“Did you all enjoy the meal?”
Though he says, “you all,” his eyes are locked on Mebel.
“Alain,” she says, “that was beautiful meal.”
“It’s going to cost us a fortune,” Bruce hisses under his breath.
“Please don’t worry about that,” Alain says. “It’s on the house.”
“Oh, Alain, no,” Mebel says, but she’s flushing with pleasure at everything, the delicious food, the fun and varied company,and the way Alain is smiling at her. She already knows this is a battle she will lose, and lose quite happily too.
Everyone thanks Alain for the evening, and as they are walking out, Alain calls out to her. Gemma ushers the others out of the restaurant, throwing Mebel a wink over her shoulder as she does so.
Alain leads Mebel to one side of the foyer, where it’s slightly quieter, and somehow, though there are people around them, Mebel feels the rest of the world melting away into the background. She looks up at Alain and her cheeks grow warm. She had boyfriends prior to Henk, of course. Well, a boyfriend, anyway, and they only went as far as chaste kisses lasting no longer than two seconds, so she’s not sure if kids nowadays would even call him a boyfriend. Anyway, doesn’t matter. The point is…
Goodness, but it’s hard to get to the point when a handsome Frenchman is gazing at you like that. It’s a wonder how French women get anything done, really.
With some effort, Mebel manages to say, “Well, thank you for wonderful evening.”
“It’s a shame we weren’t able to converse much,” Alain says.
“You have been busy with the opening of your restaurant. Which is gone so well, I see.”
“I would like to converse with you in a more, ah, intimate setting.”
The warmth from Mebel’s cheeks travels down to places that she is sure respectable sixty-three-year-old women rarely think about. Her traitorous mind coughs up several “intimate settings,” each one more inappropriate than the last. Giving herself a mental shake, Mebel beats away the urge to grin like a completeloon and instead smiles demurely. “Okay, can. I think it will be nice.”
“Weekends are a madhouse for me because of the restaurant,” Alain says. “How about next Wednesday?”
“I can do that,” Mebel says, losing herself once again in those striking golden eyes of his and the way they stand out against the tanned brown of his skin. How is it fair that men age so much better than women do? It’s an outrage, honestly. Also, is she talking coquettishly? She doesn’t even know what talking coquettishly would sound like, exactly, except that she feels coquettish.What does that even mean?her mind says.I don’t know,Mebel replies,but I feel very coquettish right now.
“Excellent,” Alain says. “You are staying at the school, yes? I shall pick you up at eight o’clock.”
Eight o’clock?Mebel wants to squawk.What are we, in our early twenties?Back in Jakarta, Mebel and Henk have dinner at six p.m., whether it’s in the house or at a restaurant. By nine p.m., they are both in bed quietly reading—or rather, watching endless viral videos that have been forwarded to them via their numerous WhatsApp contacts. Being picked up at eight means they probably won’t even start eating until nine. Unacceptable!
But when Mebel opens her mouth to suggest an earlier time, what comes out of her traitorous mouth is, “Perfect. I see you then.”
My word, Mebel thinks.Who is this person who goes out at eight at night? I have eight a.m. classes, and this face does not happen by accident. I need time to get ready!But it’s too late. Alain walks her out the door with a smile and waves to her friends, who are impatiently waiting for her on the sidewalk.
“Mebs!” Gemma says, looping her arm around Mebel’s. “Did he ask you out on a date? Tell me you said yes.”
“Can we go yet?” Bruce says. “I’m freezing.”
“Our Uber is one minute away,” Adam says. He turns to Mebel. “So? Did he ask you out?”
Mebel nods, and Gemma and Bella jump up and whoop before hugging her. She blinks, startled by their effusive joy. Back home, her friends are much more sedate. Shows of over-the-top emotions, whether good or bad, are frowned upon. Mebel even went to a funeral where the weeping widow was gently admonished by her relatives for crying too hard. Cheering and hugging someone because she got asked out on a date is unheard of.
Despite that, their excitement is catching. Butterflies, which have lain dormant for so long that Mebel has forgotten their existence, flutter their wings, hesitantly at first. Then the feeling takes over, and the butterflies flutter up and around inside her. She stops fighting the smile and lets out a girlish little giggle.My god, she thinks.What has gotten into me?
Excitement, pure and simple. And she feels so alive right now, standing on the sidewalk with these people who are a third of her age. She feels like a youth again, a girl barely into womanhood, giggling over a boy, overcome with the sensation that life is about to begin for her, that an entire sparkling galaxy is at her feet, and all she has to do is jump. What a terrifying, beautiful feeling.
Their Uber arrives then, and they all bundle inside. As it drives away, Mebel gazes out the window at the beautiful facade of the restaurant. She hopes she doesn’t forget any details about this strange and wonderful night.
Weirdly enough, the more complicatedthe classes get, the easier Mebel finds them. Well, not easy as such, but she is certainly no longer finding them as challenging as they used to be, despite the increased complexity of the things they are doing. They have begun the sauces portion of the class, which opens with Chef Clarke teaching them about clarified butter. Mebel, who has been on a strict diet ever since she was eight, is aghast at the amount of butter that goes into it. When she mentions it to Gemma, she gives her a look.
“The clue would be in the name, Mebs,” Gemma says.
“I know. But I am saying, that is a lot of butter for people to eat. What’s your LDL cholesterol level?”
