CHAPTER THREE
I sit down at the table as Grant places a plate of the most amazing looking food in front of me. “This looks and smells delicious.”
He dishes food onto a plate for himself. “Thank you. And thank you for helping settle Mom in so I could go to the grocery. She had nothing here. I’m not sure what she’s living on except string cheese and coffee.”
He slides into the chair across from me at the table in the breakfast area at Sonya’s house. She opted out of dinner, saying she was too tired and the medicine had made her stomach queasy.
“I’m sure you’ll make sure she eats great while you are here. Then I’ll do the same after you head back. Whenever that is, Mr. Open Ended.”
“I’ve got things going on, that’s all I can say. So, party suggestion number one. Beef with parsnips and carrots and rolls. This has always been a favorite.”
His voice is filled with anticipation, just like my stomach. I stab a piece of the beef and put it in my mouth.
And I die just a little.
Seriously.
This is the weirdest tasting meat I’ve ever eaten.
Only when I open my eyes do I realize I had closed them. “Interesting.”
“That’s not always good.”
I stall for a moment focusing on what is good about it. “It’s tender. The flavor is, different?” I set my fork down. I point to the beef with my fork. “This tastes, um, interesting.” I know I’m repeating myself, but I honestly can’t think of another word to use.
His eyes narrow. “It’s beef.”
“I agree.” I wave my fork over the beef. “What kind of seasoning did you use?”
Grant hasn’t eaten anything yet. He keeps looking at me. “Different ones. A little of this, a little of that.”
The parsnips, carrots and rolls stare back at me. I’m a little frightened by them.
“What type of vibe were you looking to create? Italian? Middle Eastern? Southern?” I had to ask because nothing was clear.
“It’s not that easy to define food.”
“Why not?” Maybe he should have tried harder to define this beef.
“You can’t trap food. You have to explore food. Give it every chance to be all it can be. Would you want someone to put your new business in a box? Eden Conrad only plans weddings, or she only plans business dinners. No. You want to be available for everyone. Well, that applies to food as well.”
My head spins with his mantra of food and my business venture. I’m not sure I can follow his logic. Food is food. Beef is beef.
Business is business. “I am specializing in my business. I do weddings, showers, anniversaries. Sweet Love Event Planning is all about celebrating love. But I don’t think that puts me in a box. Or if it does, it’s a big box.” I take a bite of the roll thinking it should be safe.
A buttery, garlic, rosemary mixture explodes on my tongue. What is this? I chew because I have no choice. I swallow because it’s the next step.
I don’t speak because I have nothing nice to say.
But he looks so expectant. So hopeful.
So hurtable.
“Well?” he asks.
I rapidly search my mind for the right words. “I guess I’m not the fine-dining type. I’m just not feeling it.” I speak softly as if that would soften the impact.
“Not feeling it.” He nods, stabs a forkful of beef and shoves it into his mouth.
As he chews he blinks.
And blinks.
His chewing slows and he grabs a glass of water, downing half of it along with his food, I presume. “This is terrible.” He downs the other half of the water.
I laugh. “Really? You think so, too?” Relief flows through me that I’m not crazy and that I might actually like fine dining given the right food. “Try the roll.”
He pulls off a bit of the roll, then grimaces as he chews. “I’m sorry. I thought here, in this environment things would be better. Different.”
Having no idea what he is talking about I don’t respond.
“Maybe it’s mom’s situation. Maybe that’s weighing on me more than I thought.”
He stands and scrapes both of our plates into the sink and the roar of the garbage disposal is what I hear next. “Is there any pizza delivery here?”
Before I can answer he’s scrolling through his phone. “Ah. Here’s one. What do you like on your pizza?”
I’m going with his flow. He seems flustered and uneasy at the failure of the meal. “I like everything. No anchovy though.”
“Cool.” He places an order for from the local pizza place. “Thirty minutes until we eat. Again, I’m sorry about the dinner.”
I try to find any saving grace. “We didn’t try the carrots or parsnips. Should we?”
“No.” He stands and tosses all the food from the stove into the sink. He runs the water and once again the garbage disposal comes to life. After the food is destroyed and has gone into the bowels of the sewer system, he starts washing the pots and pans.
“I can help.” I grab a dish towel and start drying. “I don’t use the dishwasher either. It’s just as easy with one to wash and dry.”
He continues washing in silence.
So I dry in silence. I’ve been here often in the past few months, party planning, so I know my way around Sonya’s kitchen. I’m able to put the pots and pans away. I place the plates back on the table to use when the pizza arrives.
I’m not sure how I’m going to discuss the catering issue with Grant.
He said to give him until Tuesday. I wonder what magic he thinks is going to happen between now and then.
Tomorrow I need to touch base with the country club and the florist. Then I need to check my rsvps, making sure I have name tents for everyone. I want this party to be the party of the summer. I need this business to take off and be successful.
Planning parties is what I do best.
But I need to work on discernment. I had a nagging feeling about the caterer when I signed the contract. Again, it seemed too good to be true. The pricing was far less expensive than any of the other caterers I had contacted. And the food was just what I was looking for. After all, elegance was their name. How could it get more elegant?
Maybe that’s how I need to approach this with Grant.
Talk about elegance.
The doorbell rings.
Grants heads to the front door and moments later is back with the pizza, the smell of the failed dinner still hanging in the air.
He sets the pizza box on the table, and we each sit, grabbing a slice and setting it on our plates.
I say a silent prayer. Not that this pizza tastes good, but that Grant doesn’t feel bad that this local pizza tastes better than the meal he prepared.
I savor the familiar taste of good pizza. The tried and true of something started years ago. Maybe that’s the answer for Grant.
“I don’t mean to give advice where it’s not wanted, but I had a thought I’d like to share with you if you don’t mind.”
He nods. “Go ahead.”
“This pizza. The recipe goes way back. Years and years. Why don’t you make something you’ve been doing for years?”
“I did.”
I cock my head and set my pizza on the plate. “You did? You’ve been making that beef for years?”
He nods. “I have.”
“Okay. I don’t understand. If you thought it tasted terrible, how does that work?”
“It doesn’t normally taste terrible. I can’t find the passion anymore and it’s become a problem to say the least. I was fired.”
He pushes back from the table and walks outside to the backyard. I don’t know if I should go out there or let him be. I wish I knew more about him. How does a world-renowned chef get fired?
Or better yet, how does a world-renowned chef not know how to cook?
I know I’m on a zero budget and he’s offering to foot the bill, but I can’t have bad tasting food at my party.
Bad tasting food from a celebrated chef.
A chef who was fired.
I open the door to join him outside. I’m glad he hasn’t left the patio area as I’m still in my pumps, and they wouldn’t get along very well with the grass.
Of course I could always go barefoot.
“Hi.”
His back is to me, so I want to let him know I am here as I’m not sure how deep in thought he is and might not have heard the door opening.
He turns. “Hi.” He looks at me, and I find myself not wanting to look away from him. He is beautiful. His teeth are nice, his hair is gorgeous, but all this on the outside doesn’t fix his lost passion on the inside.
“We’re quite a pair, aren’t we? An event planner who can’t match her shoes and a chef who can’t cook. If people could see us now we’d be unemployable forever.”
I laugh. “You’re right. But this isn’t who we are. This is us in a disarrayed state.”
“I wish. How long does one stay disarrayed?”
“I’m not sure.”
At this point he looks huggable. But I stay my distance from him. After all, he might be engaged although he hasn’t mentioned Peony at all. I wonder how she is coping with his joblessness.
Should I ask about her?
“My disarray started after my father died. So it’s been going on for almost a year. That’s a long time.”
Dusk settles as night falls in the sky. Like our dark worlds need a reminder. The city lights keep the stars out of sight.
“Your father’s passing was so unexpected and shocking. I would be surprised if it didn’t take some sort of toll on you.”
“I headed back to New York too soon. I should have stayed with mom. I knew she was dealing with a lot. Paperwork and emotional things. I thought I could channel it all by burying myself in my work.”
I like that he’s talking freely. Honestly.
He did say at the hospital that honesty is important. I guess he means it.
“Peony left, too.”
Well, there’s that answer. “I’m sorry.”
“I was too at first. Then looking back I see she was all wrong for me. She wanted my status and my recognition. When that started being questioned, she left.”
My oh-so-comfortable shoes started becoming uncomfortable. Or was it me? I slip out of my shoes, my feet warm on the concrete.
“I’m sorry. Now I’m keeping you.”
“No.” I pull out a chair from the wrought iron table. “Let’s sit. It’s nice outside.”
He grabs a chair next to me. “Thanks for listening. I feel like I can talk to you.”
“Well, we’ve known each other forever.”
“It’s a shame we haven’t kept in touch more. I’d hear a little about you here and there from Mom. You always seemed to be on top of things.”
“That’s funny. I would say the same about you. Your mom is so proud of you.”
“Which is why she can’t know any of this.”
“She doesn’t know you are out of work?”
“No. She thinks I’m on a sabbatical.”
I smile. “Honesty is the best policy, huh?”
“Come on. You know that doesn’t apply to parents.”
“I know your mom would understand. She’s great like that. I can talk to her easier than I can talk to my mom.”
“I appreciate you keeping my secret.”
“Which secret? It seems like you have a few. Your mom thinks you might be engaged to Peony. So I guess you haven’t told her about that breakup either.”
“No. I wanted to tell her in person. And I will soon. I just didn’t want to spring it on her while she was in the hospital. She doesn’t need to worry about me. And that’s what would happen if I told her any of this.”
“I understand. But you should give her more credit. She’s a strong woman. She can handle it. She might even be able to help. Give insight.”
“I know where you’re coming from. I promise I’ll clue her in soon. On everything. But for now, will you come over tomorrow night? Round two of the catering options.”
Oh, he still thinks he can cater my event.
I’m glad he has confidence in himself, because I’m not sure I do. But with a zero budget, do I have a choice?
If I keep the food aspect of my party at the back of my mind, I feel assured the rest of the event will go well.
Monday morning flew by. I spoke with the manager of the band I had hired. They were all set and looking forward to the party. I drove to the florist, making sure everything was on track for the arrangements and the corsage and boutonniere I had ordered for Mom and Dad. I drove to a well-known bakery and ordered a cake for the party. I couldn’t put that on Grant. I had a few dollars I could spare to pay for the cake. I even spent the extra money to have the cake delivered. One less stress to handle on the day.
Then, hoping neither of my parents would be there, I stopped by the country club and solidified all the details about the event with the coordinator. Cheryl Monroe had been the events planner at the club for years and she was extremely helpful in keeping this a secret from my parents.
Grant and I had more in common than I thought.
I make my way to Sonya’s and as I exit my car, I check to make sure I am wearing shoes from the same pair on each foot.
I don’t need to make that mistake again in front of Grant.
He’s probably not going to let me live down the two-days-in-a-row shoe fiasco. I don’t need to add fuel to that fire.
I’m wearing two brown sandals.
Good.
And they match.
Better.
I grab the box off the passenger seat. My business cards came, and I am excited to see how they turned out. I designed them myself and ordered them through an online company. If they were as nice as I imagined, I would place more orders for postcards and other advertising materials.
I need to get Sweet Love Event Planning off the ground, despite all the obstacles I’m facing.
I can’t change the fact that the caterer ran off with my money.
And I’m stuck with a chef who can’t cook.
I’ve been praying all day that Grant has found whatever that passion was that he lost and he’ll serve me amazing food tonight.
I knock on the door, then walk in just like I’d been doing the last few months. I almost have to hold my nose at the smell.
Walking into the kitchen I find Grant shoving food from a pot into the sink.
“Grant?”
He turns, the pot slipping out of his hands, clashing into the stainless steel sink. “Hi. You’re early.”
I look at my watch. “Not that early. What is that smell?”
“It’s something I was trying. It didn’t work out well.”
My heart sinks. “Yeah. It doesn’t smell well.”
He picks up the pot and continues mashing food into the garbage disposal. I’m surprised it doesn’t spit the food back up. It would if given a choice, I’m sure.
“Where’s your mom?”
“Taking a nap.”
“She can sleep through that smell?”
“Very funny. Can you open the back door, please? It will help air this place out.”
“Gladly.”
Summer heat wafts in as I open the door, but being hot is better at this point than the smell in the kitchen.
“So that was?”
“Don’t ask. I’m going to try something else here as soon as I clean up this mess.”
I don’t comment. I can’t comment. My party wings are flying out the window with every second that passes. Oh how I wish the country club catered. That would have solved all my problems.
But they don’t.
It was all I could do to not ask Cheryl to make an exception when I saw her this morning. The only thing that stopped me was I would need Cheryl’s connections to help make my business a success so I couldn’t put any sense of me losing control of this party into her mind.
When she asked how everything was going I told her everything was on track.
And everything is on track.
Except for the most important thing. The food.
Let’s face it. If you didn’t have a band, conversation and chatter would be the atmosphere. If you didn’t have flowers, would anyone really notice?
But food.
Food is something people notice. Especially when you’ve invited them to a dinner party. Dinner being the key word.
I can’t just serve them cake and coffee.
At least the club was providing the coffee, tea and water. And a bartender for an open bar. An open bar of which I was paying the tab. So that money was set aside.
While Grant is washing dishes, I sit at the table and open the box. I pull out a card and marvel at the colors. They are beautiful. The cards are glossy like I wanted. I stand as Grant is drying the pots and pans. “Here, look at this? Aren’t they pretty?”
I shove the card in his face.
“Nice. But sweat love? That sounds risqué.”
“What?” I turn the card around. “Oh, no.”
The card read Sweat Love Event Planning.
“I can’t believe they messed this up. How could they misprint the word sweet?”
He sets the pot down. “Did you approve a proof?”
I give him a look that I know is a glare. “Yes.”
Sitting back at the table, I pull out my phone. Within minutes I see that I designed and approved the card with the word spelled incorrectly.
I stare back at Grant.
“Trying to figure out which one of us is the biggest failure?” he asks. “But hey,” he nods toward the floor, “at least you are wearing matching shoes today. One point for you.”
If I don’t laugh I’ll cry.
“I’m so meticulous. I have no idea how this could happen.”
“We all make mistakes.”
“Okay,” I shake my head. “Okay. I’ll just have to fix the file when I get home, resend and pay for extra shipping. Like I have extra cash for all this.” I look at Grant. “These cost me a small fortune.”
“Hello?”
I quickly shove the cards into the box as I hear my mom’s voice. “Don’t say a word,” I say to Grant nodding at the box.
“Your secret’s safe with me.” His words disappear just as my mom walks in the kitchen.
“I thought that was your car, dear. What are you doing here?”
I stand and hug my mom who sets the plastic bag she was carrying on the table.
“Just came by to check on Sonya. But she’s napping.”
“Oh. That’s why she didn’t answer my text. And Grant, so good to see you. How’s that big city treating you?”
“Everything’s great, Mrs. Conrad. Thanks for asking.”
“Your mom can’t quit talking about your restaurant. We were going to plan a trip at the end of the summer, but now, well, we’ll have to see how it goes with her leg.”
I notice a look come across Grant’s eyes, but I’m sure my mom doesn’t catch on. I probably wouldn’t either if I didn’t know what I know.
“I thought I heard voices. Are you all having a party without me?”
We all turn as Sonya speaks from the doorway.
“Mom. I’ll help you.” Grant rushes over to her.
“Nonsense. I can walk fine with this walker and this boot they’ve put my leg in. I need to be able to do for myself. It’s not like you’re staying forever. You have a job and a girl to get back to.”
I totally look the other way so any facial expression I have won’t be visible.
“What’s that smell? And why is the back door open? Are we cooling the outside, now?”
I stay silent letting Grant field all her questions.
“Looks like I got some bad food at the store. Just trying to air out the place.” He walks over and closes the door.
My mom opens the bag and pulls out a couple of Styrofoam containers. “I brought dinner but I didn’t know all of you were here. I’m not sure there is enough for everyone.”
“It’s okay.” I grab my box off the table. “I wasn’t staying. Just checking in.”
“Actually, Eden and I were going out for a while if it is okay with Mom.”
I’m not sure what Grant is doing, but at this point I don’t argue.
“Sure. You two go, have fun. Not too much fun. Peony wouldn’t like that, but you know what I mean. It will be nice to visit with Jane for a while.”
Grant and I hug and kiss our moms before leaving them to their take-out dinner. We get in my car. “Where to? Or was that just a rouse to get us out of firing range.”
“That’s exactly what it was. But I do have an idea. What you and I need is to relax. There’s a fair tonight close to Social Circle. Want to go?”
“A fair? Like fried foods and rides and cotton candy?”
“I believe so.”
Glancing at Grant, I see how stressed he is. Tossing the box of botched business cards in the back seat, I know how stressed I am.
I push the button to start my car. “Directions?”
After all, what harm could come from a fair on a summer night between two friends?