Good Enough to Eat (22 page)

He heads for the kitchen and I get up off the couch and go to the bathroom. I pee, wash my face, brush my teeth. I look awful. My skin is pasty and gray. My hair is matted with sweat and sleep, my eyes dull. I head back to the living room, where Nate has brought me a large glass of ice water, and another cup of hot tea. I drain the water in one draught, feeling the coolness run down my throat and settle in my belly.

“What time is it?”

“Nearly five.”

“Good lord, I’ve been asleep all day! You must have been bored out of your skull.”

“Nah. Not at all. I did the whole crossword, read my book, did some work, took a little snooze myself. It’s been a very peaceful day. Plus you’re very cute when you sleep.”

“You are a very nice liar.”

He laughs. “Hungry?”

I check in with myself. “Starving, actually.”

“Good. I’ll whip something up. Sit tight.”

He gets up, and I reach for one of the magazines he brought, and start flipping through it, shocked at how purely enjoyable it is to read gossip about famous people, even if most of the people on the pages are young enough to be my children, and I have no idea who they are or why they are famous. Whatever
High School Musical
is, it must be very popular. Ditto something called
The Hills
.

I’m comparing snippy comments about the “What Were They Thinking” outfits on the back page, when Nate reappears with the tray. This time it’s cream of tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. I can’t remember the last time I had this, but I can’t think of anything in the world that I would be as happy to see as this simple meal.

“Campbell’s?” I ask him.

“Yep.”

I pick up a triangular half of the sandwich, seeing the perfectly golden brown exterior, the way the cheese oozes, just short of dripping. “Kraft?”

“On Wonder bread.”

“I lub you bery, bery much.”

“I love you back. Eat your soup.”

I dunk the sandwich in the soup, slurp my spoon, lick the crumbs off my fingers, scrape the last bits of plastic-y cheese off the plate.

“Goodness, I’m in love with a Hoover!”

I look up, having totally abandoned myself to the joy of this childhood favorite, forgetting that Nate was even in the room. “Sorry,” I say, sheepish.

“Don’t be! Appetite is a good sign. I believe you will mend. So much for starving a cold.”

“Thank you for taking such good care of me.”

“You’re welcome. Now, how do we feel about sherbet?”

“Perfect.”

“Orange or lime?”

“Orange.”

“I’ll fetch it.”

Nate clears my tray, and brings two bowls of sherbet, and we cuddle up on the couch. Kai and Nadia both call to check in, and insist on my taking tomorrow off as well to rest up. Nate raids my DVD collection, and we end up watching
Capricorn One
, a very supercheesy seventies sci-fi extravaganza, that makes us both weep with laughter at the predictable dialogue, obvious special effects, and brilliant casting of Telly Savalas as a crop duster of all things. Nate runs me a hot bath, telling me that it will help calm me down before sleep. Despite my continued protests, he stays, holding me close, not caring that my fever makes me sweat on him, and for all my sense of personal empowerment, I’m very grateful to give over the care of myself to him.

After another day of rest, this one spent mostly playing Scrabble with Nate, who continued to cook me the invalid food of my childhood: Cream of Wheat with brown sugar, SpaghettiOs with crumbled Ritz Crackers on top, ginger ale with a scoop of lime sherbet in it, little Jell-O cups. For dinner we ordered in Japanese, huge bowls of broth and slippery noodles with tender slices of pure white chicken. We spent another night spooned together in my big soft bed, and in the morning, I suddenly found that I was feeling better. Much better. Better enough to adequately show Nate how grateful I was for his care of me.

We shower together, soaping each other with mounds of suds, Nate washing my hair, standing behind me so that I can half-lean into his body, giving myself over to the feeling of his strong hands on my scalp. Clean and pink, we dress companionably, and I call Kai, letting him know that I will be able to make it in to the store today, that if he can get things started, I’ll be in within an hour or so.

“Glad to have you back in the world, beautiful.”

“Glad to be back in the world. You can tend to my health anytime.”

“And so I shall. Do you have time for breakfast, or do you need to get to the store right away?”

“I have time for some quick breakfast here. You can have toast and fruit, and I can probably whip up some eggs.”

“Toast and fruit is fine. I have a lunch meeting at Hugo’s with some of those money guys who think you should eat a side of beef at lunchtime.”

“Fun. Toast and fruit coming up.”

I put on the kettle, and set up the coffee press for Nate and my little teapot for myself. We sit at my tiny little table.

“Is Nadia coming back tonight?”

“Yeah. I sent her a text message giving her the day off and telling her that it should be safe to come home.”

“Do you want her to come home?”

“Of course! I mean, you know, as much as I want anyone living with me who isn’t a romantic partner. She’s generally a pretty good roommate. And she is fun.”

“But if you had your druthers . . . you’d not have her here.”

“Well, you know me; obviously in a perfect world I wouldn’t need anyone here.”

“Do you really need her? I mean, I know that it is a little breathing room financially, but it isn’t a windfall. You would certainly be solvent without it. . . .”

“Nate, I get the impression that you are trying to get me to ask her to leave. Any particular reason?” His tone worries me, the way he is pressing.

He smiles. “Of course not. I just want to remind you that you took her in as a temporary measure. And that you are the one in charge of when that temporaryness is done. If she and that weirdo are doing this well, maybe all she needs is a little push to move in with him. . . .”

“I don’t want to push her to move in with him so soon just because I would prefer to be alone, Nate. She’s a troubled girl, she needs some independence, and she’s been nothing but great to me and terrific for the business.”

“Hey, I didn’t mean to get you all riled up, honey. Forget I said anything. I should never speak without having all the information.” He gets up to clear my plate, and I wonder exactly what information he is referring to.

 

 

“Mel, I was wondering what you were doing on Monday night?” Delia asks, bringing me platters for getting the food ready for the case.

I think for a second. “I don’t really have anything, I was probably going to see Nathan, why?”

“We’re having a party at the shelter, one of the women who’s been there for almost a year is moving out. She got a job and saved enough to get her own place for her and her kids, and they’ve been a really great family, so we wanted to make them a small party, and they suggested that we use it as an excuse to invite the people who are working with us to come see the facility and meet the other women. I’m doing the cooking.”

“Oh, D, I’d be thrilled to come! Thank you for inviting me. Is there anything I can bring or do?”

“Well, I was wondering if I could use the kitchen here for some of the prep? The kitchen over there is fine for getting dinner on the table for the residents, but it will be easier to do some stuff here and bring it over.”

“Of course! Would you like me to sous chef for you?”

Delia turns to look at me. “You’d really want to do that?”

“Are you kidding? I plan on stealing all your secrets!”

She smiles at me. “That would be wonderful.”

“Let’s talk later, you can fill me in on the menu and what we need to do. It’s possible we can get some stuff prepped over the weekend so that Monday isn’t so crazy.”

“That sounds wonderful. Thanks, Mel.”

“Of course!”

Kai flies in from the front at his usual breakneck pace. “Delectable, Teensie, did you see what happened next door?”

We’re in a strip along Lincoln Avenue that has a series of small buildings, most of which have storefront space on the main level and either storage, office space, or living space above. We have the corner space, and immediately to the north of us is a small antiques store. We just have the one level, but next door, while a smaller floor plan, has an apartment upstairs. The owner of the store, a cantankerous gent named Joe, came in once the week we opened, made some denigrating comments about the food, and never came back.

“What happened next door?” Delia asks.

“There is a sign up saying everything must go, the place is for sale!”

“Wow. That’s wild!” I can’t really believe it; I think Joe has been running his little ramshackle shop for probably forty years.

“I wonder what will go in there?” Delia says.

“Let’s all pray for something that will drive in some business! Maybe an exercise equipment store, or fitness clothing . . .” It would be nice to have something else in the block that would attract the kind of clientele that might want to shop here as well.

“Let’s pray for someone nice to work next to for a change,” Kai mutters.

We all laugh, thinking about Joe’s pinched face, his rude behavior, the way he refuses to look at any of us when we walk by his windows.

“What’s so funny?” Nadia enters the kitchen, carrying a large folder.

“We’re just talking about Joe’s place next door being up for sale.”

“Oh. Wow. I wonder what will go in there?” She tilts her head in the direction of Joe’s store.

“That’s what we are all wondering,” Kai says.

“So,” I say, as Nadia hands me the folder, “how about a quick company meeting?”

“What’s up, bosslady?” Kai asks, perching his tiny butt on a corner of the counter.

“Well, Nadia has a great idea for the business, and has been doing some research for me, and I think we have determined that it is something we might be able to take on, provided everyone is on board.”

Nadia blushes, and Delia sits down on a handy stool.

I keep going. “We all know about the trend for food delivery services; people are too busy to cook for themselves, and are having all of their meals delivered, both for convenience and also for being able to really control portions and fat. Most people are doing it for weight loss, but some are also doing it purely for the ease of not having to think about it. Places like Sacramento Sloane charge an arm and a leg for food that may be healthy, but isn’t particularly good.”

“You know she killed Janey’s mom,” Kai says, and Nadia and I chuckle.

“Yes, we are aware of the unfortunate coincidence. But aside from being a deadly weapon, her food is simply not particularly tasty. And in many ways, I think that it sets people up for failure because if you love food and the food you are eating for your health isn’t delicious, eventually you are going to fall right off that wagon, and binge on things that you do want to eat. But our whole mission here is to make food that is good for your body and good for your soul. Craveworthy. So Nadia has looked into how many other services there are available in Chicago, and what their prices look like, and I think that there is room for us to get into the fray. So I’m thinking about adding Delivery by Design to our business, essentially packing up meals out of the foods we make here in the store and delivering it to people.”

Delia nods her head, but says nothing. Kai runs his hand through his spiky hair.

“So really, we would just be making more of what we already make and packing it up to be portable?” he asks.

“Essentially,” I say. “We’ll need to add some breakfast items, but none of that is terribly complicated. We already do the Morning Energy Muffins and the homemade granola and plenty of different fruit salads. And Nadia has come up with the great idea of allowing customers to always choose a ‘purse option’ substitute for any of the meals, in case clients know on a particular day that they will be traveling, or not near a microwave, or having to eat in the car or something. Protein bars, cheese chunks and veggies, muffins and the like. I’ve talked with Carey about writing up little articles and things that we can pack in with the meals, little bits of relevant info, success tips, inspirational writings and the like.”