Wedding in Great Neck (9781101607701) by Yona Zeldis McDonough Page B
Authors: Yona Zeldis McDonough
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called. “I’m in the shade ’cause I don’t want to get burned.”
“You and Angelica, always shunning the sun,” he said, but he got up and ambled over, striped towel trailing along behind him, to where she sat.
“When we’re old ladies, our skin will still be radiant and dewy, while yours will be all wrinkled, like a raisin.”
“No, it won’t,” he said, nudging her leg with his.
“Why not, smarty-pants?” she retorted. “Do you have an antiaging secret you’re not telling me about? No fair.”
“Didn’t I tell you? I’m not going to get old.”
“And how are you planning to avoid that?” Gretchen scanned the sky overhead; it must have been noon or just about. She was getting hungry, damn it. The downside of physical exertion.
“I’m planning to die young.”
He looked so serious that Gretchen wanted to hug him and say, Shut
up
, in that way she heard her daughters say it, the emphasis on the second word. Instead she said, “You’re really crazy about this guy, huh?”
He nodded, and the smile widened until it consumed his face.
“That’s wonderful, Caleb. Really wonderful.”
“We’re moving in together.” He leaned forward as he spoke.
“Really? I didn’t know.” Gretchen considered this for a moment. Was it too sudden, or was Caleb really ready to commit?
“We just decided.”
“Any thoughts about where?”
“It’s complicated.” Gretchen said nothing, waiting for him to go on. “I haven’t told this to anyone but Mom yet,” he continued, voice growing more animated. “I haven’t been happy at work for a long time now, and I’m ready for a change. So I’m going back to school. To become a pastry chef.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Not.”
“Well,” Gretchen said. “Well.”
“So everything’s a little unsettled now. I’ll be starting school in September, and I want Bobby to go with me.”
“Go with you where?”
“This is the best part: the cooking school is in the south of France. A town called St. Jean Cap Ferrat; it’s on the Riviera.”
Gretchen was silent.
“What? You mean you don’t think that’s a little slice of heaven?”
“Mom’s paying for this, isn’t she?”
“What difference does that make?” He looked hurt.
“None, I guess.” Why had she even
said
that? She let her mother pay her daughters’ tuition, didn’t she? Who was she to throw stones?
“It’s not like she can’t spare it,” he said, gesturing to the pool and all that went with it.
“You’re right,” she said, shamed now by her ungenerous response. “You’re absolutely right. She has the money, and she wants to give it to you. Why shouldn’t you take it?”
“Exactly,” Caleb said. “And if I become really successful as a chef, I can pay her back, right?”
“Right,” she said, and in that moment he was her little brother again, dripping chocolate batter onto the pages of the
Joy of Cooking
as he pored intently over its stained pages. “Anyway, all this talk about pastry is making me hungry,” she added, swinging her legs up from the chaise and reaching for her towel. “Why don’t we go inside and see if we can find some lunch?”
Caleb got up, and together they walked back along one of the paths that led to the house. Along the way they passed a quaintly decaying stone well—nonfunctional—and a bronze fountain of a dolphin spewing water from its bronze mouth. Her mother did love her garden ornaments. They also passed the little shed; Gretchen noticed that the red wheelbarrow was standing by its door, which was partially ajar. That meant Jon, the sexy grounds crew guy, was somewhere nearby. She sucked her stomach in as she ever so casually glanced around in the hope that she might see him. And in the next instant she did, but then just as quickly wished she didn’t: still shirtless, he stood just inside the shed, his wonderfully tanned and muscled arms locked tightly around Bobby as the two of them kissed as if they would never
“You and Angelica, always shunning the sun,” he said, but he got up and ambled over, striped towel trailing along behind him, to where she sat.
“When we’re old ladies, our skin will still be radiant and dewy, while yours will be all wrinkled, like a raisin.”
“No, it won’t,” he said, nudging her leg with his.
“Why not, smarty-pants?” she retorted. “Do you have an antiaging secret you’re not telling me about? No fair.”
“Didn’t I tell you? I’m not going to get old.”
“And how are you planning to avoid that?” Gretchen scanned the sky overhead; it must have been noon or just about. She was getting hungry, damn it. The downside of physical exertion.
“I’m planning to die young.”
He looked so serious that Gretchen wanted to hug him and say, Shut
up
, in that way she heard her daughters say it, the emphasis on the second word. Instead she said, “You’re really crazy about this guy, huh?”
He nodded, and the smile widened until it consumed his face.
“That’s wonderful, Caleb. Really wonderful.”
“We’re moving in together.” He leaned forward as he spoke.
“Really? I didn’t know.” Gretchen considered this for a moment. Was it too sudden, or was Caleb really ready to commit?
“We just decided.”
“Any thoughts about where?”
“It’s complicated.” Gretchen said nothing, waiting for him to go on. “I haven’t told this to anyone but Mom yet,” he continued, voice growing more animated. “I haven’t been happy at work for a long time now, and I’m ready for a change. So I’m going back to school. To become a pastry chef.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Not.”
“Well,” Gretchen said. “Well.”
“So everything’s a little unsettled now. I’ll be starting school in September, and I want Bobby to go with me.”
“Go with you where?”
“This is the best part: the cooking school is in the south of France. A town called St. Jean Cap Ferrat; it’s on the Riviera.”
Gretchen was silent.
“What? You mean you don’t think that’s a little slice of heaven?”
“Mom’s paying for this, isn’t she?”
“What difference does that make?” He looked hurt.
“None, I guess.” Why had she even
said
that? She let her mother pay her daughters’ tuition, didn’t she? Who was she to throw stones?
“It’s not like she can’t spare it,” he said, gesturing to the pool and all that went with it.
“You’re right,” she said, shamed now by her ungenerous response. “You’re absolutely right. She has the money, and she wants to give it to you. Why shouldn’t you take it?”
“Exactly,” Caleb said. “And if I become really successful as a chef, I can pay her back, right?”
“Right,” she said, and in that moment he was her little brother again, dripping chocolate batter onto the pages of the
Joy of Cooking
as he pored intently over its stained pages. “Anyway, all this talk about pastry is making me hungry,” she added, swinging her legs up from the chaise and reaching for her towel. “Why don’t we go inside and see if we can find some lunch?”
Caleb got up, and together they walked back along one of the paths that led to the house. Along the way they passed a quaintly decaying stone well—nonfunctional—and a bronze fountain of a dolphin spewing water from its bronze mouth. Her mother did love her garden ornaments. They also passed the little shed; Gretchen noticed that the red wheelbarrow was standing by its door, which was partially ajar. That meant Jon, the sexy grounds crew guy, was somewhere nearby. She sucked her stomach in as she ever so casually glanced around in the hope that she might see him. And in the next instant she did, but then just as quickly wished she didn’t: still shirtless, he stood just inside the shed, his wonderfully tanned and muscled arms locked tightly around Bobby as the two of them kissed as if they would never
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