Love, Life and Linguine - By Melissa Jacobs Page 0,15

it did,” Nick says.

“Have you ever read Proverbs, five?”

Nick looks down at his kitchen clogs. “I was going to tell you, in a calm, rational way, that the relationship wasn’t working for me. I hoped that you would understand, and agree to work at Il Ristorante.”

“That would’ve worked out well for you. Nice and neat.”

“I would like us to be friends,” Nick says.

“Maybe we should’ve been friends before we were lovers. My mom has this theory about taking relationships slowly. But anyway, no. I don’t think we can be friends.”

“Let me know if you change your mind,” Nick says.

“I am changing my mind,” I tell him. “I’m changing a lot of things.”

Allison’s Kitchen

When I tell Mom and Allison that I have Big News, they immediately arrange for a family dinner. As I drive to Allison’s house, I think of how pleased Mom will be with my plan to restore Café Louis to her former glory. Surely Mom wants Dad’s legacy maintained. I’m less sure about Allison’s reaction. She has no sentimental attachment to Café Louis.

No one answers my knock, so I let myself in. I adore this house. If—nay, when—I have a big house, I want it to be like this one. The walls of the foyer are painted pomegranate red. The ceiling is eggshell white, meeting the walls in cream-colored crown molding. The floor is patterned in black and ivory diamonds, and an ornate chandelier descends from the ceiling.

“Hello?” I call, making my way into Allison’s kitchen. The kitchen floor is a medley of berry-toned tiles. Above the granite-topped island hangs a canopy of pots and pans. The stainless steel Sub-Zero refrigerator stands in front of a Viking stove and six-burner range. Light wood cabinets are fronted by glass, bringing light into the kitchen and revealing Allison’s neatly arranged plates, bowls, glasses, and mugs. French doors lead to the backyard, where I see a giant play center for the kids.

“Aunt Mimi!” Gideon and Ezra jump around my knees and I lean down to receive their apple-juiced kisses. They are still young enough to be unselfconsciously affectionate.

My niece, Sarah, is different. A very mature eight-year-old, she is the young lady her mother raises her to be. Sarah kisses my cheek, then puts her hand in mine. Sarah has her mother’s blond hair, but there is something of my father in her face. Something wise. “Mom said that a boy made you very sad. But I’m glad you’re home.”

“Thank you, sweetie.” I adore this child. I should spend more time with her.

With a mouthful of lasagna, Jeremy says, “Mimi doesn’t want to sell Café Louis. She wants to run it for three months to see if she can make it profitable. If not, we sell to SHRED.”

I’m wondering where the “we” went—as in “we agreed not to sell the restaurant”—when Mom says, “I think that’s a big mistake.”

I crunch my brow in Mom’s direction. She says, “I thought your big news was that you found a job.”

“I did find a job,” I say. “Not a new job. An old job.”

Mom says, “If you want to run your own restaurant, you should sell Café Louis and use the money to buy your own place.”

“We have a restaurant up and running. She just needs a few changes to be profitable. Why would I start from scratch?”

Mom exhales loudly. “What do you think, Ally?”

Allison wipes a blob of tomato sauce from Gideon’s face. “I don’t know anything about the restaurant business.”

“But you must have an opinion,” Mom pushes.

Why does she care so much about what Allison thinks?

Allison shrugs. “If Mimi really wants this…”

“I do.”

“…then I guess we should support her.”

“Great. Thanks.” I’ll take it.

M&M’s

Seeking more validation, I invite Madeline to The Garden. “Take the Ben Franklin Bridge to Route 108. Make a left at the Home Depot. Turn right at the Dunkin’ Donuts. Bear right at the Starbucks. You’ll pass Target, McDonald’s and Burger King. Turn left at the Dunkin’ Donuts, right at the Starbucks and after the Home Depot, turn left on Kean Road and you’ll see the sign for The Garden. The address is 32 Tomato Road.”

Madeline arrives wearing three-inch mules, camo pants, and a white tank top. I can see both her bra and her biceps. Madeline hands me a white box. “Your favorite,” she says.

Inside the pink and white Tiers box is a piece of vanilla sponge cake filled with kirsch mousseline. “Merci mucho,” I say.

She smiles. “Who’s your Maddie?”

We sit on Mom’s cream-colored couch. Maddie picks up SJ magazine