Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ivy
The crash course in cacio e pepe is simple, yet effective. We boil noodles, grate cheese, grind pepper. The key, as with most pasta dishes, is to use good pasta, cooked al dente, and to see the sauce as an enhancement, not the focus.
The noodles themselves are the star.
The sauce is only there to add.
Americans don't get this. They drown their pasta in all sorts of far-too-heavy sauces. And who can blame them? They don't have good noodles. Only sad, soggy things, that barely resemble what families serve in Italy.
There's a metaphor of some kind and to be found, sure enough, when we sit down to dinner, Amara gives a long speech comparing marriage and cooking.
The themes are all there. The mix of different ingredients, the merging of cultures, the need for patience, the combination of technical skill and heart.
Some see cooking as an art; some see it as a science.
Neither is wrong.
The different approaches can work. And clash.
For a few minutes, we're too enraptured by the fresh pasta to talk much.
I pass on the bright orange cocktail in favor of another gin and tonic.
The mix of lime, quinine, herbs, and sugar clashes with the rich flavor of the pasta, but that only convinces me to down the drink faster. Then fix a second.
It's not a good idea, I know. I should keep my wits about me. But this is too much talk about forever.
Romeo notices the way I gulp my second round, but he doesn't mention it. He just reaches out and offers his hand under the table. As if he really is my sweet, supportive boyfriend. As if I really am a person capable of loving someone and letting them love me.
Thankfully, Amara retires early, and the four of us end up in the backyard, talking about vacations while Cynthia offers everyone various forms of drugs.
This time, I take her up on her offer. I take half a gummy, I let the THC and CBD melt into my system, and then I go upstairs and have free, uninhibited sex with Romeo.
We don't talk about what it is or what it means or what we're doing here.
For once, I just enjoy.
When he retires to his room, I text Meredith and set up a recording for the next morning. It's way too early, but, hey, I gotta do what I gotta do.
Even though I wake up with awful cotton mouth and a fuzzy head, I fall into the zone the second I sit behind the chair. Well, on the bed with a mix plugged into my computer. All it takes is a cup of tea and a Zoom connection with my best friend and I'm in the zone.
Meredith is right. It feels good, sharing all these. Freeing. Brave. Exciting.
For once, these are my stories.
Stories Romeo told me I could share with the world.
Sure, I need a lie or a few drinks or half a gummy to access this version of myself, but she is there somewhere.
I can find her without all the facade too.
Meredith promises to get the episode into our queue ASAP. Anything to avoid sitting with her thoughts. I don't remind her she's paying good money for that privilege.
Hey, I need this too.
If she wants to cut promos of my story, little snippets of How Doctor O Got Her Groove Back a few days early, who am I to deny her a distraction?
When I'm finished, I find Cynthia in the hallway, close enough to hear me laughing, but not close enough to hear why.
"I was just walking by, I swear." She smiles and stretches her arms over her head in a lazy gesture. She looks towards the living room, where the boys are starting to set up for… something. Another game, maybe.
"Trying to avoid The Pre-Honeymooners?" I ask.
She motions a little. "Can I ask what you were…?"
"Watching The Office," I say.
"Really?" she asks.
"No," I admit. "I've never seen it, actually. I don't get office humor. It's not part of my job." Lies should be close to the truth. "My friend sent me this great podcast. It was hilarious. These two best friends shooting the shit."
"Oh, what's it called? I'm always looking for a new one," she says.
Uh… no go. I need a new path. "Hey, what do you say we get out of here?" I ask.
"Huh?" she asks.
"Go shopping for that dress," I say. "Make it official."
"And skip twenty questions? Should we?"
"If it's an official wedding activity, why not?" I ask.
She nods. "Let's do it."
Twenty minutes later, we're at the Philz coffee across from the county's crown jewel, South Coast Plaza. Cynthia apologizes profusely for her need for another cup of java, promises to pay, and asks me to promise not to tell either Galante brother about her time on enemy ground.
"You know, since this is the only chain coffee shop doing pour overs," she says as she slides into long line.
The store is clean, bright, crowded with a mix of people in business casual and athleisure. Then there are a few women in our demographic—ready to shop.
"You drink tea, right?" She scans the menu. "Not their strong suit, honestly, except for the chai. They use fresh mint and tons of cardamom, but they never use enough milk. You have to ask for it extra creamy. Actually, do you mind if I order it for you? I'm a pro."
"Go for it," I say.
The line moves forward. Cynthia taps her toe in time with the music. An alt-rock song from ten years ago. I only barely recognize it. I've never been great with music. Or anything traditionally "cool."
Cynthia, on the other hand, exudes cool. In her sunglasses, oversized hoodie, short-shorts, and flip-flops she looks like a model on her day off. Or maybe that's the legs and bone structure. It's hard to imagine Daniel not noticing her.
She's gorgeous.
"Would Daniel really care about you crossing enemy lines?" I ask.
She taps her chin, considering the matter.
"I'm not sure. He used to complain about Romeo's 'hairbrained schemes,' but ever since Rome brought up the coffee business last time—I think it was a few weeks ago—it seemed to worm its way into Daniel's brain.
He mentions it when we pass a coffee shop.
Or when I ask him to stop somewhere because I want a drink.
Or even when I complain there wasn't anything good to grab for a snack with my afternoon coffee.
He'll say, ‘you know what would be great with coffee, Mexican wedding cookies.
Or pana cotta. Can you even get an affogato here?
' He's a little behind the times on that one.
" She laughs. "But Daniel isn't one for sweet. "
"He likes the idea?" I ask.
"I think so," she says. "But it will take a lot for him to admit it. You know Danny… No, I guess you don't know Danny. But you know Rome now, so many you can imagine the stubbornness that runs in the family."
I can. I nod.
"He likes you," she says. "I get why he's suspicious of everything, with the timing, but, honestly, it's a little egotistical, isn't it? Why would Rome scoop a poor woman off the street just for the benefit of, what even? What would that accomplish?"
Right. What would it accomplish to pretend to be someone's girlfriend. What a silly idea. "Proof he can commit to something, maybe?"
"You think? Does committing to a woman for three months prove he can run a business?" She looks to the line as it moves forwards. "No offense."
"No, you're right. I don't see the logic either."
She throws her hands in the air. "Men. Who can understand them." The line moves forwards again, and it's our turn.
We step to the counter where a barista takes our orders. Cynthia recites them like a pro. Some extra-large dark roast for her, the house way, and a Chai for me, extra creamy, with honey.
"Not too sweet," I say.
She smiles. "Was Daniel right?" She moves towards the pick-up area. "Did Romeo convince you to play up how serious your relationship is?"
Uh…
"It's none of my business." She pushes her sunglasses up her head and looks me in the eyes. "But I won't share anything you say with him. Just FYI. I'm a strict believer in the girl code."
I can't tell her the truth. I can't say, actually, I hired your fiancé’s brother to spice up my sex life, which he did, and he convinced me that was the path to a great fake relationship. But I can give her a version of the truth.
I want to give her a version of the truth.
All this deception is exhausting. Like the last few years of my marriage.
And it's confusing, too. Because I don't know what's real and what's pretend anymore.
"It is true, we started casually," I say. "And it's true I only wanted sex at first. He's just… gorgeous."
She smiles. "He is."
"And he's patient and skilled. The way he drew things out the first night…
I thought I was going to die. I wanted him so badly.
I didn't know I could want anything that badly.
" My cheeks flush. It's not an act. The memory does warm me.
And it is absurd, talking about sex, in this coffee shop, surrounded by people in business casual attire and moms with strollers.
"My ex-husband and I weren't having sex for a long time.
I forgot what good sex felt like. How it felt to be desired. To desire."
"I remember that feeling." Her eyes get dreamy. "Not that Danny and I have bad sex. It's good. He tries. If there's one thing you can say about Daniel Galante, it's that when he puts his mind to something, he accomplishes it."
"Including your orgasm?"
She blushes. It's barely noticeable with her dark skin, but it's there. It's adorable.
I can see why he fell for her. And why he's worried Romeo is interested in her.
"Yes," she says. "But that's not really an issue. Especially if I've been vaping. And, well… Danny would say I'm always vaping, but Danny doesn't mind how good the sex is after that."
"Do you usually have sex high?" she asks.
"No, no, no, I see what you're doing, Doctor Vaughn. I'm not here to talk about my relationship problems. Not that I have problems. Well, no more than any normal, healthy relationship." She pushes her sunglasses back down her face. "You're intimidating. Has anyone told you that?"