Aftertaste - Meredith Mileti [147]
“Big news. Fiona and your dad brought Chinese over to your apartment for lunch, you know, to keep Richard company, and when I dropped Chloe off there, they invited me to stay. So, we’re all sitting around eating, and Carlos and Chloe are playing on the floor, and suddenly Chloe pulls herself up on the coffee table, grabs a fortune cookie, and walks back over to Carlos. She took like, five steps all by herself, until she noticed we were all staring, at which point she fell down, crushed the fortune cookie, and started crying. But hey, she’s officially taken her first steps! Go, Chloe!”
I stop short in the middle of Christopher Street, stunned. Chloe had taken her first unaided steps, and I had missed them. I’d worried about her being late to walk, had trekked untold miles with my fingers caught in her tightfisted embrace. But whenever she sensed I’d been about to disengage myself, she’d tightened her grasp, pulling me closer, lower, nearer to her. Now she’s done it. And I missed it.
I can picture them all sitting in my living room watching her. Did Chloe look around for me? Did she wonder where I am?
“Oh, shit,” Ruth finally says. “Mira, I’m so sorry. We called you right away and left a message. I can’t believe I’ve been so insensitive,” she sighs. “I guess it’s just that I’ve had to reconcile myself to the fact that Carlos sat up and rolled over and got his first tooth before I adopted him, and maybe I’ve conditioned myself into believing it’s not that big a deal. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset—”
“No, no, it’s okay. Go, Chloe! Plus, I love the fact that she was going after a fortune cookie,” I tell her, but my voice breaks, and I know Ruth is not convinced. Neither of us is.
“Okay, no more walking until you get home. I will glue her booties to the floor if I have to,” Ruth says.
I hang up and then listen to the message, which is from all of them—Fiona, Richard, my dad, Ruth, Carlos screeching in the background. Richard tells me not to worry, he’s managed to capture it on video with his phone. Fiona adds that she’s going to buy Chloe her first pair of dancing shoes, and I can tell from her breathless voice and Chloe’s muffled giggles that she’s dancing with her around the apartment. Then, she presses the phone to Chloe’s ear and says, “Tell Mama hello,” and Chloe, expecting to hear my voice, coos expectantly into the other end. Poor Chloe, who will now have to get used to my not being there for ballet recitals, school plays, orthodontist appointments, and teacher conferences because I’m too busy managing my restaurant empire.
I’m not due at Grappa until eight, so on my way back to the hotel I stop at the grocery store and buy a half bottle of wine. I intend to soak away the afternoon of grime I’ve accumulated, not to mention the heaps of maternal guilt, while sipping a glass of wine in the tub. I’m also hoping it will relax me. I’m nervous about tonight. Not just about being alone with Jake, but about being at Grappa. I haven’t set foot in there since Jerry escorted me out the back door and drove me to the courthouse to turn myself in. I wonder if it’s possible to have some sort of post-traumatic stress reaction the instant I set foot in the place. What if I start foaming at the mouth or writhing in psychic agony?
I take a deep breath and swallow, remembering all at once something that Dr. D-P told me early on in our therapy. It was after I first saw the blurb in Bon Appétit about Il Vinaio, and Dr. D-P had coached me through the exercise in the bathroom mirror. At our next session, she’d suggested that whenever I found myself in a tight spot emotionally, I should try to consider myself “an anthropologist on Mars.”
“A what?” I’d asked her.
“An anthropologist is a person—”
“I know what an anthropologist is.”
She looked at me like she was considering asking me for a definition.
“What’s your boss’s name again?” she asked, trying another tack.
“You mean Enid