difference.”
“Ah, tofu. That would explain the texture.”
Virginia went on to extol the virtues of tofu as a substitute for everything from hot dogs to whipped cream. Reggie had sucked down her third glass of cabernet by the time Virginia led them to the dinner table.
Dinner wasn’t any better than the appetizer. “Here, Gabe, let me give you the biggest piece.” Virginia placed a miniscule piece of sad-looking white fish adorned with a tired smattering of herbs. Then she heaped on a pile of green beans that, he realized when he tasted them, were flavored only with lemon juice.
He thought back wistfully to the rich, cheese-laden gnocchi Reggie had fed him earlier.
Reggie poked listlessly at her fish, taking tiny bites between sessions of arranging and rearranging her food. Gabe made a mental note to hook her up with a Power Bar later. Or if they were lucky, they’d pass a Taco Bell on the way back to the hotel.
“I hope you don’t mind our simple fare,” Virginia continued. “As you can see,” she cast a sidelong gaze at her husband, “my husband’s side of the family is prone to heaviness. Poor Reggie didn’t inherit my slender genes.”
Genes??!! Anyone would look like a starvation victim on this diet.
He was surprised when Reggie didn’t come back at her mother with a snappy remark, or tease her about her own lack of cooking skills. Instead, Reggie seemed oddly diminished as she sat at the table, answering all of her parents’ questions without her usual vivacity.
Her father seemed to understand and tried to keep the conversation light and insubstantial, focusing on Reggie’s new show and asking about her new cookbook.
“You’re going to regret it if you keep cooking that way, using all that butter and oil,” Virginia sighed.
“Mother, studies have shown that olive oil is very good for your heart, and almost everything I make is healthy.”
Virginia piously chewed on her unadorned fish, then smiled ruefully. “After the example I set for you girls, I can’t believe you’ve ended up doing work that’s so menial. Gabe, do you know that I went to Harvard Law school when the girls were babies? I nearly killed myself, first to get my degree, then to make partner, and what do I end up with? One daughter who gives up a successful accounting career to be a cook, of all things, and another who humiliates me by hawking feminine hygiene products.” Virginia’s laugh trilled shrilly through the dining room.
Gabe froze, fork halfway to his mouth as he glanced uncomfortably at Reggie and her father. John’s cheeks were red, and his lips were pursed as though he’d learned after many long, hard years of marriage not to bother arguing with his wife.
Reggie’s face was purple as she stabbed murderously at her green beans. “Menial? Mom, who are we, the Kennedys? What, a best-selling book and two TV shows aren’t enough for you?”
Virginia chewed silently for a moment, then murmured, “We’ll see how long this success lasts. Considering you’re not even a professional chef, there’s only so far you can go.”
Reggie threw down her fork, sputtering as she got sucked into what was obviously a long-running argument between mother and daughter. “Only so far? Mom, how would you even know? Look at Martha Stewart—”
Virginia cut her off, “Yes, let’s look at Martha, with her stint in federal prison.”
Gabe winced. Reggie refilled her wineglass.
Reggie leaned her head back against the headrest, watching the flicker of streetlights play off Gabe’s cheekbones and jaw. A faint shadow of beard darkened his jaw, giving his features a rough cast. She could easily imagine him in the desert somewhere, hefting a big gun as he warded off enemy fire.
She closed her eyes, but that made her head spin. She really should have stopped before that last glass of wine. Maybe if she sucked down a bottle of water before she went to bed, tomorrow wouldn’t be too much of a nightmare. She rolled
“Ah, tofu. That would explain the texture.”
Virginia went on to extol the virtues of tofu as a substitute for everything from hot dogs to whipped cream. Reggie had sucked down her third glass of cabernet by the time Virginia led them to the dinner table.
Dinner wasn’t any better than the appetizer. “Here, Gabe, let me give you the biggest piece.” Virginia placed a miniscule piece of sad-looking white fish adorned with a tired smattering of herbs. Then she heaped on a pile of green beans that, he realized when he tasted them, were flavored only with lemon juice.
He thought back wistfully to the rich, cheese-laden gnocchi Reggie had fed him earlier.
Reggie poked listlessly at her fish, taking tiny bites between sessions of arranging and rearranging her food. Gabe made a mental note to hook her up with a Power Bar later. Or if they were lucky, they’d pass a Taco Bell on the way back to the hotel.
“I hope you don’t mind our simple fare,” Virginia continued. “As you can see,” she cast a sidelong gaze at her husband, “my husband’s side of the family is prone to heaviness. Poor Reggie didn’t inherit my slender genes.”
Genes??!! Anyone would look like a starvation victim on this diet.
He was surprised when Reggie didn’t come back at her mother with a snappy remark, or tease her about her own lack of cooking skills. Instead, Reggie seemed oddly diminished as she sat at the table, answering all of her parents’ questions without her usual vivacity.
Her father seemed to understand and tried to keep the conversation light and insubstantial, focusing on Reggie’s new show and asking about her new cookbook.
“You’re going to regret it if you keep cooking that way, using all that butter and oil,” Virginia sighed.
“Mother, studies have shown that olive oil is very good for your heart, and almost everything I make is healthy.”
Virginia piously chewed on her unadorned fish, then smiled ruefully. “After the example I set for you girls, I can’t believe you’ve ended up doing work that’s so menial. Gabe, do you know that I went to Harvard Law school when the girls were babies? I nearly killed myself, first to get my degree, then to make partner, and what do I end up with? One daughter who gives up a successful accounting career to be a cook, of all things, and another who humiliates me by hawking feminine hygiene products.” Virginia’s laugh trilled shrilly through the dining room.
Gabe froze, fork halfway to his mouth as he glanced uncomfortably at Reggie and her father. John’s cheeks were red, and his lips were pursed as though he’d learned after many long, hard years of marriage not to bother arguing with his wife.
Reggie’s face was purple as she stabbed murderously at her green beans. “Menial? Mom, who are we, the Kennedys? What, a best-selling book and two TV shows aren’t enough for you?”
Virginia chewed silently for a moment, then murmured, “We’ll see how long this success lasts. Considering you’re not even a professional chef, there’s only so far you can go.”
Reggie threw down her fork, sputtering as she got sucked into what was obviously a long-running argument between mother and daughter. “Only so far? Mom, how would you even know? Look at Martha Stewart—”
Virginia cut her off, “Yes, let’s look at Martha, with her stint in federal prison.”
Gabe winced. Reggie refilled her wineglass.
Reggie leaned her head back against the headrest, watching the flicker of streetlights play off Gabe’s cheekbones and jaw. A faint shadow of beard darkened his jaw, giving his features a rough cast. She could easily imagine him in the desert somewhere, hefting a big gun as he warded off enemy fire.
She closed her eyes, but that made her head spin. She really should have stopped before that last glass of wine. Maybe if she sucked down a bottle of water before she went to bed, tomorrow wouldn’t be too much of a nightmare. She rolled
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