Gemma laughs. “I don’t know, but I’m sure yours is excellent.”
“Extremely,” Mebel says with pride. “My son Sammy tells me is the cholesterol level of Mediterranean fishermen.”
“God, Mebel. How do you come up with these things?”
“Is not me, is my son.”
Chef Clarke clears his throat in a very aggressive manner that makes it obvious there’s nothing actually in his throat aside from a caustic remark. When he’s sure he has their undivided attention, he says, “Right, as I was saying, you want to make sure the heat isn’t so high that it burns the butter, and absolutely no stirring.”
Mebel looks down at the pot she’s been idly stirring and quickly lets go of her wooden spoon. It’s obvious that Chef Clarke has spotted it, but to Mebel’s relief, he chooses not to say anything. Fortunately, aside from the stirred clarified butter, the rest of the class goes well. They make a roux, and Mebel timeshers perfectly to make three different batches—a light blond roux, a brown roux, and a dark roux. When their roux are done, Chef Clarke walks around the class with color swatches and holds them up against the various roux to ensure that they’re the right color, and to Mebel’s delight, he proclaims her roux the most accurately cooked ones.
“All right, Mebs!” Adam hollers, and the class breaks into soft applause.
Mebel, never one to shy away from a spotlight, gives a gracious curtsy. When was the last time she—
The thought makes her stop. Because she’s only now realizing how often the thought has been recurring the last few weeks: When was the last time she felt X? When was the last time she did Y? When was the last time she thought Z?
“Earth to Mebs,” Gemma says. “What are you thinking of?”
Mebel blinks and pulls her attention back to Gemma. She tries to process her thoughts. “I just thinking that life is very strange.”
“Okay, I guess we’re in a philosophical mood. So, hey, what are you going to wear on your date with Monsieur Alain?”
Mebel shrugs, trying to come off casual. “I will throw on something.”
“He’s picking you up at eight, right?”
“Yes.”
Gemma nods. “Right. I’ll be at your room at six, and we’ll do a ‘get ready with me’ video for TikTok.”
“What? TikTok?”
“It’s a social media app.”
“I know what TikTok is. I won’t do one.”
“Aww, Mebs, come on, it’ll be fun! Tell you what, I’ll shoot the video, and you can review it before I upload it, okay?”
Mebel narrows her eyes.
“Come on, we all know that the best part of a date is the getting ready part,” Gemma says.
“I think you need to have better date,” Mebel says.
“You are not wrong.” Gemma taps on her phone and waves the screen at Mebel. “All right, it’s in my Google Calendar. It’s a date! I’m so excited!”
Gemma shows up on Wednesdayevening bearing two bottles of cheap sparkling wine, three wineglasses, a shopping bag full of snacks, and an equally smiley Bella.
“We are going to make you even hotter than you already are!” Gemma says by way of greeting.
“Alain is going to die,” Bella says.
“Not literally, I hope,” Mebel says.
“Depends,” Bella says, “does he have a heart condition?”
Gemma sputters with laughter. “Bella!”
