Slim to None (27 page)

"That’s funny, me too," I tell her. Turns out Katie has a Saint Bernard, so she knows big dogs when she sees them. I tell her how Cognac is being patched back together as we speak, and she tells me she’ll say a prayer for him at bedtime tonight and how could I not be charmed by such a delightful little girl.

Funny thing is I’ve never given much thought to children in a practical sense. The idea of children to me has always been featured as this daunting project—some nebulous goal that is so grandiose it’s hard to imagine taking it on voluntarily. Which is perhaps why I’ve shuddered repeatedly at the notion and run for cover each time William has introduced the concept to me. But in practicality it seems that children have all sorts of features of them that can be downright desirable: cute and charming and adorable and, well, tempting. Little Katie, sitting there with her silky blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, her green and blue plaid dress with the smocking on it, her white tights and navy blue Mary Janes. What’s not to like about such a creature? I’m starting to realize that children are far more than little creatures set upon this earth to be victimized by the vagaries of selfish parents. They can be living, breathing little souls, their own thoughts and deeds, their own wants and needs.

Come to think of it, they can be little girls, cooking away to fend off the dark, hiding behind a warm batch of cookies, seeking solace in a loaf of freshly-baked bread. And there’s nothing wrong with that kind of little girl, either. It’s just not how I’d want my little girl to do it. No, I’d want my little girl (or boy) to take pleasure in wrestling in the yard with the family dog, with chasing a butterfly, with sitting in grandpa’s lap reading a story. And maybe, just maybe, these things are possible.

I’m jarred away from my thoughts as George stands, dinging his crystal champagne flute, preparing to speak. His sons are both smoking cigars now, relaxed, sprawled back in their seats, their girlfriends chattering amongst themselves. His daughter Jenna is holding hands with her husband, and his daughter Tamara is smiling and whispering into the ear of a man next to her who is rumored to be her estranged husband, back for the grand re-introduction of her father.

As George stands, everyone begins to clap, but he motions with his hands to stop with the praise. "I can’t thank you all enough for joining Sally and me tonight for this remarkable occasion. I’m sure plenty of you never thought you’d see me back here for our thirty-fifth anniversary. Not the least of whom was me!" Everyone laughs at him and Sally rolls her eyes skyward. "I hate to admit it but there’s a damned good chance I’d have never made it back tonight, in all honesty. To that I owe a great deal to an unexpected friend I met along the way."

George tips his glass my way and I instinctually shrink at the suggestion of eyes focusing on me. Once an attention-shunning critic, always, I guess. "Abbie Jennings happened upon me one cold night in January. When I say cold, I know that everyone here will never understand exactly what I mean. We’re all so used to a reliable furnace that circulates warmth throughout the winter and air conditioner that ensures we never have to break a sweat in the summertime. Even up here, where we rarely need it. But when you are relying upon yourself, out in the elements, cold becomes a very different thing altogether. And sometimes it’s quantified not in temperature but in warmth. Human warmth." He chuckles for a moment, reflecting on something we’ll know not of.

"But there I was, freezing my ass off, really. I’d found a grate, but damn, those things blow up at you and sometimes they get too hot. Not to mention smelly. But it was that or turn into a lump of ice on the sidewalk, so you take what you can get. It was late, and I was trying my best not to rely upon everything I knew I could have relied upon had I really needed to. Yeah, I was avoiding checking in for just one night at the Plaza, as tempting as it was. I wanted to make it on my own, just me against the elements. Prove to myself that I could do it. That I didn’t need anyone. I was tired of being so damned needed by everyone else and I just wanted to walk away from it all. But there it was, nearing midnight probably. And this woman came up to me and handed me a bag with a couple of meals worth of food in it. Didn’t say much, just slipped it into my lap, told me to take care of myself, and walked on."

Everyone’s staring at me and I am feeling awfully embarrassed. God, I hate to be the feature presentation. At least I’m not sucking on baklava, that’s all I have to say.

"The next time Abbie happened upon me, we talked for a few minutes. She asked if I was okay, asked if I needed anything. I thanked her for her kindness. And soon she started seeking me out. A couple of times a week. If it weren’t for a few strange chance encounters, it might have remained just two strangers who make a little connection. But Abbie is a special person, and the next thing I knew, she’d taken it upon herself to help reunite me with all of you."

Everyone starts to clap again and he shushes them. "Please, please, don’t clap for me. I didn’t do anything. I ran away from home. I wasn’t much more than a tough-talking little kid escaping from his parents. It’s Abbie you need to applaud, because Abbie’s motivations were entirely selfless, completely caring, and without a hidden agenda. Abbie Jennings showed me that family really can be so much more than those whose blood you share; rather family extends to those you care about, one way or another."

He raises his glass. "I know I was a royal pain in Sally’s ass for a good long while. I know my kids thought I was half-cocked when I disappeared like I did. But we all learned some lessons from this experience. And instead of my running away being all about just a bad thing, we’ve come full circle now, thanks to Abbie giving me a shove in the right direction, and I’m thrilled to be back home, right where I belong." With that he tips his glass in my direction and everyone raises their glasses and toasts. The delicate tinkling of so many crystal glasses is almost as musical as the voice of sweet little Katie.

Everyone is looking at me, suggesting that I say something but Oh, God, I am not one to ever—make that ever—say something about myself. But then William pushes me up to standing and I’m here with eighty eyeballs on me and little Katie thinks I will have some words of wisdom so nothing like being on the spot.

I clear my voice. "Well, George might like to think I’ve taught him something about family, but the crazy thing is he’s taught me more about family than a whole lifetime of experiences has." Everyone starts to murmur a little bit.

"Yeah, I know, it’s crazy to think that some nut job homeless guy—" I tip my flute toward him and we all laugh, "—could provide any insight for me, but he has. I guess in some bizarre way we’ve tutored each other without even knowing it. I’ve been taking my lessons as they come. But I can’t look around this room without realizing how much family matters. Whether they come to you late in life, or have stuck with you through your insanity." I tip my head to Sally at that comment.

"Family can be ugly. Family can be messy. Family can be beautiful. Family can be insufferable. But you know what? I’ve had my share of meals over the years—you might be able to tell—" I rub my stomach and people chuckle a little nervously.

"So I know from a good meal. Sometimes you have a meal that looks so beautiful it’s almost untouchable. Yet it doesn’t end up tasting that great. And then sometimes you have a meal that is slopped together in chipped bowls and passed from person to person, but how it looks is irrelevant because what matters is how it tastes. I’m starting to realize I had this vision of family that was supposed to be a perfect meal, plated just right, no sauce spilled on the side, appearances perfect. I didn’t understand that it’s okay to have a messy family, one that might look pretty bad from the outside, but once you slap it all together, it’s not so bad. I lost sight of the truth of it. I’ve had my family alongside me all this time—" I point to William, whose damp eyes reflect the candlelight. "I’ve had the family, and the ability to create and sustain a family. I was just so afraid I couldn’t create that perfect meal, but I’m coming to realize I don’t have to. I just didn’t get it. Until now. And I have to thank all of you for bringing home that simple truth to me." Out of words, I raise my glass. "Salut," I say, and we all toast again.

I sit down and William wraps his arm around me, and finally, like rainwater navigating a leaky roof, the pressure of a wealth of unspent tears are seeking the path of least resistance, coursing their way toward my vulnerable eyes. I fight the temptation—the last thing I want to do is cry in front of everyone—but what the hell, it’s family right?

The rest of the dinner flies by, a whirl of conversation and many more toasts and meeting everyone at the party and I have to say I’m really glad I don’t have to wash the dishes. When Sally said this would be a night to remember, she was so very right.

Steep in Bliss and Savor

More prosecco, babe?" William pulls the bottle from wine cooler and begins to refill our glasses. I hold my hand over mine. "I know the doctor told us a little champagne won’t hurt the baby, but my half glass was plenty, thanks."

I pat my burgeoning belly for emphasis. For once an expanding waistline is a portent for good in my life and I’m nothing but elated about it.

Despite the slight autumn chill in the air, I feel warm all over, gazing out to the sapphire waters of the Tyrrhenian Sea spread out before us like a willing mistress offering herself up to her lover. My stomach is full, having just shared a Caprese salad, grilled swordfish for a secondi, and biscotti di mandorle with my cappucchino. And getting fuller, with our much-anticipated added ingredient cooking inside of me right now.

Life is good. Better than good. Life is darn near perfect. I know my poochie and my kittie are safe at home, cared for by my sister Jane, who’s enjoying a stint at our place while caring for our four-legged children. When we return from our extended tour of Italy, we’re planning to decamp for a while to the countryside. We’re renting out the brownstone and will live in a cottage not far from George and Sally, in fact. Sally’s hooked me up with a bunch of catering jobs which will keep me busy until I will be ready to be off my feet when the baby comes along.

Mortie begged and begged for me to return to the Sentinel, but I realized I just didn’t need it. Instead I’m keeping my column, and it’s a little less about dieting and more about food and traveling, called
Life in the Slow Lane
. And I’m thinking of writing a diet book. I’ll call it the
Goombah Diet: Shut Your Mouth
. Surely there’s a market for it. And believe me, I know from diets.

I’m glad I’ve lost a decent amount of weight along the way. I suppose I can thank Mortie, peripherally, for that. I hate that it ultimately took nearly losing my dog and my husband for it to really happen. But at least it finally did. I’ll never be rail thin, but at least I’m back in the low double-digits, size-wise. Not too shabby.

It’s all a little scary, departing from what I have known so intimately, but it’s also reassuring. Forever fluent in food, it’s been the language of my life. In fact I’m practically a food linguist. So I’m learning all over again, trying on other languages that might be equally pleasurable, and maybe a little less physically taxing. Which brings us back to Italy, where the language of love is omnipresent, and this is a language with which I’ve become reacquainted, at last.