We chitchat about Dave and Melinda’s latest vacation, and then Dave and Alex break off to talk about some client or other. Melinda turns to me. “Beautiful bag.” She strokes my Chanel clutch with appreciation.
“Oh, thanks.” I pick it up and then set it back on the table. “It was a gift from Alex.”
She nods with a tinkly little laugh. “Of course. You’ve got to make sure you enjoy the perks of the job, after all.”
I’m not sure what to say to that since it’s not like I was expecting lavish gifts just because Alex works in finance. But maybe after you’ve been married to an investment banker for a couple of decades, you grow accustomed to designer fashion. Under the table, I wiggle my toes in my high heels, counting the minutes until I can get my feet out of them. But, who knows? Maybe someday, I’ll run a mile in these shoes.
“Well, the perks of my job aren’t quite as nice as Alex’s,” I say with a laugh. “My shapeless chef’s coat and ugly clogs are examples A and B.”
Melinda looks at her husband and Alex deep in their conversation about a merger. “At a certain point, his job becomes your job too, though, doesn’t it?” It’s not really a question, more of a statement she expects I’ll agree with.
“Um… does it?” I murmur.
“Well, surely you’ve noticed the long hours of an investment banker.” She takes a sip of her wine. “Dave was on a conference call when I went into labor with our first child. He sat in the corner of the hospital room with a laptop and his phone, closing a deal, while I started pushing.”
“Oh wow. That must have been upsetting for you.”
“I was disappointed of course.” Melinda shrugs. “But he did what he had to do.”
Okay. I can’t say I’d be quite so forgiving. But I’m not planning to push out a baby anytime soon, either. “Alex and I are nowhere near having children.”
“I certainly don’t mean to make assumptions about your relationship.” She leans in with a conspiratorial smile. “But from the way Dave says Alex talks about you, his intentions are quite evident.”
I blink. Alex discussed our future at work? I try to imagine him and the other guys sitting around the boardroom at Wright and Moore dissecting their relationships like they’re the four women on an episode of Sex and the City. Except that Dave is solidly on the Mr. Big end of the spectrum, and I’m having trouble picturing Zach using any form of communication that doesn’t involve fist bumps.
“It’s important to understand that the demands on Alex won’t ease once he’s promoted to a vice president at the firm. And those demands will extend to his wife.” Melinda gives me a pointed look. “Women who go into these relationships believing that their career will be of equal importance, that there will be a division of labor at home or in child-rearing…” She shakes her head. “Well, they end up very disappointed.”
I nod slowly, letting that sink in. So, this explains all the relationship talk. I’m being vetted to make sure I won’t freak out if Alex blows off our honeymoon for a merger negotiation or holds a conference call while our baby is crowning. This dinner is the beginning of my induction into the world of Wall Street wives. And my job description seems very clear. Smile, support your husband, and keep your complaints to yourself.
But don’t worry, there will be presents. Lots of presents.
On the Uber ride home, I want to talk to Alex about my conversation with Melinda, but he fields a call from a client that sounds important. My phone buzzes as well, and I open a text from my mother. Hope dinner with Alex’s boss is going well! She follows the message with a long string of heart emojis, which, honestly, is a little strange coming from a woman with a PhD in English literature. We can’t wait to see you soon!
I don’t know why I tell her about things like this dinner with Alex’s boss. I only end up annoyed by her reactions. But then I pause with my thumbs on the keypad of my phone, shaking my head.
Actually, I do know why I tell her. Because this is the one part of my life that will get her attention. For years, I tried cakes and pastries. She might walk right past me in the kitchen, but who wouldn’t stop for a five-layer strawberry coconut cake with mascarpone filling? That backfired on me, though, when my desire to turn baking into a career became an even bigger disappointment than my abysmal high school grades. But once Alex came into the picture, I started getting more phone calls from her than I had since I moved away from home.
It’s hard to understand why my well-educated and hardworking mother is more interested in talking to me about my boyfriend than my career. But my parents see Alex’s job as investment banker as respectable, while they’ve never viewed baking as anything more than a hobby. I wonder what they’d think if I announced I planned to give it all up to become a Wall Street wife.
Our car turns south on the ramp to the FDR, and out the window, the lights of the city sparkle on the East River. Rain begins to fall, the sound drowning out Alex’s voice reassuring the client he’ll send over a spreadsheet as soon as he gets back to his apartment.
I swipe at my mom’s message to delete the whole damn thing from my phone, but I can’t delete the reality that my parents will never take me seriously. It echoes in my head, mingling with Melinda’s warning that my career will always take a back seat to Alex’s.
I glance down at my dress, and those maddening shoes, and my unease spreads like overcrowded cookie dough in a pan. Would Alex really expect me to give up baking, or view his career as more important than mine?
I shake my head. Melinda was speaking from her own experience, but that doesn’t mean my relationship will be the same. I open my purse to shove my phone in, but that teeny-tiny clutch will barely hold a Band-Aid. Instead, I turn it off and spend the rest of the ride home staring out the window at the rain hitting the sidewalk.
Chapter 17
July
The yelling reverberates all the way down the block. I stop in my tracks, thinking I’ve stumbled into the middle of a robbery, or at least two angry cats fighting over a subway rat. But as I inch my way down the alley, approaching the back door of Xavier’s restaurant, I can begin to decipher words among the jumbled garble of grunts and curses.
Sigh.
It’s just Xavier throwing another tantrum. To be honest, I’d prefer a robbery. Or a rat.
I tiptoe in the back door where I find the staff standing in a circle, staring at a large baking pan on top of a prep table. Whatever is on that pan is pink, jiggly, and Spam-like. At the sight of it, that déjà vu feeling washes over me.
Kasumi catches my eye from across the table and shakes her head. I slowly make my way around until I’m standing next to her. “What’s going on?” I ask under my breath.
“Somebody took that pan out of the refrigerator last night, and they forgot to put it back,” she whispers. “It’s hours of work and expensive ingredients, ruined.”
I peer over her shoulder at the prep table. Xavier and I were two of the last people in the kitchen yesterday. Xavier was taking an inventory of produce he wanted to pick up at the farmers market this morning while I finished the piping on a citrus chiffon cake. I’d stayed in my corner by the sink, hoping not to draw attention to myself, because he was in another one of his moods, frustrated because he couldn’t find the leeks. He’d even…