Family: The Secret Ingredient

“It used to be a long month for me,” Grace retorted. “When we were kids, you took so much pleasure in being the oldest!”

Nate stepped up to give her a congratulatory handshake. Like Dickie, his hands were thin and manicured. Her thoughts strayed to Kyle’s strong, rough, capable hands, doing a variety of tasks around her house. Why, the elbow grease he’d put into buffing away all of Button’s shoe scuffs was masterful. But such thoughts were useless distraction, a fantasy leading nowhere. Kyle was far from the reckless mate she’d once imagined. He had burdens, responsibilities.

“What do you think, Grace?” Nate asked. “About duking it out at the club tomorrow?”

“Saturday? Guess that would be fine.”

Dickie gave a quick call to the club on his cell phone, then announced, “We’ve got a court for five.”

“Great.” Nate glanced at his watch. “Hate to break this off, but we have another stop to make tonight.”

Heather leaned into Grace, whispering in her ear. “Hear from Michael there’s a new man in town playing with your staples. Sounds kinky. Can’t wait for details tomorrow.”

Grace felt a tug of loss. Before her marriage, Heather would’ve called her within hours for details. So this was how they’d be kicking off the start of their twenty-fifth year, Heather cuddling up with Nate, she with her kitten. Grace hadn’t felt this empty since…the night of Kyle’s elopement.

The buffet dinner proved a lavish feast of salmon, salads and breads, her birthday cake a white tiered monstrosity of near bridal potential.

Over cake she was forced to endure boring remembrances of previous celebrations. Accuracy varied among the storytellers. One vivid account of a pool party drenching was not hers, but Michael’s. Another of her tripping headfirst into her own sweet sixteen cake was, unfortunately, her own. Another story followed about a clown gone haywire that was completely unfamiliar. But that’s what you got when you invited acquaintances to family affairs, muddled inconsequential memories.

Each year Grace made a silent vow that she would not inflict the same sort of traditions on her own children. Celebrations would be limited to family and close friends. People who gave a damn.

It was close to eleven o’clock when the guests began to drift into the cathedral-style foyer for coats and handbags, salutations and farewells echoing off the marble. Grace was at the door to personally wish everyone a safe ride home.

Soon thereafter only Dickie lingered with the family. Ingrid urged them into the study for a brandy and a look at all the gifts assembled there on a long table. She served the brandy herself, from a small teak bar in the corner of the room.

“To my lovely daughter.” Victor stood in the center of the room, lifting his glass in toast. “Many happy returns.” Applause rose as Victor bestowed a light kiss on Grace’s forehead. A man of stern character and stiff posture, it was all the intimacy Grace ever expected from him, a peck to the forehead, a light palm on the small of her back.

The interaction triggered a vision of Kyle handling his daughter Button at the very difficult moment that afternoon when she was laying claim to Kitty. He’d scooped her up in his arms with warm confidence, getting his way with a loving firmness. It had been nothing short of magic.

Perhaps she wasn’t feeling a reawakening of her crush after all. Maybe on some level she was just envious of their father-daughter bond. She recalled thinking that Victor North would have never allowed such impertinence from her even at age three, or encouraged such close contact. And it had stung a little bit to see another father doing the right thing. Yes, she could handle Kyle from that angle, as the kind of father every girl dreams of.

The group sank into soft leather chairs as Grace began to open her gifts. Her parents presented her with a lovely emerald necklace encrusted with diamonds. Dickie gave her a pearl necklace she’d admired while shopping with her mother. Grace was torn between gratitude and suffocation over the precision shopping.

Her friends contributed mostly small humorous gifts. She knew it was awkward for them, wrestling over what to give the rich girl with enough money to open a bank. The rest of the lot were impersonal gifts undoubtedly picked out by secretaries and assistants, gift certificates to shops, a vase, chocolates, a pen set. Some of the things would be routed to the women’s shelter downtown.

“So how do you like your brother’s contribution?” Ingrid inquired, reaching out to inspect a silk scarf.

“You mean Kyle McRaney?”

Ingrid slipped the scarf over her pale chignon, unusually playful. “Now there’s a gift impossible to return!”

Grace swallowed hard, averting Dickie’s curious look. “But I am thinking of returning him. If Michael still has the receipt that is.”

Dickie perked up immediately. “What’s all this, Ingrid?”

“You remember Michael’s old college roommate, Kyle McRaney?”

“He’s back in town, isn’t he? Trying to buy the Andersons’ bistro?”

“How do you know that?” Michael asked.

Dickie shrugged elegantly. “Heard it someplace. Lot of buzz downtown, you know. Everyone knows of Amelia’s Bistro, and the fact that he is Amelia’s grandson-in-law.”

“Surprised you remember Kyle,” Michael pressed. “Never hung around Amelia’s, did you?”

“I was never one of the golden crowd welcomed in there,” he said stiffly, his poise making an unusual slip. “Though I did visit on occasion, I found it too dark and loud to study. Also didn’t care to be teased about my acne.”

“Oh, it’s long gone,” Ingrid oozed, brushing his chiseled jaw.

“Yes, it cleared up during my sophomore year at the university. Unfortunately by then I was known as Mr. Pock by twisted Star Trek fans at Amelia’s and every other cool hangout in the Twin Cities. But—never mind. What has Kyle to do with Grace’s birthday?”

Victor, always anxious to steer clear of one’s frailties past or present, spoke up quickly. “Seems Kyle’s a cook of some kind. Michael hired him to make three months’ worth of meals for Grace.”

“Kyle’s a restaurant manager, Father,” Michael corrected, “with a business degree similar to my own.”

Victor frowned, always annoyed with censure. “Well, he always liked to cook. He is cooking.”

Michael was out of practice in building up his old friend in his parents’ critical eyes, but fell swiftly back into the groove. “It’s been his dream since college to open an eatery and finally he has a chance with the bistro. Amelia’s selling it to him.”

“Kyle certainly hasn’t had it easy,” Ingrid mused. “I remember when his father abandoned the family your first year of college. If I’m not mistaken, his mother briefly cleaned house for the Hendersons before fleeing the city too.”

“He did strike out with both parents. The old man skipped mainly because he charged up some big gambling debts with local bookies. Subsequently Kyle’s mother got tired of being harassed for the same debts and skipped out as well. Luckily Kyle was too young to be harassed. But he did have to make his own way after that. Barely eighteen.”

Victor clamped a cigar between his teeth and lit it. “Must admit, Kyle always had guts.”

Not a small compliment from Victor. Michael smiled faintly before continuing. “This personal chef work is only a temporary sideline for extra cash. Kyle started it during Libby’s layup in the hospital, when he was forced to quit his job and care for Button. It allowed him flexible hours and time with Button—er ah, Betsy.”

“Button is an odd name,” Ingrid complained. “Why do people do that to a child?”

“She’s cute as a button, that’s all,” Michael said defensively. “She’s bright and wonderful.”

“What a super gift for you, Grace,” Dickie interjected, holding his emptied glass steady as Victor promptly refilled it. “Wholesome food in your kitchen. It gives a hungry man hope, a life preserver for the future.”

Not for the first time, Grace felt he was making too many assumptions, talking way too big for his legal briefs. So did Michael, by the smirk he flashed her. Predictably, her parents sat there glowing.

“Dickie does have a stake in this, of course,” Ingrid agreed. “He could benefit from the meals as well. I do worry that you can’t entertain properly, Grace.”

Victor glanced at his wife. “That chopstick phase was particularly odd.”

“I never ate with chopsticks on a regular basis,” Grace protested. “You caught Gunther and I at that once. Experimenting…”

Ingrid turned to Dickie, as aghast as if she’d caught them exploring the Kamasutra. “They were sitting cross-legged on the floor, humming and eating out of wooden bowls.”

“That was Gunther’s birthday,” Grace announced with a defiant lift of her chin. “Sometimes it’s just nice to think of a person’s desires on that special day.” Her hint went over every head, except for Michael’s, who flashed her a maddening grin.

Suddenly, Grace had enough. She forced a yawn, then stifled it. “It’s been a wonderful birthday. Thanks to all of you.”

“Heading home then?” Ingrid asked.