20
“What do you know about The Underground Stallion ?” I asked Adrienne as we assembled the pans of spinach gratin before their trip into the oven. I had planned a steakhouse night with a wide assortment of savory vegetarian side dishes. The captain of the boys’ hockey team had approached me with a sincere request for more steak, and I was finally starting to feel like I was connecting better with the students. I wanted to make it a good dinner in hopes of hearing more such wishes. The longer I cooked for other people, the more I realized the importance of food as a connecting point, and I knew that things like this were going to make all the difference in my relationship with Rockwood. I was trying.
“It’s a secret newspaper,” she replied with a shrug. “I know there are kids involved in it, but I’m not sure who they are or what their aim is. Maybe they’re just disruptors? Our regular newspaper is almost nonexistent, so they get to dominate the scene. I’m just happy they’ve left me alone so far.” She sprinkled a mix of gruyère and parmesan on top of her pan full of spinach, cream, onions, and more cheese. “Why do you ask?”
“Come on, I know you’ve seen their issues. I am often the focus.” I opened the ovens, and we loaded our creations inside. “I can’t go anywhere without someone scurrying behind a tree or snapping a picture. It’s creepy and unnerving. Are things so boring here that they feel compelled to spend their time stalking me? Notice they didn’t run anything on Midsy. I bet they were all involved in it.”
“Possibly,” she said, washing her hands. “Or else they’re just scared of the pranksters. Ashlyn and her crew are pretty powerful on this campus. I avoid them at all costs.”
“I always assumed Ashlyn was in charge or at least involved with the paper,” I said. I noticed Marnie in the far corner of the kitchen, clearly eavesdropping as she began to peel potatoes. “Hey, Marnie! There’s more heavy cream over here if you need it once you get to that point.”
“Sounds good,” she said in her typically flat tone.
I gave Adrienne a small smile, and her eyes lit up in recognition. I knew she thought Marnie was a bit strange; most people did. “Anyway, I’m trying not to let them get to me, but having your adult social life be the central feature of a student newspaper is weird. Given everything you know about me already, I’m sure it’s not improving your opinion of me,” I said quietly in hopes Marnie didn’t hear, but I had to say it. Part of me worried that Adrienne thought I was just an old tramp. I knew she was enjoying her kitchen internship with me, and I wasn’t sure why I cared so much about what she thought, but I did.
She sighed. “It’s fine. I honestly keep forgetting about you and my dad. Or maybe I just compartmentalize it. Does that make any sense to you?”
Despite some of her past decisions, Adrienne was very mature—perhaps more mature than most adults I knew. “It does. I’m glad you feel that way.”
Adrienne’s phone buzzed, and she paused to look at it. “My roommate. She said my mom’s outside by the sculpture screaming at Ward Connelly. A crowd is gathering.” She stuffed her phone in her pocket. “Why is my family such a sideshow?” she posed while slinging her backpack over her shoulder. “I gotta go.”
“I’m coming with you,” I said and ran after her. As much as I didn’t want to deal with Julianna, Adrienne shouldn’t have to face this situation—whatever it was—alone. It wasn’t until we were outside the dining hall that I realized we both still had our aprons on.
We heard Julianna Preston long before we saw her. Words like “charlatan,” “huckster,” “grifter,” “scammer,” “cheater,” and perhaps most damning, “terrible lover” were thrown around while Ward Connelly stood before her with his arms crossed, wearing a huge purple cape and an eye patch, his gray hair tied back into a low ponytail. It was early December and long past Halloween; this was just another day in Connelly’s clothing choices. Julianna looked like she had come straight from the Pilates studio, wearing probably at least five hundred dollars in high-end workout gear. What on earth is so urgent that it brought her an hour up to Rockwood in such a frenzied state ?
“Are you done?” he asked in a gruff voice. “You’re making a fool out of yourself, Julianna. All these people. Your daughter now, too,” he said, gesturing toward Adrienne who was standing next to me, both of us spattered with flour from the roux we made.
“ My daughter?” she demanded, throwing her hands into the air. “Take a little responsibility, Ward Connelly. Besides just throwing your money and influence around. Have you even talked to Adrienne?”
Adrienne looked mortified, her eyes growing bigger by the second. “Stop, Mom! This is ridiculous. Take your lovers’ spat off my campus.”
“Not anymore!” Julianna proclaimed, and the crowd that had gathered darted their eyes back and forth between her and Adrienne. “Now that he’s taken up with kitchen staff !”
Everyone immediately turned to me. “Not me!” I shouted. “Definitely not.” Yuck .
“Thank God,” muttered Adrienne. “Please, Mom, let me live my life. If you have problems with people, please don’t be so fucking public.”
“I’m leaving,” Julianna announced. “I’ll see you at Christmas, Adrienne.” Everyone watched in silence as she stormed off and got into her Mercedes.
Ward turned to the audience. “I trust you all will have a pleasant evening,” he announced to the small crowd that had gathered. He then climbed up a scaffold to a small landing, where he started adjusting what appeared to be a security camera on the trunk of a tree.
I patted Adrienne on the back a couple of times. “I’m really sorry that just happened.”
She shrugged. “The price I pay for a dysfunctional family. Thanks for being here. I’m going back to my dorm now. I want to change clothes before my delicious steak dinner tonight.”
“Sounds good,” I said. “I’m going to head back there and make some sautéed mushrooms. What do you think about those?”
“I like them with thyme,” she said, somewhat shyly.
“Thyme it is,” I said. “Excellent suggestion.”
As we were about to leave, a woman ran by us and started climbing up the scaffolding. When she got to the top, Ward turned and faced her, and they embraced and began passionately kissing. She had a wool cap on that covered her hair and a big winter coat, which disguised her appearance. Hanging out the bottom of her coat, however, was a white apron string.
Adrienne and I looked at each, wide-eyed, and both mouthed “no!” at the same time.
...
“Let me get this straight,” said Heath, sitting in the passenger seat of my Jeep. “Marnie works with you in the kitchen. She was the temporary head of dining until you got there.”
“Yes,” I answered as we drove up the Maine Turnpike. I had just told Heath the story of the scene that took place at The Stallion the previous afternoon, which would confuse the hell out of anyone who didn’t know these people. I knew all of them and was still perplexed by what I witnessed.
“And she’s a weirdo.”
“Definitely a strange person. Not much personality from what I’ve seen, and I’ve worked with her almost every day for over three months now. She also enjoys serving food in cardboard boxes, but that’s a whole different story.”
“And she’s also a bartender?”
“At The Barnacle, which is the secret campus bar under the dining hall kitchen. No one told me about it until I had been working above it for about a month. Did you know there was a speakeasy at Rockwood?”
“No clue, but maybe some of the old timers know. I’ll have to ask around.”
“My guess is that’s how she met Connelly. I had a meeting with him there before the unveiling of the sculpture. I get the impression he goes there a lot. But it’s a strange pairing, especially since he’s obviously had something going for years with Julianna Preston.”
“And she’s a lot different from Marnie?”
I laughed, imagining Marnie going to one of the elite fundraisers or charity balls Julianna and Bentley frequented. “Night and day. Julianna barely eats. By the end of my time there, she only wanted vegetable broth. Marnie eats a ham and cheese sandwich that she dips in a cup of mayonnaise for an afternoon snack. A snack, mind you. In between her lunch and dinner.”
Heath shuddered. “I can’t stand mayo.”
“Ehh, I see it as a necessary ingredient in certain recipes, but I could never eat it straight up the way she does. But noted. I won’t make you anything mayo-centric.”
“Awesome,” he said, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek, which made me smile. Heath was so sweet, and I really did enjoy hanging out with him. As I had tried to explain to Tam on the phone the night before, I had started to realize some of my issues with relationships.
“I don’t trust myself when it comes to men,” I had explained to her. “I tend to make terrible decisions.”
“Things change, times change, circumstances change,” she said. “So many people believe in you, Dev. You need to believe in yourself.”
Which is why I proceeded with my promise to introduce Heath to my parents, despite my deep reservations about Tam’s plan for me.
“You’re bringing who? Are you engaged, Devon?” my mom had asked on the phone the night before.
“No, Mom, I just started dating him not too long ago and thought you should meet him. I’ll bring you dinner.”
“Nothing fancy,” she said. Of course she did.
Heath seemed to be trying to put all the information together. “So, you think Julianna somehow found out about Marnie and Connelly, and that’s why she drove up to campus and made a scene?”
“That’s the most I can determine,” I conceded. “Adrienne knew nothing and was as shocked as I was. Ward still hasn’t talked to her, even though it seems to be well-established now that he’s her father and is paying for her to be there. Or at least got her admitted despite her track record at other schools. I feel bad for her. She has a tough situation despite all her money.”
“It sounds like she enjoys hanging out with you,” he said. “Whoa, that house is killer.”
“I think she likes learning how to cook. She is seriously considering a culinary college program, like Johnson and Wales. Which will not go over well with her parents.”
“Some of us didn’t even go to college,” he said, patting my knee.
“And that’s totally fine,” I said. “Okay, I know you see some amazing houses. I will warn you that the house we are going to does not look like any of them. It’s tiny.”
“All good, Devon. I’m just happy to spend the day with you.”
We pulled up to the corner lot where I grew up. The little yellow house hadn’t changed since I had been there last, which was close to a year ago, with the exception of a bit more peeling paint. My dad’s gardens were trimmed back for the winter, and part of me wished I was bringing Heath there in the summer when they were brimming with flowers and tomatoes and green beans and butterflies. Instead, the sky was cold and gray, with snow in the forecast within the next week.
My dad ventured out of the house onto the front step with his cane, waving with his free hand. “He’s a good man,” I told Heath. “I wish he had more of a life. But he loves his history documentaries. And his garden in the summer. Best tomatoes ever. I should’ve come up here and grabbed some to make sauce, but this summer was chaotic.” I was rambling and avoiding what was ahead.
“It’s okay, Devon,” he said. “Don’t be nervous. They’re your parents.”
“It’s just a whole dynamic,” I explained and sighed. “You’ll see.” I grabbed the cooler from the backseat. “Okay, let’s go.”
“Hi, Dad,” I said, giving him a gentle hug. “This is Heath. Heath Davis.”
My dad extended his hand to shake. “Billy Paige. I hear you’re a paramedic. I’ve certainly had my share of ambulance rides. You are good people.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Heath, doing all the right things. This was the easy part; my dad was mild-mannered and agreeable. Nothing like the tropical storm that was waiting for us inside.
“Shall we?” asked my dad as we ventured into the house, which was really just a room with a small living area that blended right into the kitchen, with two bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs. I wondered if my bedroom had changed at all. My mother was always threatening to do something different with it, and I continued to tell her to go ahead and do whatever. She never actually followed through with any of it.
“Hi, Mom,” I said, unloading the cooler almost immediately. It was always good to have a task, something to do to keep me occupied and not standing there idle. The downtime was when we tended to argue about the stupidest things.
“What’s in there?” she asked, not saying hello or introducing herself to Heath.
“Chicken pot pie. I know you like it.” I went through my recipes to find the most classic New England winter dishes I could. Nothing fancy , she had told me.
She caught my eye. “I like the frozen one I buy at Hannaford.” She knew exactly how to antagonize me.
“Well, maybe you’ll like this one, too,” I replied, determined not to let her get to me that afternoon. “Mom, this is Heath Davis. Heath, meet Camille Paige.”
“Ma’am, so nice to meet you,” he said, shaking her hand.
“Aren’t you handsome?” she asked, and I groaned audibly. “Well, he is. I don’t think anyone can argue with that. He must know he’s handsome. Don’t you, honey?”
“Um, thank you for having us over,” he said, looking at me with wide eyes. I silently conveyed the message I told you so with my expression back to him.
“Devon brought the food,” she said. “Always so fancy, this one. I bet she added all kinds of herbs and wine to it.”
I had. “It’ll be fine,” I said. “Let’s turn on the oven so we can heat it up.” I didn’t want to spend any more time there than I needed to.
“Whiskey sours?” my dad asked. He had already taken out the well-bourbon he used and the bottled sour mix. I had tried bringing the good stuff with me one time years ago, and it wasn’t particularly well-received. My dad was polite about it, but he liked what he liked. I could imbibe some neon yellow mixer every now and then for the good of the relationship.
“Of course,” I answered. “Heath?”
“Yes, absolutely.” I’m sure he could have used twelve drinks, given the situation I had brought him into.
When we eventually sat down to eat, Mom launched right in. “When Devon said she was bringing someone to meet us, we assumed she was engaged,” she said, taking a forkful of chicken pot pie and examining it.
“ You thought that,” Dad said, shaking his head. “I was just glad to spend time with you and to meet your friend.” It was about the most he would ever push back on her, but I was grateful for whatever I could get.
“Anyway,” I said, taking a sip of water. “Heath and I have been spending time together for the past six weeks or so. We’re still getting to know each other. We met at Rockwood when a soccer player passed out in the dining hall due to dehydration.”
“Isn’t Kyle the soccer coach?” asked my dad, draining the last sips of his third whiskey sour.
“They know Kyle?” asked Heath with a nervous tremble in his voice. Heath didn’t know much about the Kyle situation– only the most basic details—but my parents knowing him would add another dimension and more depth to everything between him and me.
“My dad cleaned up the library with him after Midsy last weekend. They met then. Remember I told you how they came down to work that day?” I tried to keep everything nonchalant and low-key.
“That’s right,” Heath said.
“Yes, Dad, Kyle is the soccer coach. Anyway, I rode in the ambulance with Jamie, the boy who needed to get checked out at the hospital. And Heath, of course. He ended up driving me back to Rockwood. We went out for the first time soon after that.” I took another bite of my creation. Despite my mother’s criticisms, it was delicious.
“This needs salt,” Mom said, shaking an excessive amount across her plate.
“Dad, what do you think?” I asked, ignoring her.
“I love this crust,” he said. “So different from what I’m used to.”
I smiled, and I felt Heath’s foot tap mine under the table. “It’s the same pie crust I use for lots of things. Let me know if you want a fruit pie next time.”
“It’s not really pie season anymore, Devon,” my mother said, now gobbling up her sodium-enriched dinner.
“Apple pie tastes good any time of year,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I’m making about twenty of them this week.”
We only lasted another forty-five minutes when I fibbed and told my parents I had to return to campus for a meeting with the kitchen staff in preparation for the week ahead. We said our goodbyes, and I could’ve sworn my mother patted Heath’s backside on our way out of the house.
“I’m so sorry,” I said to him once we started driving.
“Why are you sorry?” he asked. “You warned me about everything. Your dad is very nice. Your mother is a handful and should appreciate you more. It is what it is. Don’t be so tough on yourself, Devon. I’m glad I got to meet them.”
“You’re a very good person, Heath,” I said. He was. I wasn’t sure if having him meet my parents changed anything about how I felt about Heath, except it cemented in my mind that fact even more than it already was: from everything I had seen up to that point, Heath was a good guy.
I dropped him off at his apartment and headed back to Rockwood. Sitting in the parking lot outside Wentworth, I pulled up my email on my phone. There was one waiting for me from my dad.
Thanks for coming by today. Loved the pot pie.
He’s not the one for you.
Love, Dad
P.S. Mom liked him.
I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry, so I did both.