Page 66 of From Paris, with Butter
He caught me up and swung me around, heedless of the people surrounding us.
“I’ve missed you horrifically,” he said, after we’d kissed. “Everything’s sodreary without you. There’s no sunshine to counter my grumpiness.”
Laurent was only here for two days, and we spent the entirety of them together, not wanting to lose a single moment with each other. At meals, during walks across the city, as we lay curled together in bed, Laurent regaled me with tales from his new job. Taking over a restaurant was always daunting, but Laurent was confident things were going well.
“All the sous chefs and line cooks and servers work together well. It’s really encouraging,” Laurent said.
We were sprawled out on my couch, enjoying our final evening together. Laurent looked tired but elated, and he couldn’t keep the excitement out of his voice whenever he spoke about his new job. I didn’t want to bring the mood down, so I didn’t mention anything about my latest encounter with Sabine.
Ididtell him about the burnt macarons, and his laughter and stories of his own kitchen disasters raised my spirits.
Laurent was happy at his new job, he and I spoke every day, we’d just spent a wonderful few days together, and we already had our next two visits planned.
We’re doing it,I thought.We’re making this work.
“Tell me what you think of this idea,” Laurent said, his eyes bright.
“I thought of it because of your fusion suggestion for the gala. I want to do a plated meal that mixes Provencal and German recipes. I was thinking we’d start with rosemary and thyme pretzels with a lavender honey mustard dipping sauce. Now, do you think if I also included lavender in the breading for the schnitzel that’d be too much?”
“Lavender schnitzel? I think that sounds ghastly,” I told him, and we both erupted into laughter. “But Fatima did love your lavender-honey glazed lamb for the gala. The culinary team got really creative with the presentation; you’ll love it when you see it.”
Laurent stiffened.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“I can’t come to the gala,” he said. My stomach tightened. “It’s during Berlin’s restaurant week. I offered the owners anything they wanted to let me come back to see you at the gala, but they wouldn’t budge. The restaurant is already booked solid that week; there’s going to be swarms of food critics anddiners who want to see what I cook. It’s critical to start off on the right foot.”
Laurent’s eyes were wide and pleading. “I got permission to visit the week after. I know it’s not the same, but we can go over every moment of the gala and how amazing your food was. You understand, right? You know I tried everything I could to be there?”
For a few moments, I couldn’t even manage a smile. I understood Laurent’s situation, but it was still a gut punch that he couldn’t attend an event that he knew was so important to me and that was causing me so much anxiety. Now I’d have to go through it all without him.
Laurent looked so miserable, though.
“It’s OK,” I sighed, resting my head against his chest. “I know you’d be there if you could. When you come the next week, I’ll bake you samples of everything I made, and you can give me your unfiltered opinion on whether I poisoned the gala guests or not.”
“I’m sure everything you make will be delicious,” Laurent said, his arms tight around me. “Thank you for being so understanding.”
I hugged Laurent back, but that didn’t stop my thoughts from racing. For once, even I couldn’t pull something positive out of a situation.
Chapter 25
It started with a missed phone call.
I got home from work one evening and dialed Laurent at 9pm, our designated time to talk on the phone. When he didn’t answer, I wasn’t concerned; it wasn’t unusual for work to run a little late for either of us. I poured myself a glass of wine and changed into my silk pajamas while I waited for Laurent to call me back. Except that he didn’t. Not at 9:30, not at 10:00. It was almost 11:00 when my phone finally rang.
“I am so sorry,” Laurent said as soon as I picked up. He sounded frazzled. I listened sympathetically as he recounted the disagreement he’d had with the owners over changes to the menu.
“Don’t worry. I know you’ve been so busy,” I reassured him.
The next week he was over an hour late for two of our calls. Another he completely cancelled because he was so busy.
We’ll talk extra long tomorrow,he texted.
And we did, although it was only about work. His work. Before Laurent had moved to Berlin, he and I had made lists of places for him to visit in the city: parks, museums, coffee shops…
“This is your home now, and you should explore it,” I’d told him.
But Laurent had time for nothing beyond the restaurant.
