The Hummingbird Sanctuary, page 14
“When I was married to a man, I fell for this younger woman who I mentored. She was lovely and wanted me to run away with her, but I have kids, and that wasn’t feasible. So I stayed. And at the time, I was also fighting feelings for my best friend and neighbor. Then her husband died, and I thought, maybe I’ll finally work up the courage to tell her. And then I found out she was dating a woman, and the woman ended up being the same one I had my original affair with.”
I blink once, twice, three times before I ask, “What?” Is there something about me that says, please tell me all your secrets?
“It sounds convoluted.”
“It sounds like a movie to me. How the hell did you handle all that?”
“Oh, I didn’t. I hit on Pam and tried to ruin their relationship, and it was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done.” Her head is down, her voice shaking. “So very stupid. I was a mess, Eleanor. A hot, hot mess.”
“Then what?”
She takes another drink, then wipes her lips. She’s growing on me. In a good way. And I’m happy I’m not the only hot mess at this resort. Or in my office. “I ended up divorcing Tom. He was strangely okay with everything. My lawyer said it was one of the most amicable divorces he’s ever handled.”
“Must have meant it was truly over, hmm?”
She nods. “I dated this woman, Sydney, off and on for a while. She was lovely, but I was offered a job in LA, and she didn’t want to go. I moved, and Tom was okay with me taking the kids.”
“How old?”
Her eyes soften, and the smile that spreads across her lips is obviously one she reserves for her children. “One is in college, one is getting ready to go to college, and the other is starting high school.”
“Man, you were busy.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“What’s the problem now?”
“I’m afraid I’m going to fall for her.”
“In five days?”
Her eyes start to fill with tears. “Yes.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah.”
I gather all the wisdom I have. It’s not much, but I feel like I know Harriet better than most. “Let me give you some advice. Harriet is a complicated woman. She has never…man, how do I say this without it sounding awful? She hasn’t settled down until recently. She is constantly moving, like a shark.”
“That sounds terrifying.”
“No, no.” I wave a hand. “I don’t mean—ugh—that’s not what I mean. She’s not one who has relationships. I’m not saying she never will, and between you and me, she has always been a little like a player. But—and I mean this—she has been in a different spot in the last year or so.” Judy is hanging on every word, as if at any second, I’m going to say something that will send her running for the mountains.
She blinks a few times, then her mouth pops open. “That’s it?”
“Yeah, I guess so.” I feel bad. “I know you’re looking for some sort of sign, right? I wish I could point at something and be, like, ‘There it is. The sign you are looking for.’ But Harriet is not that person.”
“That’s not really advice.”
It’s as if she’s reading my mind. “Okay, what about this: enjoy the ride because we are all searching for something. She is. You are. Hell, even I am. So keep your eyes open and go with the flow.”
“That’s…that’s exactly what I was looking for.”
“Was it?”
“I would have rather you said that she’s head over heels for me, so go for it, but that’s not realistic, is it?”
“I’m sorry. It might not end how you’re hoping, but I don’t know. No one knows what the future holds. But we all know what’s in our hearts, don’t we?” I swing my legs around and plant my feet on the floor. “If you can handle anything other than falling in love, then maybe it’s worth a shot? Even if you just have some fun.”
Her expression brightens. “I could try that.” She lifts her beer to me as if to offer a toast. “Thanks.”
I clink mine against hers, and she drinks. “Is that really all you came to chat with me about?” I may be an anxious mess most of the time, but I can read people’s energy. She has something else she wants to say.
“Well, I mean, also Mabel.”
“I had a feeling.”
“Please be careful with her.”
My gut reaction is to be a complete dick and say something like, me be careful with her? But I don’t. “Any particular reason other than hurting her would be awful?”
“She’s…” Judy stops, seemingly to gather words. “She’s not nearly as put together as she lets on.”
“Okay.”
“And she hasn’t shut up about you since we became friends forever ago.”
I’m intrigued. “Oh?”
She nods. “I feel like you’re the one who got away.”
“She pushed me away.”
Judy shrugs. “No one is perfect.” She’s right, and all I can do is stare. “Well, I’ll get out of your hair.” She stands and grabs her bag. “Thank you for this. I didn’t think you’d allow me to word vomit all over, but you did, and I cannot tell you how grateful I am.”
I walk her to the door. “You’re welcome. And if you need any more chats, I’ll be around.”
She leaves, her head much higher than it was when she arrived. I hope I didn’t say too much about Harriet. It’s nothing she wouldn’t say about herself. Either way, I’m nervous that maybe I should have kept my mouth shut. There’s something about helping other women not get their hearts broken that speaks to me, though. Must be my love of spoilers.
Chapter Thirteen
Harriet
Being interviewed is one of the few things in this world I don’t particularly love. There’s something so impersonal about the process, which should be the opposite. But it’s not. At least in my limited knowledge, they haven’t been personal. Maybe I should be happy about that. I don’t exactly love sharing the deep side of myself. I’m a surface person. What you see is what you get. Sure, I have feelings, thoughts, and a heart, but I want to be as authentic as possible. If that means I don’t hold back, and I say things I shouldn’t, or I always keep my feelings intact, well, that’s just the way it is.
When Olive first told Eleanor and me that we would have a journalist here to do a story on the sanctuary, I thought she meant some small-time person who worked for a tiny news outlet. We’ve had those types here already. I’m prepared for them.
But no. This one is big-time. Even more big-time than the interview I did for the Foodie’s Delight magazine. That was one of the few times I let a little more of myself show than normal, which made sense since cooking is where I bare my soul.
Mabel Sommers, as big-time as she seems, is for sure one of those journalists who is going to scrape the surface. Sure, she writes for On the Verge, and that is a great magazine with a lot of very talented writers. But come on. She’s a white LA journalist who broke my best friend’s heart when she was a young thing, and now she’s gonna come in here and want to write some exposé about the sanctuary? Hell to the no.
Needless to say, as I’m tying my apron in the restaurant kitchen, I’m also trying to keep my skepticism reined in. Mabel requested my specialties. I told her, “Everything is a specialty.” Anytime I can toot my own horn, I’m one hundred percent going to. I don’t need a long, drawn-out invitation. At the end of the day, I love to show off.
“What are you going to make for me?”
She’s sitting on a stool, out of my way but close enough that she can see everything I’m doing. Through all my suspicion, I can see why Eleanor is still taken by her, even if she doesn’t want to admit it. Mabel is beautiful. She is unique looking, with beautiful blue eyes and auburn hair, which does not fall into the category of Eleanor’s type. It makes sense now that she chases blondes because the two women who have effectively stopped her in her tracks are both brunettes: Olive and Mabel.
I want to shake her some days and tell her to get the hell over Olive. Then I heard about Mabel, and I wanted to shake her even more. But now, as I’m looking at this woman, I want to know why the fuck she broke my best friend. There are two sides to every story. I’m sure she has one.
“Prosciutto-wrapped shrimp skewers with lobster risotto and grilled teriyaki filet tips with pancetta-wrapped asparagus on a bed of ramen noodle aglio e olio.”
Her eyebrows rise, and I’m pleased with the menu I’ve prepared.
I get started, skillet on the stove to sauté onions and garlic for the risotto. Once the onions are translucent, I toss in a healthy spoonful of garlic and cook the heat out of it. It smells delightful. I pour the arborio rice into the sauté pan and expertly flip it, allowing it to brown nicely with the onions, garlic, and butter. Once it’s ready, I pour pinot gris over it and let it simmer until the wine has almost evaporated. I ladle a few spoons of my signature vegetable stock into the mixture. As the risotto simmers, I slice the cooked lobster into hearty pieces and wait a few minutes for it to be completely ready.
Now it’s time to prepare the steak, and the grill is piping hot. I use tongs to spread the marinated filet onto it, watching as the fire starts to lick it.
My mouth is watering. I hope Mabel’s is, as well.
After three minutes on the one side, I flip the steak. I want it to be medium-rare when I pull it off, then it can rest and cook to a medium temperature. A couple more minutes…I squeeze the meat with the tongs. “Perfect.” I pull the meat from the heat and plate it, placing a precut piece of foil over the top.
I pre-wrapped the asparagus with the pancetta and the prosciutto-shrimp skewers, so I pop them from the fridge under the counter and place the asparagus on the grill. I do the same with the shrimp. I don’t want either to get away from me. After a quick check on the risotto, which is ready, I stir in the lobster and freshly grated Romano cheese, then place a nice serving on the middle of one of our square plates.
The shrimp skewers are ready. I place them gingerly on top of the risotto. I made a lovely tomato-basil cruda earlier for the finish. I spoon it over the top, wipe the plate, then place it in front of Mabel. I spin and grab the bowl of ramen noodle aglio I made earlier. I take the steak, slice it, then plate it on top of the noodles, as well. I use the juice from the drippings and drizzle it over the meat, which adds an amazing teriyaki juiciness to the noodles that have garlic and olive oil already all over them. Then I place the pancetta-wrapped asparagus over the top. I wipe the bowl, impressed with my presentation, and place it in front of Mabel, too.
“Wow.”
“Thank you.”
“You are very impressive to watch.” She picks up her fork. “May I?”
“Absolutely.”
She removes a shrimp from the skewer and takes a bite. From the pop the shrimp makes, I can tell that they’re perfect. “Holy shit,” she says around a mouthful, her hand over her mouth. “This is incredible.”
“Try the risotto.”
She takes a healthy forkful, a piece of lobster perched on top of the creamy risotto. She places it in her mouth and chews, chews, then swallows. She does it again. Chews, chews, swallows. Then again. When she’s done, she lets out a crazed cackle. “I am in love.”
“Try the other dish.”
She shakes her head. “No. I want to eat all of this.”
“No, no. That’s not how this goes.”
She grumbles. “Fine.” She cuts the asparagus in the bowl, then takes a couple pieces along with a piece of steak and a forkful of ramen. When she places it in her mouth, she closes her eyes, and the moan she releases could be easily misconstrued. “Ermygosh,” she says, her mouth still mostly closed. I start to laugh as I watch her swallow, then load up another forkful. “This is incredible.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re good. Like, really, really good.” She takes a bite of the ramen and steak, again closing her eyes and moaning. “I can’t get over how good this is.”
“Ramen isn’t only for poor college kids.”
“That’s for sure. Goddamn.” She takes another bite. There’s something genuinely satisfying about watching someone enjoy the food I’ve prepared. It’s not erotic, but God, sometimes it’s borderline. I can’t put a name on it. I feel accomplished. Like I’m flying high, and nothing can bring me down. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”
Oh yeah, the interview. Ugh. “My grandmother was probably my most prolific teacher. I learned every dish she made by the time I was ten. And then culinary classes. And for a while, I lived at home after college and made my mom whatever she wanted.”
“What is your favorite thing to cook?”
“Probably breakfast. I don’t know why, but it’s very calming for me. I think maybe because it’s, like, the easiest thing to make. I can’t fuck it up. But it’s also what you cook for someone you’re hoping to impress.” I realize I’ve said too much. I wave my hands. “Off the record.”
She laughs while holding another forkful of risotto. “This isn’t that kind of interview, Harriet. I’m truly interested.” She eats. “And I’m not letting any of this go to waste.”
“You’re a trip. You know that?”
She nods enthusiastically.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“As long as I can answer between bites.”
“Okay,” I say, followed by a chuckle. “This may sound weird or forward, and maybe you don’t even want to talk about it, but, like”—I lean into the counter with my hip and fold my arms—“can you tell me your side of what happened between you and Eleanor? Like, between you and me and the food.” I motion to the food, and she swallows what’s in her mouth in a very cartoonish way. All that was missing was the gulp sound.
“Yeah, so…” she starts, fidgeting with her fork. “I guess you could say…” And she flips the fork across the kitchen. She gasps. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. I’m an idiot.”
I let out a whooping sound that is so loud, Glenda peeks her head around the corner of the office. “Everything okay?” she asks.
“Yes, yes, everything is fine.” I pull a fork from the holder next to the shelves and hand it over. “You okay?”
She nods. “You want me to be honest?”
“Has anyone ever answered that with ‘no, please lie to me’? Seriously?”
She shakes her head. “I was afraid of being a lesbian. I chose a safe boy over her and completely cut her out of my life, then that boy, along with a few other people, ended up telling everyone about her being a lesbian, and the entire school ostracized her.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah, not my proudest shining-star moment. That’s for sure.” She sighs, and her shoulders fall. “I hate myself for doing that to her. I lost a lot of time with her because I was a fucking scaredy-cat.” After a couple of deep breaths, she finishes with, “I’m the one who’s supposed to be asking you questions like this.”
“The revealing questions that make you feel like shit? No, thank you.” We both let out light chuckles, completely in agreement. “She’s fine now. You know that, right?”
“I do. We talked.” The straight face she’s trying to hide is telling.
“Everything went well?”
She nods.
“Great.”
“Now, my turn.”
“Fine.”
“Tell me what is going on with you and Judy.”
Well. Didn’t expect that. I open my mouth to say something, but I’m speechless. “Um…”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
“No, I mean, nothing.” My voice cracks. Christ. I clear my throat. “Nothing is going on.”
“It’s good to know that the three of you are fantastic businesswomen but horrendous liars.” She smiles, her eyes twinkling.
The black floor mat is all of a sudden very interesting. I take a deep breath. “I don’t know what’s going on.” My fear of being too transparent has me frozen. “I like her, though. She’s…” I shrug. “She sort of flipped my world upside down.”
“She does have a way of doing that to people.”
Mabel’s simple shrug and tone of voice is intriguing. “What do you mean?”
“She breezes into your life, and the aura that surrounds her is truly remarkable. She is sunlight and happiness personified.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah.” Mabel picks up her water, but before she sips it, she says, “Don’t you fucking hurt her, or I’ll murder you with one of your own kitchen knives.”
“Ditto with Eleanor.”
“Deal.” She extends her hand, an olive branch level truce, and I accept. Then we continue our conversation as she finishes most of both meals. She can put the food away. She’s so thin. I wonder what she does to work off those calories.
* * *
Before I left the restaurant at seven, I checked in with the staff. Harmony was prepared, and Jessica was doing much better as the coordinator. Glenda was there, all smiles, of course, and Heidi was on her game. She made me a new drink. It was Absolut Vanilla, X-Rated vodka, strawberry puree, topped with champagne in a glass with a raw sugar rim. Beautiful and pink, she called it Escape.
“For Mother’s Day,” she said, kindness all over her face. “And we can use it again during October for Breast Cancer Awareness and donate all the profits to research.”
“I love the way you think,” I said before I left, carrying my drink and feeling better and lighter than I have in months.
While I was making sure all my ducks were in a row, I shot a text to Judy. I was hoping she’d respond, and maybe we could find a way to hang out. I check my phone as I’m walking to the residence and see that she finally responded.
I would love to get together. What time are you thinking?
I can visualize the way her eyebrows rise at the end of her question, and fuck, I am grinning. I can feel it in my cheeks. Would eight work? I can whip us up something to eat.
