A plump, harried-looking Asian lady in a white-and-blue floral dress and tennis shoes takes me to a small booth. She’s the owner’s wife, and she’s always here.
“Do you want something to drink? Hot tea?” she says, glancing at the big crowd milling in the entrance, then turning her attention back to me. “Sorry, we’re short-staffed. A waitress is out sick today.”
“That’s okay. And some iced lemon tea would be great.”
“Okay. You eating alone?”
“A friend is coming. Should be here soon.”
She nods with a small smile on her face. “Enjoy your lunch.” Then she turns around and bustles to the kitchen, saying something in Korean.
I thought she was Japanese for the longest time because she and her husband own a sushi restaurant. But she told me that she’s actually Korean, from a city called Busan.
Sipping my tea, I watch the lady return to the entrance and start getting orders for takeout. If you can’t get a table here, that’s the only option left—unless you plan to take alonglunch break. Hopefully Georgia gets here soon, because the delicious aroma of rice, soy sauce and miso soup is making me hungry. The tea is tasty, but it isn’t filling.
When my glass is half-empty, Georgia arrives. “Hey, did you wait long?”
“No. Just a few minutes.”
“I need some genuine California rolls. Missed themsomuch in Europe. They can’t do California rolls like we do.”
“Probably not. Otherwise, they’d be called Tuscany rolls.”
She laughs, pulling out an order sheet and marking the rolls she wants with a pencil. I do the same and hand our order sheets to the server.
Georgia produces a big bag. “For you.”
“What is it?”
“A bottle of red and a white. I don’t know the vintage or anything. Nikki helped pick them out, so I know they’re good.”
Georgia is a beer girl. I prefer cheap, fruity wine coolers, but they probably aren’t available in Europe. Too déclassé.
“How was Europe?”
“Oh, incredible.” Georgia sighs. “I just feel so enlightened, you know?”
“Why? Did you have a religious experience?” I say with a grin. “Perhaps with a smoldering Spaniard? Or a Greek tycoon?”
She giggles. “No! But I did meet someone truly aspirational.” Her eyes grow dreamy, a look I’ve never seen on her face before.
“Who?”
“Rachel Griffin. She’s Nicholas’s half-brother’s mom, and oh my God, she has the life I didn’t know I wanted.”
Two large platters of California rolls arrive with wasabi and soy sauce, and we dig in. I don’t know what the chef does to them, but they should be named cocaine rolls for how addictive they are.
After a couple of happily satisfying bites, Georgia sighs. “God, I love California.”
“Not the rolls?”
“These too.” She grins.
“Anyway, tell me about Rachel and this life you didn’t know you wanted.” Whatever she’s discovered is either really deep or really funny.
“Okay, so, number one, the woman’s just gorgeous. I would’veneverknown she has a son in his mid-thirties. And she had the cutest date. I think he’s, like, twenty-six? Twenty-seven? He looked at her like she was the goddess of his world.”
“Is she his sugar mama?”
