The Caterer

Chapter 28

T ABBY SIPPED HER WINE, her gaze on the muted morning show. It felt like she was coming undone, one good spark from blowing apart. She snapped at the twins the night before, tired of their incessant need to be entertained and the never-ending questions about when Alice was coming home. She didn’t know or care. Let her sister stay in New Mexico until Tabby could find a way to move her back to her apartment. She was over being Alice’s free hotel room when her sister didn’t understand the meaning of the word loyalty.

Her mother called midmorning, and Tabby let it go to voicemail. When she called back, Tabby realized she wasn’t going away and answered the phone.

“I have a luncheon at one. You will be there.”

“Mom…”

“No daughter of mine is going to sit at home feeling this sorry for herself.” Tabby rolled her eyes. “Don’t roll your eyes like you’re a moody teenager. You need to do more than wallow at home all day. I will see you at 12:50 sharp!” She hung up. Tabby knew all about this luncheon, a bunch of socialite women with nothing better to do than get together, gossip and donate money.

She put on a cream-colored suit with a purple blouse and her favorite dark blue heels. It felt good to dress like an adult, even if it was to mingle with a bunch of rich White women and pretend to care about the latest gossip. She rode the Metro in and walked toward the hotel.

The smaller ballroom was a sea of color, women with straightened hair, big jewelry, steeped in power. Maybe she could get some business for her sister, surely some of these women needed a cutesy food truck for a child’s birthday or backyard event.

Her mother smiled when she saw her, inviting Tabby into the circle of women around her. She made introductions. Several were married to men who worked on The Hill, another’s husband ran the hotel they were in. One ran her mother’s favorite florist shop; another wrote the society column for The Washington Times . Tabby’s husband worked at the EPA, and she had two adorable ten-year-olds. Tabby twitched her mouth into a smile. Her identity was back to being wrapped up in her relationship to other people.

Across the room, Carrie stood talking to an older woman whose diamond earrings kept catching the light. She wore a pale-yellow dress, her hair pulled into a higher ponytail. Tabby didn’t even recognize her anymore. Where was the girl who felt like a sister, who always told Tabby to hold her own, and at one time seemed so fearless?

Tabby sat by her mother and listened to the presentation. Maybe there was something to her mother’s champagne lunches. Paul made enough. She could be generous. Get on some boards, come to things like this. If she let her mother control her calendar, she could be out of the house every day. She tried to buck the system and failed. Even in 2009, women couldn’t have it all .

Her mother told the other women at the table she’d see them next month. Tabby checked her phone, nothing

“See, that wasn’t so bad.”

“Mom, can I ask you something?”

Her mother reached for her wine and waited.

“Most of the women here, you identified them by who their husbands are.”

“I guess so. But what else would you identify them by? They are only able to attend something like this because of what their husbands do all day.”

“What about who they are?”

Her mother put her glass down and turned to face Tabby more. “What am I supposed to say? Mary has two kids and loves British baking shows. Amina just got over cancer and hopes to be a writer someday. Elizabeth worked at The Newseum until she got pregnant, only to lose the baby, and she still hasn’t found her footing again.”

“I just…” She took a moment. “What if I always introduced you as the wife of horticulturalist Dr. James Gibson?”

Her mother smiled. “There would be worse things to be identified by.”

Tabby groaned and put her napkin on the table.

“I hear what you’re saying, Kitty Cat. I do. There are seventy-two women in the House this term. Seventy-two out of 435 seats. That is abhorrent, and yet, for the,” she did the math in her head, “roughly 350 women here because of their husbands, this is what they can do. I agree with you that too often we get labeled by our husband’s achievements. But what I want you to see is that just because you don’t run a company anymore does not mean you still do not have something to give.” She took Tabby’s chin in her hand like she did when the girls were little. “You have tremendous power, Tabatha Black. Whether you run your own company or raise those twins well. You have privilege and power and means. Do something positive with it.” She raised her eyebrows .

“Yes, ma’am.” She said what she had to.

Her mother released her and set her napkin on the table. “I need to make a stop by the boutique on my way out, do you want to come?”

Tabby shook her head. Her mother stood and reached for her purse.

“The longer you deny your anger, the harder this transition is going to be. I love you.” She kissed Tabby’s cheek and headed for the door. Tabby thought about texting Paul, offering to take him coffee. But what was the point? She sighed and grabbed her purse.

“Tabby,” Carrie said as soon as she stepped out of the room.

“What could you possibly have to say to me?”

“I know, I’m a horrible person who did an unforgivable thing. But how can you still be so mad at me with what’s going on with Alice?”

“What do you mean, what does Alice have to do with anything?”

Carrie stepped toward her; Tabby unsure she’d ever seen Carrie so unsure. There were bags under her eyes; she was thinner than she should be.

“She’s working for Macon, catering almost all their events. She’s Delany’s personal chef, at his place a few times a week cooking meals.”

“Since when?” Heat rushed her body, Tabby pulling at the collar of her blouse.

“July. Listen, Tabs, I know what I did was repugnant, but I miss my best friend.”

Tabby laughed, bending forward slightly. It broke the charge that had been building since she found out who Alice went to New Mexico with, Tabby needing the release.

“This isn’t like stealing my sweater or sleeping with Ricky in college. You sold my company to your bedmate and screwed me out of my life’s work. Miss me all you want; I don’t give a damn about you anymore.” She walked away, her skin on fire. In a disaster zone or not, her sister had some explaining to do.

#

ALICE HANDED THE FIREFIGHTER her sloppy joe and potato fries with fresh aioli. The woman thanked her before going to get a soda from the ice chest at the far end of the food truck. Alice looked at the space around her, wondering why Val never thought about doing shelves along the ceiling. A breeze came in the back doors, taking the smell of smoke further away from them. She’d found a rhythm between making meals, serving meals, coordinating dozens of volunteers, and keeping track of what food they had on hand. Delany hinted they might be close to leaving, resources already being diverted elsewhere. Samson left the day before to be on site of a fire in northern California. Eddie asked if Alice wanted to go too, but when she left New Mexico, she was going home.

Delany came in the back with a pan of sloppy joes and more buns. Alice thanked him and slid them into the warming tray before turning to take the fries out of the fryer. He talked to those who came to the window, Alice getting their meals. Several called hello to Alice, who leaned over to wave. With Delany there to help serve, she could work on dinner, shredding lettuce and dicing tomatoes for taco salads.

“What time did you start today?” Delany leaned on the front counter and crossed his arms. Alice got a bin of lettuce hearts from the fridge and pulled more to chop.

“Listen, you didn’t care what time I started for two weeks. Don’t go asking questions now.”

He lifted his arms and turned to help the person outside. He leaned toward the window more to talk to them, the truck almost too short for him to be in without having to stoop. Alice sucked her lips. She came on the trip prepared to quit. Make amends, even the score and get out. But after feeling the strength in his arms as she cried, the way it felt to kiss him, Alice questioned if she had the strength. Her head told her to walk away. Everything would change when they got back to D.C. But she had never wanted to be in the trench with someone, to figure out life and face things together like she did with him. Feeling Delany’s heart break after the fight with Nadia, Alice wanted to speak to him as someone engaged with his life, someone there for the long haul. Delany was the first man she ever saw a future with that did not require her to deny or give up any part of herself. Watching him laugh with whoever stood outside the window, Alice admitted she might be in love with him.

Her cell rang, Alice touching Delany’s shoulder.

“I’m going to take this.” Alice slipped out of the food truck. “Hey, Tabby.”

“How is Mr. Clare doing?”

“He’s fine.” She plugged her ear to hear Tabby better, the connection not the best. “Why do you care…”

“Mom told me who you’re traipsing through the desert with. But I guess it’s not a random nonprofit, since you’ve been Delany’s personal chef since the summer.”

Alice swallowed, sound seeming to fade. “How did you…”

“That’s your response? I find out you’ve been lying to me for months, that your rise came by aligning with the man who stole everything from me, and you ask who spilled the beans? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Do you care, or do you already have it all figured out?” Alice drew in her breath. Delany stood in the back door of the truck, Alice shaking her head. “I was going to tell you…” She turned away, her heart racing.

“When? I’ve been home since August and you’ve been scurrying out of here at all hours like we’re your private hotel, lying to my face. If you wanted to tell me, Alice, you would have.”

She hung up. Alice lowered her head and focused on breathing.

“What’s wrong?” Delany put a hand on her back.

“Tabby knows.”