Part 11 (1/2)
Yes, I thought, a very good man.
14.
WE were still unfolding from Kai's car when the front door of the rambling white farmhouse flew open. A tall, slender woman wearing a flowing batik skirt, tank top, and headscarf came charging toward us, one finger pointed menacingly at Kai.
”Tom Breyon just called,” she said, striding past a painted sign that stood in the yard, its careful lettering announcing Forsythia Farms. ”You're here. With a real, live girl. And I have to hear this news from an elderly man at a highway stand? Have you not one considerate bone in your body, Kai Malloy?” By then end of this little monologue, she was laughing, her sinewy, muscular arms draped around her brother's neck.
”Good to see you, Dahls.” Kai lifted her and spun her in a half circle, making her skirt ripple outward in a colorful arc. He set her down and turned her toward me.
”Charlie Garrett, this is my eldest and bossiest sister, Dahlia. Dahlia, meet Charlie. Famous pastry chef and a woman who alphabetizes her clothes according to label.”
”What?” I sputtered, noting the way my heart had started to thump loudly in my chest, suddenly eager to impress this woman. ”First of all, I'm not famous-”
”Oh, yes, you are!” she said, barreling toward me, arms outstretched. ”You are famous in our family. You're a girl! And Kai let you come here with him! You're already a legend around here.” Dahlia gathered me into a neck hug. My nose rested on her bony collarbone. ”So lovely to meet you, Charlie,” she said, eyes bright. ”My dolt of a brother could have given me a little notice, and I would have at least cleaned the toilet. But you'll just have to take your chances. Come,” she said, tugging on my hand. ”You can freshen up while I get drinks. Ruben is out in the fields, Kai. I'll pack a lunch, and you and Charlie can take it to him.”
”See?” Kai whispered into my ear. I was still not used to having him so close. The word scrumptious came to mind. ”I told you she was bossy.”
He held the screened door for me, and I stepped into the front hallway. My eyes swept over the rooms before me. A family lived here, I could see, and by the looks of it, one that was spirited and creative and lively and full of love. Creaky oak floors cus.h.i.+oned our steps, punctuated every now and then with colorful rugs. I loved the wide white baseboards and molding, the abundance of beautiful photography, family portraits, and children's artwork. I slipped into a tiny bathroom tucked under the stairs. The toilet, as it happens, was sparkly clean, making Dahlia out to be either a liar or a woman with very high standards of cleanliness. Either way, I felt relieved.
After I finished slapping my cheeks in an effort to pretend I had encountered the summer sun before that morning, I walked to the end of the hallway and was greeted with a large, open room flooded with light. An expansive family room sat to my right, full of comfortable furniture, stacks of board games, and bookshelves crammed with worn t.i.tles. To my left, a large, inviting kitchen beckoned, and Kai had already answered the call. He looked up from where he stood by the island, his hands busy with a bag of tortilla chips.
He smiled. ”Salsa and chips okay?”
”Perfect,” I said. ”How can I help?” I hesitated, waiting for Dahlia to give me the high sign. One never wanted to presume in another person's kitchen.
She turned from her post at the kitchen sink and grinned. ”Two professional chefs in my kitchen! I should go take a nap.”
”You certainly can,” I offered. ”We'd be happy to give you a day off.”
”Um, no,” Kai said. ”No, we would not.”
Dahlia punched him in his side, not gently, I noted, and then pointed me to a cutting board.
”I'd love some help with the margaritas,” she said, gesturing to a pile of limes waiting to be juiced. ”This isn't exactly a lunch, but Kai said you guys ate lots of Tom's fruit and snacks on the way in.” She rolled her eyes. ”I'm so happy to hear that after meeting that anorexic woman Kai introduced us to at that sw.a.n.ky Seattle lunch spot a while back.”
Kai stared at his sister. ”She was not anorexic. She was genetically predisposed to terrifying thinness. Also,” he pointed the tip of his knife at her as he spoke, ”that meeting occurred about three years ago, so have I finished serving my sentence yet?”
Dahlia shook her head at me conspiratorially. ”She was a train wreck. Too eager to please. And she didn't eat her salad. It was a salad.” She huffed at the memory. ”That woman,” she added, eyebrows raised, ”never made the cut to a farm visit.”
I felt my cheeks getting warm and decided my safest response would be to get to business with the juicing. I cut and squeezed, content to listen to the easy banter between Kai and his sister. They caught up on local gossip, discussed the weather and the season's harvest. When I brought the lime juice to Dahlia, she thanked me no fewer than five times, then went into full-throttle interrogation mode as she spun the rims of our gla.s.ses into a mound of kosher salt.
”So, Charlie, how long have you lived in Seattle?”
”Only a few months, actually. I moved this spring from New York.”
”Ooh, I love New York. The city that never sleeps! Why did you move to sleepy little Was.h.i.+ngton?” she asked, unblinking eyes trained on my face.
I looked at Kai, who appeared to be enjoying watching someone else endure Dahlia's pointed questioning. ”I came for the job at Thrill. I've been working toward being a head pastry chef for about ten years, so when the opportunity came, I took it.”
A few moments of demure interest in that little tidbit and then she was locking and loading the real ammunition. ”Kai told me your name on the phone a few weeks ago and I may have done just a quick Google search. I read all about you on the Thrill website. Great photo, by the way. Are your waves natural? And you work for an ex-boyfriend. How's that dynamic working out?”
I could feel The Splotch revving up along my neck. Dahlia turned and had her back to me for a moment. I took the opportunity to widen my eyes at Kai. She Googled me? ”Well, yes. We do work together, but it's going fine. There's nothing between us. There really never was. Very much. And it was a long time ago.” I stopped talking, because when a person resorts to sentence fragments, that person should be silent.
Kai let out a sound of younger-brother exasperation. ”'K. So we're done with the skinny lunch girl and Charlie's working relations.h.i.+p with her ex. Any other items to cross off the list before you start the waterboarding?”
”Hmph.” Dahila sniffed at her brother. ”I'm not being too nosy, am I?”
”If you have to ask that question, the answer is yes,” Kai muttered, scooping salsa into a bright ceramic bowl.
Dahlia turned to me. ”Am I being too nosy, Charlie? I'm just doing due diligence. It's so seldom that we get any information at all about Brother Dear's social life-”
”I'll be on the porch,” Kai said and scowled at our grins on his way out.
Dahlia and I followed Kai to the porch off the kitchen, an airy room that opened onto a long, green backyard dotted with gardens. Splashes of magenta, deep purple, and show-off yellows nodded in the breeze. The view within the room was just as charming. Under a beamed ceiling and suspended by thick ropes, two sofa-sized porch swings faced each other. A smattering of other comfy chairs circled the seating area. The collection of soft cus.h.i.+ons everywhere practically begged for a slow and luxurious afternoon nap. Or a fantastic makeout session with a very good-looking man. My eyes darted to Kai, and my pulse instantly quickened with the idea that perhaps Dahlia could read my thoughts. She set the margaritas on a rough-hewn table between the swings and poured each of us a generous drink.
I sat and sipped. ”This is delicious,” I said, nose in the gla.s.s. ”Citrusy, salty, made with very good tequila.”
Kai nodded. ”Sweet. Less fiber, more floral and herbal. Patrn Silver maybe?”
We looked at Dahlia, waiting for the answer. She burst out in delighted laughter. ”You're both total nerds! This is perfect!”
”The salsa is Ruben's mother's recipe, right?” Kai asked, ignoring her outburst. ”And I'm sure Charlie loves being ridiculed for her food a.n.a.lysis as much as I do.”
I laughed. ”I don't mind,” I said. ”At least you're making salsa from scratch. My family never ate tortilla chips without melted Velveeta and a heaping spoonful of ground beef. And beef not raised on a sustainable farm, mind you.”
”That concoction sounds delicious,” Dahlia said with a smile.
I smiled back because, truthfully, it really was.
”The recipe for the margaritas was in a cooking magazine,” she said with a shrug, ”and I did it exactly as written. And the salsa, chefs, is from a jar with a bar code.”
Kai frowned, but I had to bite back a smile.
”I'm not very much of an experimentalist,” Dahlia said. ”Certainly not like Kai, who commandeered my Easy Bake Oven by the time he was six and who thinks of recipes as cheating.”
Kai shook his head but had to wait to swallow a mammoth chip piled with salsa before he could speak. ”Not true. I think recipes are great. For children.”
My turn to punch him. ”I use recipes all the time, and I'm not a child.”
”Speaking of children,” Dahlia interjected, her eyes lively, ”Charlie, when do you see yourself getting married? Raising a family?”
”All right, then,” Kai interrupted. ”We can pick up this line of questioning again never. Thanks, Dahls, for the drinks and salsa.” He stood and waited for me to join him.
”What?” Dahlia said, looking ornery as she pushed her swing gently back and forth. ”These are perfectly logical questions, Kai. You take a girl home for the first time in a decade, you better believe I have some questions at the ready.” She winked at me.