Month of Sundays (18 page)

“Mine, too, but my partner loves it. I might have to resort to eating bag lunches for the foreseeable future, but I have to give her what she wants.”

“Is she here?”

“She’s in the little girls’ room.” The woman dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “She’s eight months along, so the bathroom is practically her home away from home.”

“Understood.” Griffin raised her glass. “Congratulations, by the way.”

“Thank you.” The woman tapped a well-manicured nail against her lips. “You look awfully familiar. Have we met?”

“Perhaps you’ve eaten in my restaurant. I’m the head chef at Match.”

The woman gasped. “You’re Griffin Sutton?
The
Griffin Sutton? I can’t believe it. My partner and I have read all the articles about you, but we’re on your restaurant’s notorious waiting list. Ah, there she is now.” A woman who was obviously expecting slowly made her way toward them. “Honey, this is Griffin Sutton.”

The second woman’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Christine Schultz,” she said as she pumped Griffin’s hand. “It’s an honor to meet you. I’m glad Isa and I ran into you here because it’ll be months before we have the pleasure of experiencing your food.”

“I’ll talk to the bookers and see what I can do.” Griffin turned to the first woman. “I’m afraid I didn’t get your name.”

“It’s Isabel. Isabel Fischer.” She shook Griffin’s hand before protectively resting hers in the small of Christine’s back.

Griffin wondered how many Isabel Fischers there were in New York. Dozens? Hundreds? She only needed two. That would guarantee this Isabel Fischer wasn’t the one whose mistakes she had been warned not to repeat.

“This might seem like an unusual question, but do you know—”

“Rachel?” Isabel’s voice rose in disbelief.

Griffin turned to follow Isabel’s line of sight. Rachel stood at the top of the stairs. Her face was as white as the knuckles of the hands with which she gripped the stainless steel railings. Her wide eyes were focused on Christine’s stomach.

Rachel couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Isabel and Christine. Here. Together. Deliriously happy. And with a baby on the way.

How could this be? Isabel had been adamantly opposed to starting a family. She had said over and over again she didn’t want kids. Like so many other things Isabel had told her, that was a lie. Isabel obviously wanted children. Just not with her.

Rachel flinched when an old wound she thought had finally begun to heal ripped open. Her knees nearly buckled after the pain set in.

“Rachel.” Isabel stepped toward her. “We need to talk.”

Rachel wanted to run. She wanted to curl up on her couch and stay there for the next month. But she couldn’t run from this. Not again.

“I know just the place.”

The instant she walked into one of her old haunts, Rachel was assaulted by the smell of cold grease and hot coffee. Or was it the other way around? She’d had it both ways. Neither was especially memorable. Determined not to take any chances this time, she planned on ordering tea.

Isabel headed straight for their old table. The booth in the back by the window. It was cozy, comfortable, and all theirs. At least it used to be for a few hours every Sunday morning while they read the paper and stuffed themselves with thick slices of bacon and fluffy Belgian waffles drowning in butter and maple syrup while the other diners nursed hangovers from the night before or had a quick bite to eat before they made their way to church.

The diner was a short walk from their old apartment. The one Isabel and Christine currently shared. Rachel and Isabel had passed the building on their way to the restaurant. When she had spotted it, Rachel hadn’t felt any of the expected nostalgia. Instead, she felt curiously empty.

Isabel slid into her side of the booth and perched her glasses on the top of her head. She hadn’t changed a bit in the many months since Rachel had seen her. In her black sweater, black pants, black boots, and cutting-edge designer eyewear, she was all New York chic.

The waiter took their drink orders. After he returned to the table, Rachel silently sipped her Earl Grey. The cab ride from Tribeca had been decidedly icy. Rachel had sat on one side of the backseat, Isabel on the other. A vast divide had yawned between them. Griffin and Christine had each headed home, allowing Rachel and Isabel all the time they needed to resolve the unanswered questions that lingered between them.

“Aren’t you going to say something?” Isabel asked. “I know today must have come as a terrible shock to you.”

“A shock? I feel like I’ve been blindsided.”

“Chris has always wanted kids,” Isabel added in a whisper.

“So have I. You were the one who didn’t. At least, that’s what you told me.”

Isabel winced. “So I did.” She stared into the depths of her coffee mug. “Why did I expect you to make this easy for me?”

Rachel’s temper flared. “You mean like you did? With no warning and barely an explanation, you sat me down and told me you were walking out on an eight-year relationship. If you think that was easy for me, please allow me to correct your mistake. Don’t beat around the bush, Isabel. Just tell me why. Why wasn’t I enough for you? What did I do wrong?”

“You didn’t trust me.”

“With good reason, don’t you think?”

“What went wrong in our relationship wasn’t Christine’s fault so let’s leave her out of this. Even before I met her, you were constantly accusing me of being interested in other women. I got tired of dealing with your insecurity.”

“Are you saying it’s my fault you cheated on me? I didn’t push you into Christine’s arms. I didn’t twist your arm and force you to sleep with her. You did it on your own and, by your own admission, you did it willingly.”

Isabel slowly blew out a breath. “I didn’t come here to assign blame, but I’ll gladly take it if you want me to. Yes, I was wrong for what I did. I should have ended one relationship before I began another, but it doesn’t change the fact that you and I weren’t happy and hadn’t been for a while.”

“I offered to sign us up for couples therapy. You refused.”

“Because seeing a professional wouldn’t have done any good. We were broken and there wasn’t anything a therapist could do or say to make it better. I did what you couldn’t. I ended something that wasn’t working. Yes, I went about it the wrong way, but it was the right thing to do.”

Isabel’s voice was gentle, but listening to her speak was like being subjected to the Chinese Water Torture. Each word brought increasing pain. But with the pain came clarity.

“We tried to make it work, but we weren’t right for each other,” she said more to herself than Isabel. “I have to stop holding on to what I think we could have been and accept what we were: two people who loved each other but weren’t meant to be.”

“Yes,” Isabel said with the fervor of a Baptist preacher. “Put me in the past and embrace your future. It’s time.”

She reached across the table and squeezed Rachel’s hand. Rachel returned the pressure. She had directed so much negative energy toward Isabel for the past year she had almost forgotten how to stop. But it was time she tried. She had to. For both their sakes.

“So you’re having a baby.”

Isabel flashed a grateful smile. “Actually, Christine’s the one who’s doing all the hard work.” Her voice softened. “I know how much you wanted to be a mother, but having a baby wouldn’t have solved our problems. It would have made them worse. I wasn’t ready to be a parent when I was with you. I was too focused on my career. My only goal was reaching the corner office and staying there as long as I could. Once I got there, I realized the view wasn’t any better than the one I already had. Now my priorities have changed.”

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?”

“It’s a lot easier to analyze an issue after you remove emotion from the equation. Back then, the emotions were too raw to handle. We should have counted to ten instead of continuing to stand toe-to-toe. Each time you asked for something as simple as more time with me or as complex as having a child, I felt like a failure for not being able to give you what you wanted. All I wanted to do was retaliate instead of trying to figure out why I couldn’t give you those things. I think I do a much better job of that now.”

“I’m glad I managed to teach you something in eight years,” Rachel said with a smile.

She had once planned on spending the rest of her life with Isabel, then she had hoped their paths would never cross. After a year of acrimony, they had finally managed to broker an uneasy truce.

“We were friends once,” Isabel said. “I hope we can be again.”

Rachel hoped the same. “You can start by inviting me to your baby shower.”

May drove out the last of the winter weather. As the temperatures climbed, so did Griffin’s stress level. She had to report to the set of
Cream of the Crop
in two weeks. The closer the date crept, the edgier she got. She rubbed her shoulders to ease the tension that had seeped into them. Her early-morning jog had done nothing to relieve her increasing discomfort. Last night, she had bitten Erica’s head off for no reason. She owed her an apology. Her entire staff, for that matter. She had been a raging bitch for weeks—impatient, short-tempered, and overly critical. She reminded herself of the insecure amateur she used to be, not the self-assured professional she thought she had become.

Not knowing her competition was unnerving. What if the producers threw a five-star chef into the mix to shake things up? Did she think she could go head-to-head with Wolfgang Puck, Mary Sue Milliken, Thomas Keller, or Susan Feniger? In her dreams, maybe.

She was also nervous about how she would be portrayed on the show. Which type was she supposed to be, the hero, the heel, or the comic relief? She didn’t feel like any of them.

Vacation couldn’t come fast enough. She needed time away. Rachel did, too. Her workload had finally decreased now that the tax filing deadline had passed, but she spent so much time planning their trip to the beach it had almost become a second job. She was treating it more like a honeymoon than a simple road trip.

“It’s way too soon for anyone to be getting down on bended knee.”

Rachel was far more invested in their relationship than she was. She cared about Rachel, but she didn’t have time to become fully vested in anyone or anything except her career.

After their vacation ended, her commitment to
Cream of the Crop
would begin. She still hadn’t thought of a way to explain her upcoming absence. She thought she could concoct a plausible lie to explain her whereabouts, but she wished she didn’t have to. Contract or not, why couldn’t she tell Rachel the truth? If she wanted to earn Rachel’s trust, she couldn’t do it by lying to her. But what choice did she have?

She glanced at the clock, then pulled out the ingredients she needed for today’s lunch date. Seasoned flank stank was simmering in the slow cooker. She busied herself chopping plantains and boiling black beans so she wouldn’t have to think about the conversation she was putting off.

*

Sitting in her home office, Rachel made a notation in her Day Planner as she waited for Griffin to arrive with lunch. She was trying not to look too far ahead. If she did, her work week would drag on endlessly, or something would go horribly wrong and she and Griffin would have to cancel their trip. But try as she might, she was already counting down the days.

She couldn’t wait to see Griffin’s face when she saw her family for the first time in months. She had already bought the plane tickets to Newport Beach. Now she needed Tucker to work his magic and find a rental property that wouldn’t cost an arm and a leg. He had been looking for weeks with no luck. If he didn’t find one soon, she and Griffin might have to stay in a hotel. At this point, Rachel was willing to settle for anything just so they’d have a place to lay their heads.

The inbox on her computer chimed, letting her know she had a new e-mail. She glanced at the screen. The message was from Tucker.

We’re a go
, the message read.
I rented a beach house for a song. It’s located near The Wedge, a famous surfing spot at the end of Balboa Peninsula. The location might not mean much to you or me, but trust me when I say Griffin will love you for selecting it. A copy of the reservation is attached. The place is roomy enough to comfortably accommodate the twenty-five people expected for dinner next weekend. Twenty-six if you count me. And I WILL be there to pick up the Gucci loafers you owe me. Black. Size eleven.

Meeting Griffin’s family one at a time, let alone all at once, can be overwhelming so I’ve attached a cheat sheet to help you put faces to names. You’ll also find fun facts about each of her nieces so you’ll have something specific to say to each one. If you want to pass the girlfriend test they will undoubtedly subject you to, you need to do your homework.

Even though the logistics were a nightmare, this was a great idea, and I’m glad to do my part to help your plan come together. If you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to give me a call or shoot me an e-mail. I won’t even charge you next time. See you in sunny California. I’ll be the one with the new pair of shoes.