A bright spring noon and there’s Nicole, brunette
and as trim as I remember her, sitting at the café table along the sidewalk. “Lauren!”
she says and jumps up. “Wow. So glad you came. What a wonderful reunion for my
birthday.”
We hug and I say to her, “You
look so good, Nicole.”
“You do, too.”
“I can’t believe it’s been,
how many? Five years since graduation?”
“Yeah!” Nicole says. “We’re
really looking forward to your concert tonight.”
“My first in Asheville
Nicole reaches into the
decorative bag and lifts out a snowy white hoodie emblazoned with a Duke Blue
Devil. “Perfect, it’s perfect!” she says, holding it up.
We squirm into our chairs,
order salads from the gorgeous, flirty waiter, and catch up on news. Lunch
arrives in the middle of our relaxed talk about travel, classical vocal music,
and a battle against weight for me; a semi-career, marriage, and children for
Nicole.
“Sorry I couldn’t come to your wedding,” I
say. “Oh, your birthday reminds me. Your twin brother. How’s he doing?” Nicole
had often spoken of Steve when she and I were roommates, and I always hoped to
meet him.
“He’s great. Though he’d
rather be married by now. A girl he liked a lot shied away recently because
of his medical condition. Did you hear he developed Type One diabetes in his
final year of culinary school?”
“Nooo! What a cruel twist.”
She gives me a wry, amused look.
“Yeah, a cruel twist, especially since desserts, pastries, and candy were his
passion. He always had a sweet tooth. He kept getting thinner and we thought it
was his frantic schedule. Then one Friday he called home and said his vision
was blurry. Mom and Dad thought it was eye strain and suggested he rest over
the weekend and go to the campus clinic on Monday. The nurse knew right
away—they see one or two late onset cases every year. They gave him insulin and
sent him to an endocrinologist.”
“He’s okay?”
“He’s on a pump and lives a disciplined
life. Almost a normal life. It’s a condition that could kill him, if he doesn’t
take care of himself. He could go blind or lose his legs.”
The waiter reappears with
the diabolical timing of his profession; he whisks up our plates and asks, “Thinking
dessert? We have a sinfully delectable chocolate cake today. A dark decadent
cake with luscious raspberry sauce. You’ll love it, I’m sure.”
How clichéd, and bad even
without the subtle innuendo in his voice. I shouldn’t, and almost say yes, but
Nicole speaks first. “Thanks, but no.”
“Are you diabetic, too?” I
ask her.
“Just saving for later.”
The waiter turns to me. His
attentive brown eyes might make me believe he cares.
“I’ll take a piece.”
“Good choice. Awesome,” he
says and glides away.
As I watch him disappear,
the conversation pauses, a long caesura, a cessation in our duet, and I’m
feeling buzzy and encumbered like I’ve eaten too much, like muscle memory from
past indulgence. Nothing about this cake is right. I glance at Nicole who’s
watching me. In college she always was sensible in demeanor and secure in her
relationships, but she still managed to be empathetic to me and must know what
I’m feeling now. The waiter glides up, places the object before me, and moves
to the next table.
“Guess what?” I say to
Nicole, “Changed my mind. I’ll wait until later, too.”
“Good choice,” she says,
with a sigh, as if I had nearly failed an easy exam.
She knows the subtext from
our college years. Not long ago I would have offered this waiter my latest CD,
or left it as a tip with my card, an invitation to drinks in my hotel room…
We pay the bill, stroll
along the sidewalks, peer into antique shops, stare at the weird and
fascinating pedestrians, admire the eccentric architecture, and breathe the
breezy mountain air.
Nicole stops to send a text
message. “Just touching base with hubby,” she says.
On a corner I drop a twenty
for the fiddlers playing earthy Swedish tunes. “Your brother,” I say at last. “Did
he finish culinary school?”
“The diabetes set him back,
but he graduated with his class. He took an incomplete that he made up later.”
“So, what’s he doing now?
Did he change focus?” With this, I’m certain Nicole has finally caught my
interest.
She only grins and I don’t
understand. She keeps grinning. Then I see behind her into a window full of
pastries and chocolates, the window with the shop’s name painted on the glass.
The tables inside are crowded with people sipping from cups and munching food.
Nicole is already opening the door, and the charming bell atop issues a soprano
trill. A fruity, caramel aroma pours from the doorway.
What an odd coincidence, our
being right here, The Cruller Twist.
Noisy chatter with a
backdrop of music, a cello sonata. “Welcome girls,” the man in fashionable
dusty white says as he steps away from some customers. He looks good, better
than Nicole—a masculine version of her—and taller. He’s wearing glasses and
hasn’t shaved since yesterday. “Happy birthday, dear sister. I have something
special for you.” He bends to kiss Nicole, leaving her with a floury cheek. “I’m
Steve,” he says in a quieter tone and takes my wilted hand.
“I’m Lauren.”
Nicole and I slide into a
corner booth, and he waltzes up with two plates of a divine miracle, a lit
candle placed in one of the portions. “All organic,” he says. “You’ll have to
help me, Lauren. Tell me if anything’s wrong, because I seldom taste anymore.
Not even my sugar-free treats. It makes abstinence easier. Like the deaf
composer, don’t you think? The celibate priest who conducts weddings.”
Nicole takes a breath for
her candle.
“Wait. Wait,” he says. “Let
me grab some toasted pecans, another candle, and I’ll join you. Coffee, Lauren?
I hear you’re a singer.”
The poor soprano up front
trills again, and in maneuvers an athletic guy with a toddling cherub at his
hand and a chubby cherub in a backpack. All smiles, they approach our corner. “Surprise!”
the guy says. The toddler climbs into Nicole’s lap and blows out her candle.
Surely, this is paradise.
Right place, right dessert, and Steve—a man with generous self-control. I
wonder if Nicole would have brought me here if I had eaten the cake back at the
café.
It’s not my birthday, but I
make a wish.
END
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