Through Thick and Thin (10 page)

“It was about eight years ago. Eight years, right,
Abby
?” Kevin asks Meredith, all the emphasis on Abby. Without waiting for her agreement or disagreement, he turns back to Leslie and explains, “In a share house in the Hamptons. It was the one in Southampton, on Mecox Road, I think.”

Meredith looks up from her menu and agrees, “Yes, Mecox Road,” except when Meredith looks back on her share house experience in the Hamptons, she doesn’t need to differentiate between houses and streets and locations. For her there was only one year, one street. It was not, as they say, for her. Meredith’s social skills are apparently not anywhere near honed enough for such an exercise in mass cohabitation. But she did meet Kevin in that house, and of course she liked him, everyone did, he was friendly and good-looking and had a great job, even then. Meredith has long thought that she’d like to wind up with a banker or a lawyer or some other form of junior tycoon, like Kevin. This is partly stereotype-based—she likes a strongwilled, corporate ladder-climbing type of guy. Partly it is because she has never subscribed to the belief that opposites attract, and she feels that ultimately she’d be best suited to someone as dedicated to his career as she is to hers, to someone who is striving, pushing himself, going places. And, partly, her reasoning is based on the fact that she is superficial. She is. She’s accepted this about herself, she thinks it is, if not okay, at least very understandable in a city like New York.

“Mecox Road,” Kevin repeats again, all bright-eyed and reminiscent. Kevin had a better time that summer than Meredith did. Kevin’s good time was apparently not at all hindered by his opinion of himself in a bathing suit, his self-esteem not at all affected by having to spend the better part of the summer in one.

“Good times,” Meredith says and wonders if it’s been quite a while, too long really, that they’ve been sitting without an invitation for a drink order, without even a visit from the busboy to fill their water glasses. Or if it just seems that way. Though there is a part of her that wants to direct the conversation between Kevin and Leslie, she forces herself to focus on the menu. She likes the menu at Ouest, it’s unusual; so many things on it that you wouldn’t normally see on a grill menu.

The waiter arrives, water doesn’t, which Meredith thinks is too bad, not only because she’s thirsty but because at this point it’s been too long and she’ll have to mention it in her review. As they’re asked if they’d care for a cocktail, Meredith thinks one of the newer Sancerres from the well-planned, and in her opinion excellent, wine list would go very nicely with the skate with savoy cabbage and bacon potato ragout (she thinks as long as she stays, for the most part, away from the bacon potato ragout she
might
be in the Zone). But also, she imagines that not having any wine at all would probably be the best thing.

After a pleasant reading of the specials, the waiter departs with Kevin and Leslie’s orders for wine and Meredith’s request for a bottle of Pellegrino. Flat water appears next, as does a stainless steel, cylindrical breadbasket filled with crisp baguettes, accompanied by a chickpea mash and olive oil. Meredith takes a small amount of chickpea mash on her bread plate. Barry Sears, PhD, creator of the Zone, is a fan of the chickpea, and even, in moderation, of olive oil. She glares at the baguette that she can not have, and touches it to see if it is warm. It is. She keeps an eye on the menu, another on the atmosphere, the other diners, and part of her mind on the proper ratios of proteins and carbs and fats, and even though she hasn’t decided yet what she needs Kevin and Leslie to order, she keeps an ear on their conversation, anyway.

And do you know what she hears? Do you know what she hears as she is trying so very hard to concentrate on her review, and also on controlling her eicosanoids, the heretofore unknown superhormones? She hears Kevin saying to Leslie, “I really like your necklace, it’s so brightly colored.” Meredith’s mind unwittingly kaleidoscopes back to late August, Mecox Road, eight years ago, before there was even an inkling of Josh, when she’d thought Kevin was her banker/lawyer/junior tycoon. And it might have ended less than gracefully, there might have been an incident in which she returned his gift of a Brita water pitcher to him in the dark of night and maybe he’d been confused as to why because maybe he’d never known she’d thought of him that way.

Leslie smiles and flips her hair, chestnut with all these red highlights, some that are almost pink but so well done that they don’t look tacky at all. “Oh, thank you,” she says, and then continues, very seriously, “Some people are all about gray and black and navy in colder weather. But I’m really partial to bright colors, to embracing them year round.”

Kevin nods as if this were a subject of the utmost importance to him.

“It’s because I’m from an island,” she says seriously, fingering the turquoise enamel on her necklace.

The waiter arrivers with Kevin and Leslie’s wineglasses, and sets them down. Meredith wants to turn to Leslie and say,
You are from
Long
Island,
but instead turns to the waiter and says, “On second thought, I’d like a martini, please. Grey Goose, straight up. Very dirty. Oh, and I think we need just one more minute before we order.”

And Kevin gazes at Leslie.

The waiter smilingly retreats and Meredith efficiently calculates in her mind which dishes she has already sampled twice, which she hasn’t, which need to be ordered and which no longer need to be in the lineup. She “suggests,” to Leslie and Kevin what they “might like” to order, and in the interest of efficiency, requests that Kevin double down on appetizers. She thinks it’ll be okay, and she does want to be sure about the gravlax.

Meredith concentrates on the lines of the menu, trying to fathom how on earth to properly measure blocks of protein and fat and good carbs, not bad. Slowly (or maybe it’s a bit quicker than slowly) she begins to think it might not be possible to write a good restaurant review while in the Zone. She contemplates a Zone-friendly approach to restaurant reviewing and wonders what indeed would be missing from the world were critics to try, in all seriousness, to review Babbo while avoiding carbs. Or, rather, what would be missing from her world were she to try to do that?

She tries not to think about that, and decides instead that as long as she’s here, she shouldn’t think too much about ratios and blocks. And it’s not like she hasn’t done anything dietetic. She did, after all, forgo the Sancerre. She wonders how much such a sacrifice counts for as she takes a first sip from her martini.
Well-executed martini,
she thinks.

“Everything’s beautifully presented,” Leslie says when their dishes arrive and Kevin nods and smiles at Leslie approvingly. And Meredith, were she inclined to say anything at this juncture, would say that yes, the appetizers came in a more than timely fashion and the quality of the food and the presentation were so exemplary that it more than made up for, in fact canceled out, any initial wait for water. And as she loses herself, loses track of the Zone, she is for a blissful few moments, at one with the mushroom croquettes with goat cheese and pickled ramps. As she samples off Leslie and Kevin’s plate, Leslie and Kevin not really noticing, she thinks how the salmon is unremarkable, but then salmon often is. But the asparagus flan that accompanies it is perfectly cooked, the asparagus and its subtle seasonings blended together flawlessly. She notes again how at Ouest, the sauces are rich but the food is never overwhelmed. It’s a truly perfect balance and she thinks how hard a balance like that is to find in other places, in the Zone for example. She happily moves on to savor a sturgeon presented as if it were a trout. She ponders its wonderful risotto accompaniment, unique, festive almost, with soybeans.

It’s not until she places her fork down after a sampling (perhaps more than a sampling) of the warm apple crisp with vanilla bean ice cream and caramel sauce, pound cake bread pudding with carmelized bananas and coconut ice cream, as Leslie laughs delicately at something surely witty that Kevin has just said, that it hits her. Kevin is the leading man type, by all means. But he’s not the leading man type in romantic comedies, who despite his good looks and good job and dazzling personality feels quite inclined to date the somewhat beleaguered but plucky (and perhaps a bit overweight) heroine. He is the type of leading man who likes to date models, or some slightly toned-down variation of such. And she wonders if she always secretly thought, all these years, that maybe he’d come around, that maybe he’d be the romantic comedy type of leading man after all.

Kevin smiles at Leslie dashingly; Meredith takes a small, hopefully fortifying sip of her espresso (it has strength and boldness but no bitterness) and her heart ungraciously sinks. She wants the type of heart that fills up when others find love. But yet hers is the heart that thinks,
I have so few single friends left. I have so few people left with whom just to go see a movie.
Hers is the heart that thinks,
It took me such a long time to warm up to Leslie at all, must I lose her so quickly?
And her heart, while it’s on the subject, it would very much like to pose one more query: If Kevin didn’t “think of her that way,” even if it was eight years ago and she was a big enough person to deal with that quite gracefully (ungraceful incident involving the unnecessary returning of a Brita water pitcher notwithstanding) shouldn’t he, out of common courtesy, not like her friend? Even if Leslie was still at this point, and now might always be, more of a coworker than a friend? Or had the statute of limitations on that quite run out?

“Thanks so much, Meredith,” Kevin says, switching effortlessly from Abby to Meredith as soon as the three are out on the street. The transition is never as easy for her. It’s often a while after she’s taken off her wig and her makeup and written up her notes from the evening that she’s still thinking of herself as someone else. “This was great. And it’s always so nice to see you. Anytime you need a dining friend, I’m your man.” Meredith is reminded of a Cake song she loves, “Friend Is a Four Letter Word.”

“I’ll definitely be calling on you soon,” she answers, “it was great to see you, too.”

“All right, supermodel,” Leslie says next. Leslie calls people supermodel, she has a way of saying it that’s friendly and fun, a way of saying it that’s not condescending, even though she herself looks like very much like a supermodel. “Thanks so much, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Indeed,” Meredith says, and can’t help thinking that the thing with friends when you’re in your (almost) mid-thirties, is that a lot of them by this point have gotten married and had babies, even your best friend, who also happens to be your sister. Especially her. And should you find yourself not married, and not with baby, and for whatever reason not a lot of friends who are single, the thought of making a new friend, one who is single like you, one who might be around on Friday nights when you might want to see a movie really does start to appeal. And she thinks it’s not Kevin specifically, not really; it’s more that there aren’t that many people left to go see a movie with.

Kevin turns to Leslie and says, “You live downtown, right?” And Leslie nods and smiles, of course she smiles. “So do I,” he says next. “We should share a cab.”

Sometimes Meredith thinks that she might like living downtown. Now is one of those times. Kevin’s arm goes up, and a taxi pulls up, and Kevin says something about, here Meredith you take this one, we’ll get the next one. And she says something about goodnight.

“Hi,” she says, leaning forward in her taxi, “could you go down to Sixty-fifth and cross there?” The driver makes no indication as to having heard her or not, but heads off at a speed much faster than necessary, south on Broadway. She thinks the direction, if nothing else, could be looked at as optimistic.

“Cross Seventy-ninth Street!” the driver says loudly, turning too far around in his seat for her, really for anyone’s, liking.

“That’s fine,” she says and leans her blonde but also fake hair against the back of the seat and closes her eyes for a minute.
That’s fine,
she repeats in her mind.

And if she unwittingly set up Leslie and Kevin, that’s fine, too. It’s been a long time since she thought of Kevin that way. And it’s fine, she tries to think, that long before her second martini, she pretty much abandoned any attempt at adhering to the principles of the Zone.

As the taxi makes a hard left onto Seventy-ninth Street, Meredith looks back up Broadway. She can’t see them standing on the street anymore, waiting together for their taxi. She thinks that if she could, if she could not only see them, but also hear them, that she might hear Kevin asking Leslie if she’d like to go to dinner one night soon. Or, maybe he’s leaning over to her right now, and saying, “Hey, maybe this weekend, do you want to go see a movie?”

Ever since she first saw it, Stephanie has always loved the movie
She’s Having a Baby
, the one that stars Kevin Bacon and Elizabeth McGovern as a young suburban couple. In fact, it’s right up there, along with
The Cutting Edge
with Moira Kelly and DB Sweeney as one of her all-time favorite films. She’d always thought of DB Sweeney as one of the most underrated actors of his generation. But that’s not exactly what she’s thinking of right now.