Something She's Not Telling Us - Darcey Bell Page 0,51
years,” says Ruth. “Everyone has those nights.”
“You must be very tired.” Doesn’t Ruth hear how unfriendly Mom sounds?
Ruth goes straight to sleep and spends most of the next day working on her laptop in Mom’s courtyard. She doesn’t eat anything, and she makes a glass of orange juice last all day. At home she’s always had such a thing about food. Surely whatever Luz is offering is no more unfamiliar than that Chinese meal in Queens. Is Ruth afraid of getting sick?
“Is she all right?” Charlotte asks Rocco.
Rocco says, “Leave her alone. She’s fine.”
But Rocco doesn’t seem fine.
Mom is making a genuine effort to be hospitable. A superhuman effort. Unheard of, for Mom. The first evening Ruth’s there, just before dinner and just after Mom’s gotten Eli and Charlotte (and herself) trashed on margaritas, Mom asks what Ruth would like to do in Oaxaca. Is there anyone she wants to meet?
Ruth says, “My favorite thing, wherever I go, is to meet a cool local chef. It was useful when I traveled with the baroness, to scope out the best cooks, even though she made such a production of eating half of whatever she was served, a tiny portion. It was my job to explain that it wasn’t an insult or a sign that the Baroness Frieda didn’t like the food. Half portions were her brand.”
Waiting for Mom to ask who the Baroness Frieda is, Ruth pauses. But Mom doesn’t care, or already knows. Charlotte waits for Mom to say that leaving half of what you’re served is the most decadent thing she’s ever heard of, unless you’re planning to give the other half to someone who’s hungry. But Mom doesn’t say that, either.
What Mom does care about is showing her family the fabulous life she’s made for herself, without their help, in Oaxaca. That includes having a chef on her contacts list. A young Mexican rising star would have been better, but at least Mom knows an expat cook. Chef Basil, who ran a fine-dining restaurant in Atlanta, has retired with his partner to Oaxaca, where they run a cooking school.
“Have you heard of Chef Basil, Ruth?” asks Mom. “I believe he appeared on Martha Stewart.”
“Yes, I think so,” says Ruth.
“He’s one of those guys who puts the fun in cooking fundamentals.” Mom giggles, and Charlotte wonders how many cocktails she had before she started mixing them for her and Eli.
Chef Basil owes Mom a favor. She watered his plants when he and Ernesto went back to Atlanta to collect an inheritance. Maybe he’ll agree to give Ruth a quick free lesson. Their classes are usually sold out for weeks, but Mom will give it a try.
Mom likes creating the impression that all of expat Oaxaca is at her beck and call. She leaves the room, and they can hear her purring into the phone. Then she tells them that it’s all set up for two people tomorrow morning at Chef Basil’s house. Two people? She must have assumed that Rocco and Ruth—the happy couple—would go, but Rocco says, “I wouldn’t go to a shit show like that if someone held a gun to my head.”
Well! Charlotte’s puzzled. Rocco loves food. Normally, he’d go along just to see what it was like. It reinforces Charlotte’s sense that some strain is making him watchful around Ruth. Maybe her implausible story about the car swarmed by children has put him on guard. It did seem preposterous, yet Charlotte is still puzzled by why she would invent it.
Mom says, “Obviously I can’t go. My party’s the next day, in case you’ve forgotten.”
They haven’t forgotten. Thirty friends will be assembling in her courtyard for champagne and street food made by everyone’s favorite vendors. Mom looks at Charlotte, imploringly. That is, imploringly for Mom. Would Charlotte go to Chef Basil’s with Ruth?
“Sure,” Charlotte says, “I could use a few tips on how to cook great Mexican food.”
“Not just great,” says Mom. “Fabulous. I can take care of Daisy. She’s always helpful. Right, honey?”
Daisy nods without looking up from her Our Mexican Adventure notebook. She’s pasting in pictures she’s cut out of the airplane magazine, images of cathedrals nowhere near Oaxaca, of snorkelers diving in turquoise water, of tourists doing yoga on expanses of bleached sand. It’s never occurred to Charlotte to say: That isn’t our Mexican adventure. Daisy’s pasting the pictures in her book makes them part of their adventure too.
THE NEXT MORNING, Ruth and Charlotte set off for Chef Basil’s house. Ruth prattles about