How silly of me to forget the rules of being second. (And on these weekends, of being third or fourth.) It’s been a while since I felt that sense of insignificance, and I almost forgot how hideous it is. When I do hear from him, on his way back to D.C. at the end of the long weekend, he tries to explain something about a dead phone battery, a bad cold, and sheer mental agony as a result of missing me so much.
Right
. None of it makes a difference. Based on my behavior more than his, I finally know what to do.
When it’s time to “check out” of the El Royale and fly to Washington, I wake up early to buy Paisley a chocolate-covered doughnut with rainbow sprinkles. I leave it outside her bedroom door with a tulip and a note to open only after we say good-bye. She’s driving me to the airport in six hours. I grab Dara’s bike and ride a few miles to Runyon Canyon, locking it at the foot of the mountain. On my way up, I listen to my music, working up a good sweat, and when I reach the highest point, I sit on a rock quietly, surrounded by just a couple of little birds and the bluest sky.
I think of life and death, and heaven and earth, and the lightness of Shelley against the darkness of Paisley, and how I suppose I’m somewhere in between. But no matter how enlightened, or accepting, or attuned to life’s peaks and valleys I
think I might be, I can’t be with someone who hurts me. I won’t be with someone who hurts me.
On the way to the airport, along the Pacific Coast Highway, Paisley and I come back to our favorite conversation: Did Christopher Wagner stick us together as some sort of mutual awakening? Did he want me to step away from my boo-hoo breakup and get a glimpse of life’s real sorrow? Did he hope that Paisley could be ever so slightly distracted from her terrible pain with a walking, talking, and cooking episode of
Sex and the City
? As we get closer to the airport, I tell her about “the trick.” She likes it. So when she pulls up to my stop, I kiss her cheek for as long as possible and whisper in her ear, “See ya tomorrow.”
Under normal circumstances, I would have cried my eyes out the minute Paisley drove away. But today, my focus is on putting one foot in front of the other. After I go through security, I drift into a gift shop to buy a straw hat. My face is broken out again from the sleeplessness and stress of the past few nights. I buy a coffee and drink it black because I can’t find the inspiration to add milk and sugar. I fly the five hours across the country, staring out the window the whole time.
He is waiting for me outside the airport looking every bit the man I dreamed I’d raise a family, grow old, and die with. We kiss long and hard and it has never been so unnatural to keep my heart so cold. Driving home, he says that he’s cleaned the house, rented us movies, and stocked the fridge; that he wants to make me chocolate chip pancakes while I take my bath. My head pounds as I fight against all the waves of chemistry and connection. When we are good, transient as it is, there is no broken glass.
In all of our fighting and screaming, Chef swore that he’d never break up with me; that if we parted ways, it would only
be because I gave up. And by the end of the night, he will have been right.
I will announce that I’m leaving for good. He will get sick all over the bathroom floor. And the next morning, I will pack the car, drive to New York, and move in with my parents.
But first, he prepares the pancake batter, while I slowly remove my ring in the tub.
Easy, Asian-Inspired Fish
SERVES 4
When Paisley entered my life, she didn’t have much of an appetite. We drank many of our meals, but we loved cooking for each other, too. One day I told her that even though I loved eating fish, I didn’t have much practice cooking it, and even the act of buying fish freaked me out. The next day, we went to the fishmonger at the West Hollywood farmers’ market, and at the El Royale, she made us a magnificent mahimahi, as I carefully watched. That night we ate on our rooftop, overlooking all of Los Angeles during a beautiful, almost spiritual sunset. She served the fish with steamed vegetables and naturally, a few glasses of white
.
1 cup panko bread crumbs
2 tablespoons wasabi paste
4 tablespoons mustard powder
½ teaspoon ground ginger
1 teaspoon lime zest (from 1 lime)
4 tablespoons canola oil, plus more if needed
Salt and black pepper to taste
Vegetable oil spray
4 fish fillets (cod, tilapia, mahimahi, or salmon)
¼ cup hoisin sauce
Preheat the oven to 375°F.
Combine the bread crumbs, wasabi, mustard powder, ginger, and lime zest in a medium bowl. Mix until everything is well incorporated. Drizzle in the canola oil and mix again. The crumbs should just barely hold together when squeezed. (Use more oil as necessary.) Season the crumbs to taste with salt and pepper.
Coat a cookie sheet with vegetable oil spray and lay down the fish fillets, allowing space between them so they cook evenly.
Divide the hoisin sauce among the tops of the fish fillets and
smooth out for an even, light coating. Top each fillet with the bread-crumb mixture, covering the tops entirely and gently patting it down.
Bake the fillets in the oven for about 15 minutes, or until the center of the fish reaches 145°F. The fish should flake when poked with a fork.
Serve immediately.
Unbridled Chicken Salad
SERVES 4 AS A MAIN, 6 AS A SIDE
I’ve had a lot of ups and downs with mayonnaise, but I still avoid it out of habit. So, when Paisley and I found this mayo-less chicken salad, we had to run with it. All the way to the roof! The girls at my nonwedding devoured it. So did Moses, the doorman at the El Royale, when we brought him a big bowl. This recipe is adapted from Amanda Hesser’s on
Food52.com
, and it’s outstanding
.
¼ cup thinly sliced red onion
Salt
4 cups cubed roasted chicken (homemade or store-bought)
3 tablespoons roasted red peppers, thinly sliced
1 cup marinated artichoke hearts, drained thoroughly
¼ cup roughly chopped smoked almonds
1 tablespoon whole-grain mustard, plus more to taste
1 tablespoon sherry vinegar
2 teaspoons chopped fresh thyme
¼ cup extra-virgin olive oil
Freshly ground black pepper
Juice of 1 lemon (2 to 3 tablespoons), or to taste
In a medium bowl, sprinkle the onion with salt and toss to coat. Let sit for 15 minutes, then gently pat it down with a paper towel to drain any liquid. In a large bowl, toss together the onion, chicken, peppers, artichoke hearts, and almonds.
In a small bowl, whisk together the mustard and vinegar, and add the thyme. Gradually whisk in the oil. Season with salt and pepper.
Pour the dressing over the chicken mixture and fold to incorporate. Add lemon juice to taste, starting with half of the juice and adding more if desired. Let sit for 15 minutes.
Taste and adjust the seasonings with salt, pepper, and more lemon juice if needed. Serve.
Cherry Crumble for Those Who Crumble Too Easily
SERVES 6
I have made pies that turn into cobblers, and cobblers that turn into clafoutis, and clafoutis that turn into custard, but this recipe is a full-blown crumble (in my eyes, at least). Cherries are one of my favorite things in life, as is my famous auntie Lizzie, for whom I made this. The crumble is delicious served with vanilla ice cream
.
Filling
6 cups tart red cherries, pitted
1¼ cups granulated sugar
4 teaspoons cornstarch
Topping
1 cup all-purpose flour
¼ cup granulated sugar
2 tablespoons packed light brown sugar
1 teaspoon baking powder
½ teaspoon cinnamon
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 large egg, beaten
3 tablespoons whole milk