Authors: Kate Bishop
“Use the wine,” he laughed.
I looked at the bottle sticking up out of my purse and pulled it out by the neck.
“There ya go. Now just bang it.”
“But it’s a Stag’s Leap.” A selection from Nancy’s wine cellar. I figured it was pretty special.
“Well, excuse me, connoisseur. It won’t break. Go for it.”
I tapped it lightly.
“Am I gonna have to do that for you?” he asked.
“Okay, tough guy, here goes.” I raised the bottle again and gave the door a good thunk.
“Nice job.”
I looked at him, raised an eyebrow, and smiled. The music was turned down, and a voice inside the apartment was getting closer.
“By the way, you’re lookin’ good, Oregon,” Andy said in a low voice.
Before I could respond, the door swung open. There, in a sarong and painted blue, stood Galen.
“Lord Krishna?” Andy asked as they shook hands.
I swiveled my head to look at him. Did he keep the
Bhagavad Gita
in his glove compartment or something?
“Good call, Spicoli.” Galen clapped him on the back. “And you,” he said, turning to me, “are radiant!” He took my hands and stepped back to admire the costume. “Look at this henna. Turn around.”
Obligingly, I did a little catwalk turn and, peeking over my shoulder, caught Galen giving Andy a look that I thought said he approved. I looked away to hide a very tiny smile that I couldn’t suppress.
“And what about you, mister?” Galen crouched and cupped Billy’s face in his hands. “What’s your costume?”
“I hope it’s okay that I brought him. He’s been home alone all day, poor guy. I thought I’d just take my chances and hope nobody was allergic to dogs. I can easily take him home if—”
“Are you kidding? Marco is dying to get a dog.”
“You can borrow Billy any time,” I said, unclipping his leash. He wandered directly toward the kitchen, following the incredible scent of the dinner in progress.
“Well, hel
lo
!” we heard Marco exclaim from the other room.
Galen looked at us and whispered, “See what I mean?”
We walked in to find Marco the Trojan warrior, a red apron over his bare chest, deep in conversation with Billy. He looked up at us and immediately exclaimed, “Madonna and Sean!” Then he stood to shake Andy’s hand before giving me a kiss on each cheek. “Did you two plan this?”
“No,” I said a bit too emphatically.
“Well, you look incredible,” he said to me. “But that wig.” He turned to Andy.
“I have to wear it. Without it, I just look like me.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” Marco asked, nudging me.
Attempting to change the subject, I held out the bottle of wine.
“Here. Thanks for having us. Me. Billy and me.”
“Stag’s Leap, wow.” He admired the label. “This’ll be perfect with our filet. Grass fed and local, of course.” He spoke the last part to Andy, who unzipped his backpack and held out a bag.
“Your tomatoes.”
Marco passed the bag around so we could have a sniff.
“There is nothing like the smell of a freshly picked tomato,” Galen said.
“Takes me right back to childhood,” I said.
All three men looked at me with interest.
“My mom,” I said, glancing at their faces. “She had a garden.”
Galen smiled encouragingly; guess my aura was showing.
“Mine too,” he said. “Except it was a struggle for her. She’d grown up in the Midwest where tomatoes grow like magic beanstalks. When my parents moved here in the sixties, they found out you have to work to make your garden grow. Right?” he asked Andy.
“It’s mostly in the City that growing is so tricky. California is actually great for growing, like up in Napa.” He gestured to the wine Marco was now opening. “But we’ve got chilly summers in San Francisco. And fog. You never know when it’s gonna roll in and steal your sunshine.”
“So how do
you do it?” Galen wanted to know. We took our wineglasses and followed him into the living room.
“Compost. It’s all about amending the soil. Orange peels, coffee grounds, eggshells. You gotta turn that stuff into gold and enrich your soil with it.”
“And that makes up for the lack of sun?” I asked, sipping my wine.
He turned and looked at me. My stomach flipped.
“Just keep your plants healthy ‘til the sun comes back. Then boom! They grow like crazy.” We stared at each other for a second then he smiled. “You love my hair, don’t you?”
“It’s very nice,” I said with a straight face.
“But your gardens are so big. Like half an acre, right? How do you have enough compost?” Marco’s fingertips were grazing Billy’s head, which rested on his knee.
“My kids bring garbage every day and crank it into the compost drums. They love it.”
Andy’s kids again. Debating whether to ask what I really wanted to know, I asked, “So you have more than one garden?”
Andy once shared that he’d started a greenhouse co-op in the Mission. When I’d asked for more details, he replied, “It’s work, but I love it,” and modestly changed the subject by asking about my own family’s greenhouse. Now he was downplaying the extent of his efforts again.
“It’s all rooftops. Wasted real estate. We get cheap rent and lots of open space.”
“Huh,” I replied. Then I braced myself and asked, “So where do they live?”
“Who?”
“Your children?”
All three of them laughed.
“What?” I asked.
Galen leaned forward and said, “Andy is a teacher. His kids are the students that volunteer at the garden. They live all over the Mission.”
“Oooh,” I lifted my chin and nodded slowly, flooded with relief. Again, I could not suppress my smile, but this time it was huge. “Got it.”
Andy put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me to him. I tipped over on the couch, carefully holding my wineglass out in front of me.
“This is one serious girl, in case you guys hadn’t noticed,” he explained.
This time, I didn’t flinch when Andy pulled me toward him. I wasn’t exactly ‘leading,’ but I also wasn’t resisting the direction. I wanted to be close to Andy tonight. His arms felt warm and secure.
We finished the Stag’s Leap before returning to the kitchen to assemble dinner. The space was tiny, and we were all bumping into each other, laughing. Each person had a task: Marco would grill steaks while Andy set the patio table. Galen and I stayed in the kitchen to sauté green beans and slice tomatoes.
“So how are you feeling?” he asked when we were alone.
“Right now? Great,” I answered with casual cheerfulness.
“I mean the leg and everything else that got you here.”
I concentrated on the tomatoes.
“Did Andy tell you? About my situation?”
Galen hesitated then said, “Yes, but only because I asked him. I just wanted to know how you were doing and the extent of the damage.”
Damage.
I kept slicing tomatoes and didn’t say anything. He put his spatula down, turned off the heat, and came over to stand next to me.
“I know it’s hard. I was in a serious relationship that ended a couple of years ago, and I thought I’d never recover. But you’re resilient, Alex. It’s incredible, the way you’ve thrown yourself into creating a new life.” He gave my shoulder a squeeze. “And you look gorgeous.”
I turned to him and smiled.
“I meditated today.”
“I can tell,” he said, and walked back to the stove. “Something’s got you all aglow.”
As if on cue, Andy walked in and asked, “Anything else?”
“Here,” Galen handed him the bowl of beans. “And Alex is working her magic with your tomatoes. You’ll bring them out, honey?” He was laden with the bread and salad.
“Yep, just tell me where to find the Humboldt Fog.” I’d crumble the goat cheese over Marco’s basil, making this an entirely local feast.
“Refrigerator door. Top shelf.” Marco had stepped in to get the tongs. “Speaking of which.” He retrieved another bottle from the rack and stepped back into the living room.
I stood there alone in Galen’s kitchen and looked around. It may have been the wine, or the kind attention of three adorable men, or perhaps the effect of feeling pretty and desirable for the first time since Tripp left. But I could swear, at that moment, that I had never been happier. So I took my time.
Savor this.
Be here now.
***
Dinner was delicious. The filets were tender, the beans were just right, and the tomatoes were perfect. Afterwards, we pushed back from the table and sipped espresso under a canopy of twinkling fairy lights. Andy’s arm was draped across the back of my chair, and we lingered at the table for a long time, listening to stories about Marco’s childhood visits to Italy and Galen’s hippie upbringing in The Haight, San Francisco’s heart of counterculture.
“So you were a wild child, eh?” Andy asked.
“Oh, yeah. I went to a ‘school without walls’ where the kids create their own curriculum, which, don’t get me wrong, has it benefits. But it was way too much freedom for me. My curriculum basically consisted of smoking pot and surfing. I was definitely on the road to ruin. Or severe lack of motivation, anyway,” said Galen.
“What saved you?” I pulled a wool blanket around me, courtesy of Marco.
“Not what. Who.”
“Well who saved you, then?”
“Senior year, I was surfing near Big Sur, doing ‘research,’” he used air quotes, “for a project on Zen because I’d seen a documentary that had all these epic legends talking about the spiritual nature of surfing. Growing up, I’d heard of Esalen and Est and all the other rainstick-dreamcatcher-shaman stuff my parents were into, but it seemed so square, so forced, so old, you know?”
I nodded. I knew exactly what he meant.
“So I decided to go down and do some interviews myself, and that’s when I met Gerry Lopez. He was the most peaceful person I had ever encountered. I wanted what he had. We surfed together every day and he shared that the secret to surfing was
presence
, and that he had practiced yoga for years. And that’s when I discovered yoga for myself, twenty years ago.”
“Wow. So it was Gerry? Who saved you?” I asked.
“No. But he definitely pointed me in the right direction. He gave me the tools to save myself and then introduced me to a teacher who really set me on my path. That summer, I started taking classes right here in San Francisco from the most incredible woman. She was just a few years older than me, but she seemed so
wise
. And she was so healthy that she glowed. It’s no surprise that she’s been so successful—”
I felt my stomach drop once again, but this time, not
in a good way. My mind went fuzzy and I may have broken a sweat, although suddenly I was freezing.
“—still as beautiful today as she was then. You see her picture everywhere.”
Marco couldn’t contain himself. “Lauren Gates. I mean, divine.”
Somehow, I managed to not to fall out of my chair and, by sheer force of will, kept that phenomenal dinner from making a reappearance all over Galen’s charming table. I tried to maintain a neutral expression, although I’m certain I looked like I’d been hit on the head with a very large object.
“Oh, yeah,” Andy said. “I’ve heard of her.”
I reached for my glass.
“So, you . . . Are you friends with her?” I chased my question with a sip of wine.
“Yes, she’s very dear to me,” Galen said.
I choked on my wine and started sputtering. Andy whacked me on the back with the flat of his hand.
“You okay?”
I waved my hand and croaked, “I’m fine, I’m fine,” then drew the blanket tighter around me. I was shivering.
“So, is she still down in Santa Cruz?” Andy asked.
Why is he so interested in Lauren Gates?
“She’s based in Atlanta, but she’s out here a lot doing workshops. Actually, she was visiting last week. Lauren’s the one who helped me in class on Saturday when poor Alex here wrecked her leg.” They all looked at me.
“No kidding?” asked Andy, giving me an elbow. “How ‘bout that?”
Shoot.
Me.
Now.
“Huh,” I managed. How was I going to get out of there?
“I, for one, am definitely going to her workshop in January right here at The Garden. We are
so
lucky.” Marco looked adoringly at Galen.
“It is a pretty special opportunity,” he said to Andy and me. “Alex, even if your leg is still sore, you should consider attending. She is inspiring. Andy, I might drag you too. You’re always up for an adventure.”
“I can barely do a downward dog, but what the hell?” said Andy, sitting back and crossing an ankle over his knee. “Right, Alex? We’re in. Galen’s guru? Let’s do it.”
“Right.” I tried to smile. I really, really did try. But the best I could do was keep my face absolutely frozen, or else I might burst into tears.
“Oh, Andy, being modest as usual,” Galen or Marco chided playfully. At this point, I was barely listening. Somewhere a church bell chimed, and I stood up to go, looking around for Billy.
“Thank you so much,” I said apologetically to my hosts. “Here, Bill. C’mon, buddy.”
Andy jumped to his feet and said, “Wait. You’re leaving?”
“You’re not coming up to Market Street with us?” Marco looked thoroughly confused. “Why? You look so hot!”
“Not tonight. Please don’t get up.” The words were echoing in my head.
Galen walked me inside and asked, “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine. My leg is just bothering me all of a sudden. I think I need to get home.”
Andy appeared behind Galen. “Okay. I’ll walk you home,” he said, clipping Billy’s leash onto his collar. A few hours ago, I would have been thrilled with his offer. But now I just wanted to be alone.
Needed
to be alone.
Lauren?
Lauren, who ruined my life, is ‘dear’ to Galen?
And she’s coming to town? Here?!
She’ll probably seduce Andy, too.
Every last one of my doubts and fears came roaring back at full force. It was terrifying.
“I just need a little space and fresh air. Thank you for a wonderful evening, though,” I said, taking the leash from Andy’s hand and practically running out the door, possibly giving away the fact that my leg was not the problem.