far they have come in the past weeks, and so sad that this is my last class
with them, since Kai is completely healed and finally has his energy back. It took him five weeks instead of three, and while I was sad for him and his slow recovery, I was selfishly glad for me, since working with these kids has been one of the most rewarding things in my entire career.

“We learned that the most important thing in a dish is balance of sweet, sour, salty, bitter, and savory, and that if you taste something and you don’t know what it needs, you can go down that list and see if all those flavors are there,” Juan says, getting the words out quickly. He has been a surprise superstar. I had written him off as a jock who was just going to be a little lost without the team, but his sports experience has made him a natural leader in the kitchen, and I can easily see him leading a brigade on the line. I gave him a copy of Gordon Ramsay’s autobiography, since he also turned to cooking after an injury cut short a professional soccer career, and Juan read it in one week.

“We learned that Aretha makes the best macaroni and cheese on the planet,” Clara gushes about her new BFF.

“And that Joseph can make an omelet in under two minutes,” Helena says about her already ex-boyfriend. The whirlwind courtship flamed hard and fizzled quickly, luckily without much drama for the rest of us. He nods and winks at her, so maybe things aren’t as off as I think they are.

“I learned that I am really going to miss Chef Alana,” says Little Mari, pouting.

“Yeah, why you have to go, Chef?” Renaldo says.

“Aw, guys, I’ll be back. But trust me; you are going to love Chef Kai. He’s like a rock star. I was only ever a substitute teacher here. And I will be paying very close attention to each and every one of you as the semester goes on.”

“We brought you something, Chef,” Max says, offering up a wrapped package.

The lump in my throat threatens to choke me. “Aw, you guys …”

“Open it, open it!” Aretha says, impatient.

I carefully remove the paper to reveal a lovely linen binder. I open it up and it has eight sections, each labeled with the name of one of the students. When I flip to those sections I can see that each of them has written me a letter, included a picture, and several recipes from their families or of their own creation.

“It’s a custom cookbook from all of us,” Mari says.

“You guys, this is, without a doubt, the single best present anyone has ever given me. Thank you all so much. I love you guys.” We end up in an awkward group hug. Finally from the middle of the pack, Joseph’s voice.

“Damn, does it have to be all
Dangerous Minds
up in here?”

We all laugh, since the running joke these past weeks has involved all the classic “White Teacher Makes a Difference in the Ghetto” movies.

“Hey, Chef,” Clara says. “What is your boyfriend doing for you for Valentine’s this weekend, hmm?”

I blush. “He is making me dinner. And let that be a lesson to all of you, cooking for someone is an act of love.”

“Don’t you want him to take you out? Go somewhere nice for a fancy dinner?” Aretha says.

“All I care about is that we are together. And going out for a fancy dinner is not nearly as personal as the fact that he wants to cook for me.”

“That’s cool, I guess,” Juan says.

“I think so. And I think each and every one of you has plenty of love to put on plates. So I want you to come next week knowing that I am passing you off to a truly amazing chef, and give him total respect. I’m going to be back in a few weeks when Patrick Conlon is doing his master class.”

I give each of them a hug and a personal thank-you as they leave. I watch out the window to be sure their van is gone before I dissolve in tears.

The next afternoon, after a brutally slow workday where I can’t focus on anything except the clock, RJ picks me and Dumpling up to drive out to the cabin for the weekend. It’s our first whole weekend away, and I’m excited to show him my place and have a relaxing and romantic time. And I’m hoping that Dumpling will behave himself. It’s been a couple of weeks since he did anything overtly awful, mostly he just tries to get between us when we are hanging out on the couch, and we still have to lock him out of the bedroom.

Well, he did eat RJ’s laptop charging cord a couple of days ago, but that was hopefully just a little slipup.

We’re halfway there when a smell that can only be described as the foulest stench on the planet wafts up into the front seat and slams my head back. Goddamnit.

“What. The. Hell. Is. THAT?” RJ says, opening his window, despite the freezing mid-February air.

“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry. Dumpling, um, juiced.”

“It smells like a thousand dead crabs just washed up in this car. What the hell is juicing?”

Sigh. There is nothing sexy about this sentence. “Sometimes his anal glands relax and release their liquid. It usually happens when he is either excited or nervous. I’m so sorry. I’ll find a pet store.” I frantically search with my iPhone for something close by.

“Don’t we just need a gas station?”

“It’s better if we can pick up this enzyme stuff.” I check my iPhone. “There’s a Petco just off the next exit.”

We head for the store, and I pick up a bottle of cleaner and a roll of paper towels, and proceed to de-funk RJ’s backseat, grateful that at least he has leather interior. Fabric would have been done for. We get quickly back on the road.

“I gotta say, that is about the nastiest thing I have ever smelled. I feel like it’s in my clothes.”

“I know, it’s just beyond awful. Luckily it doesn’t happen that often.”

“I guess. Is there anything to be done about it?”

“Well, he can go to the vet to have his glands expressed regularly.”

“I’m in. I’ll pay for it. How often? Once a month? Once a week? I don’t care. Whatever the cost, it will be my treat.”

“Aww, honey. You don’t have to do that.”

“If I’m going to live with that dog, I think I do.”

In the past couple of weeks, RJ and I have admitted to each other that we both feel that we have found the person we are supposed to be with, and have started to refer to the life we want to make together as a thing that will happen instead of something that might happen. The biggest issue is that RJ loves his little bungalow, and his lovely neighborhood, and is getting his head around the idea of leaving them both to move into my place. It’s only two and a half miles away, but for RJ it is something of a chasm. He recognizes that the space is an issue, and knows that if his place was as large as mine, I would be happy to live there, but I can’t downsize at this point. He is, as he likes to say, getting his head around it.