Nuts
Page 35
“But you didn’t grow up here, I would remember that,” I said, leaning back in my chair and allowing Leo to pour me another glass of wine. I wasn’t tipsy yet, but the edges of the room were becoming juuust the tiniest bit fuzzy.
“Why would you remember that?” he asked, finishing off the bottle with his own pour.
“Are you kidding? When the big house got opened up again, people knew. It’s like the queen: when the flag is there, she’s in the house.”
“The Maxwells. That’s really how people see us, don’t they? The name?” he sighed, his eyes looking tired as he swallowed his wine.
“Well, it’s a bit of an institution, you have to admit.” I traced the lace in the tablecloth. “I always wondered if you guys were the coffee people too.”
“Very distantly related. We’re just the bankers. Well, they’re the bankers. I’m not involved in the family business anymore,” he said, watching my fingertips on the table. “You were born and raised here, right? Why’d you leave?” he asked, the change of topic coming so swiftly I had to shake my head. “Other than wanting brighter lights and a bigger city.”
“Uh, yeah. Born here, raised here, Bailey Falls through and through. I left right after I graduated because I wanted to add something else to the Bailey Falls. I knew what would happen if I stayed here.”
“What were you so sure was going to happen?”
“It was pretty much written into the town law books that I’d inherit the diner and run it for the rest of my life. I’d like to actually have a life first.”
“You didn’t want the diner?”
“Do you have any idea how hard it is to try on a new hat, when everyone in your family assumes you want to wear the same one they’re all wearing?” I asked, feeling some of the old weight I used to carry around, taking care of everything including my mother, beginning to pile back on.
He grimaced. “Yeah. There’s a bank in Manhattan the size of a city block with my last name on it.”
It was quiet except for the plink plunk of the faucet dripping. Of course he knew what I was talking about. There was more to that story, but he seemed content to sit in the quiet, and I wasn’t about to push him.
I sipped my wine, then drained it. “So yeah, away I went to culinary school in California.”
He seemed glad to turn the conversation back to me. “Even with the CIA right up the road?”
“The Culinary Institute of America is an amazing school—one of the best. But it was here, and I wanted to be there.”
“California specifically?” he asked.
“Yes and no. I was intrigued by the West Coast because it was on the other side of the world, kind of. And I really liked being out there—liked the weather, the people, especially in Santa Barbara. But I think mostly it was because it was not here.”
“But it’s so great here,” he said, looking puzzled. “It seems like the perfect place to grow up.”
“Spoken like someone who’s actually gotten to live a little,” I said with a chuckle. “Where did you grow up?”
“Manhattan, mostly. I was born there, went to school there through eighth grade, then I went away.”
“To prep school?”
He nodded ruefully, rolling his eyes a bit.
“Let me guess, Andover?”
“Exeter.”
“Ooooo, you rowed one of those boats, didn’t you!”
“You mean crew?”
“Crew! Yes!”
“I did,” he replied, his face reflecting confusion and delight at my obvious enjoyment. But before I had a chance to ask him about anything else, he swung the subject back to me. “So, was there a reason you wanted out of here so bad?”
“Let’s just say my mother had a lot of boyfriends, and leave it at that.”
He looked a bit horrified. “Wait, you mean— did they—”
“No, nothing like you’re imagining! It was just . . . my mother believes in love at first sight.”
“Well, that’s . . . romantic?”
“It’s exhausting,” I said, holding my head in my hands and peeking at him through my fingers. “It meant every new guy was the one and only, her soul mate, her be all and end all. And if, in the middle of this new exciting romance, she forgot to pay the electric bill and the lights got shut off by the power company, true love would conquer all, right?”
“True love versus electricity?”
“Well, that only happened once. But there was always stuff like that. Missing a school play because Bob had a tractor pull, or no cupcakes to bring to school on my birthday because Chuck ate them all at midnight. But the worst was the break-ups. She met her Prince Charming over and over again, and when Prince Charming inevitably left, there was the aftermath. She’d be emotionally decimated. And yet, ready to go when the next guy in shiny armor showed up.”
“Sounds like she’s what they call a—”
“Crazy person?”
“I was going to say hopeless romantic,” he said, arching an eyebrow at me. “So I take it that gene wasn’t passed down to you?”
“Not so much,” I answered, shaking my head. “Love is messy, painful, and emotionally draining. It hardly seems worth it.” He was studying me carefully: time to lighten things up a bit. “But blah blah blah, boring boring boring. Let’s talk about crew some more, because now I’m imagining you on a boat without a shirt on, and hello, I’m enjoying that image!”
“Why would you remember that?” he asked, finishing off the bottle with his own pour.
“Are you kidding? When the big house got opened up again, people knew. It’s like the queen: when the flag is there, she’s in the house.”
“The Maxwells. That’s really how people see us, don’t they? The name?” he sighed, his eyes looking tired as he swallowed his wine.
“Well, it’s a bit of an institution, you have to admit.” I traced the lace in the tablecloth. “I always wondered if you guys were the coffee people too.”
“Very distantly related. We’re just the bankers. Well, they’re the bankers. I’m not involved in the family business anymore,” he said, watching my fingertips on the table. “You were born and raised here, right? Why’d you leave?” he asked, the change of topic coming so swiftly I had to shake my head. “Other than wanting brighter lights and a bigger city.”
“Uh, yeah. Born here, raised here, Bailey Falls through and through. I left right after I graduated because I wanted to add something else to the Bailey Falls. I knew what would happen if I stayed here.”
“What were you so sure was going to happen?”
“It was pretty much written into the town law books that I’d inherit the diner and run it for the rest of my life. I’d like to actually have a life first.”
“You didn’t want the diner?”
“Do you have any idea how hard it is to try on a new hat, when everyone in your family assumes you want to wear the same one they’re all wearing?” I asked, feeling some of the old weight I used to carry around, taking care of everything including my mother, beginning to pile back on.
He grimaced. “Yeah. There’s a bank in Manhattan the size of a city block with my last name on it.”
It was quiet except for the plink plunk of the faucet dripping. Of course he knew what I was talking about. There was more to that story, but he seemed content to sit in the quiet, and I wasn’t about to push him.
I sipped my wine, then drained it. “So yeah, away I went to culinary school in California.”
He seemed glad to turn the conversation back to me. “Even with the CIA right up the road?”
“The Culinary Institute of America is an amazing school—one of the best. But it was here, and I wanted to be there.”
“California specifically?” he asked.
“Yes and no. I was intrigued by the West Coast because it was on the other side of the world, kind of. And I really liked being out there—liked the weather, the people, especially in Santa Barbara. But I think mostly it was because it was not here.”
“But it’s so great here,” he said, looking puzzled. “It seems like the perfect place to grow up.”
“Spoken like someone who’s actually gotten to live a little,” I said with a chuckle. “Where did you grow up?”
“Manhattan, mostly. I was born there, went to school there through eighth grade, then I went away.”
“To prep school?”
He nodded ruefully, rolling his eyes a bit.
“Let me guess, Andover?”
“Exeter.”
“Ooooo, you rowed one of those boats, didn’t you!”
“You mean crew?”
“Crew! Yes!”
“I did,” he replied, his face reflecting confusion and delight at my obvious enjoyment. But before I had a chance to ask him about anything else, he swung the subject back to me. “So, was there a reason you wanted out of here so bad?”
“Let’s just say my mother had a lot of boyfriends, and leave it at that.”
He looked a bit horrified. “Wait, you mean— did they—”
“No, nothing like you’re imagining! It was just . . . my mother believes in love at first sight.”
“Well, that’s . . . romantic?”
“It’s exhausting,” I said, holding my head in my hands and peeking at him through my fingers. “It meant every new guy was the one and only, her soul mate, her be all and end all. And if, in the middle of this new exciting romance, she forgot to pay the electric bill and the lights got shut off by the power company, true love would conquer all, right?”
“True love versus electricity?”
“Well, that only happened once. But there was always stuff like that. Missing a school play because Bob had a tractor pull, or no cupcakes to bring to school on my birthday because Chuck ate them all at midnight. But the worst was the break-ups. She met her Prince Charming over and over again, and when Prince Charming inevitably left, there was the aftermath. She’d be emotionally decimated. And yet, ready to go when the next guy in shiny armor showed up.”
“Sounds like she’s what they call a—”
“Crazy person?”
“I was going to say hopeless romantic,” he said, arching an eyebrow at me. “So I take it that gene wasn’t passed down to you?”
“Not so much,” I answered, shaking my head. “Love is messy, painful, and emotionally draining. It hardly seems worth it.” He was studying me carefully: time to lighten things up a bit. “But blah blah blah, boring boring boring. Let’s talk about crew some more, because now I’m imagining you on a boat without a shirt on, and hello, I’m enjoying that image!”
