Aftertaste - Meredith Mileti [161]
“A few weeks, maybe. I’m not exactly sure when.”
Ben nods. “Miss the big city, do you?”
I shrug. “It’s my restaurant. I’ve got a chance to get it back. It’s what I want. What I’ve always wanted,” I tell him.
“Pittsburgh can’t compare to New York, in terms of the dining experience.” Ben winks at me as he raises his iced tea glass to his lips, his pinky outstretched at an exaggerated angle.
“Pittsburgh has its share of great restaurants. It’s no New York, but there’s more to it than meets the eye,” I tell him. “It’s a great town. Look at Bruno’s—one of the truly great bakeries in any city. There’s—”
“Look, you don’t have to sell me. I live here, remember? And where else can you be right in the middle of the city and be this peaceful? It’s a good life,” Ben says, stretching his legs so his feet are dangling over the edge of the balcony. “It suits me just fine.” He rummages in the bag for another cookie and pops it into his mouth. “Gotta say, the nibs were a good call. Like a nut, but not a nut. Keeps you guessing, you know?”
“I know. It was an inspired idea. Thanks.”
Ben draws his legs in toward his chest and rests his elbows on his knees. “Not that you asked my opinion, but I don’t think you should go.”
I turn to look at him, surprised. “Why not? This is a huge opportunity. I’d be nuts to pass it up.”
Ben looks away. “Well, we’d all miss you for one thing,” he says.
“I’ll miss you, too,” I tell him, although as soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them. Aside from not wanting to give him the wrong impression, I’d glossed over the fact that he’d said “we,” not “I.”
Ben smiles. “Especially Aunt Fi. She’s crazy for Chloe, and Chloe loves her, too. But that’s not the only thing. I mean, you’ve got an interesting job, an opportunity to influence how people cook and eat.”
I lean against the bricks. “I worked so hard to build Grappa. From nothing. I can’t imagine letting it go again. Besides, I think I’m about to be fired from my very interesting job.”
“What? That’s bullshit! They can’t fire you. You’ve got a following!”
“Well, I don’t know about that—”
“Jesus,” Ben says, grabbing the newspaper. “If they fire you what’s left? The Nibbler? Listen to this.” Ben folds the newspaper in two and begins reading. “The dining experience was significantly diminished by the lack of accessible parking.” Ben pulls the newspaper down and grimaces at me. “What does parking have to do with dining?”
Ben gathers up his newspaper and stands. He drains the rest of his iced tea and hands me the empty glass. “Thanks for the snack,” Ben says, offering me his hand and pulling me to my feet. “Good luck with Grappa, Mira.”
“If you are ever in New York, come to Grappa and I’ll take care of you,” I tell him, although we both know he never will.
“If I’m ever in New York,” he says, laughing.
“This can’t possibly be fat free,” Ruth says, scraping the bottom of the ramekin with the tine of her fork.
“It’s not. It’s lower fat. It’s impossible to remove all the sugar and all the fat. It would be tasteless. But don’t worry, it’s filled with protein and not too terrible for you.”
“In that case,” Ruth says, eyeing my unfinished dish.
I push it toward her. “Knock yourself out. I owe you big-time for this one,” I tell her.
Ruth digs into the documents after dinner while I get the kids ready for bed, but even with a double espresso, by eleven o’clock she is starting to nod off. So we pack the two boxes of documents and the sleeping Carlos into her Jeep. “I’ll finish them over the weekend,” she says, yawning.
“Do you know there are two thousand five hundred pages in a box of documents?” Ruth asks, when I call her early Monday morning to see how it’s going. “You can check it on Wikipedia.”
“But the closing is on Thursday. Jerry has to have the signed settlement sheet no later than Wednesday, which means that I have to mail it tomorrow at the latest to get it there in time!”
“Calm down. Go ahead and sign it and put it in the mail. I’m through the first box