Oh, goody.
“So, Sarah, you mentioned you had an early flight tomorrow,” I say. “Where are you going?”
She drops her fork and puts her hand to her chest as if I just called her name from the podium of the Golden Globes. “A couple of places,” she says excitedly. “First I’m going to Denver to attend this big expo for work.”
“What do you do for work?” Look at me asking a follow-up question. I’m basically Barbara Walters.
“I’m a baby-name consultant.”
“A what?” My father scratches his head. “Did you say you’re a name consultant?”
“That’s right.” She nods. “I help expecting parents come up with names for their new babies and fur babies.”
“Fur babies?” Nana Rosie asks. “Honey, do you mean dogs and cats?”
“Among other furry and even scaly family members.”
“I’m struggling to follow this conversation,” Martin whispers in my ear. “Is it because I’m high?”
“Nope.” I shake my head.
“What does that mean?” my mother asks. “I mean, what exactly is it that you do?”
Sarah informs us that for a fee of anywhere between $50 and $300, she provides parents-to-be with a curated list of baby names to choose from. People message her through her social media platforms and provide her with a list of their likes and dislikes when it comes to names. She then scours social security records and vintage yearbooks to build a list of possible names. Depending on the level of service paid for, Sarah will continue to meet with the new parents until the perfect name has been selected.
“And you support yourself doing this kind of work?” my mother asks.
“Oh, yes,” Sarah replies. “It started out as a hobby, but it quickly turned into a full-time job. I was just named to Forbes 30 Under 30. Can you believe it?”
No.
I can’t believe any of this. She’s young, smart, and rich. She’s also freakishly unjaded by having to spend a holiday with her boyfriend’s ex-wife and her family. I want to hate this woman with every fiber of my being, but she’s making it damn near impossible.
“That sounds absolutely fascinating,” my father says. “And where will you be off to after that?”
“Dubai.”
My heart stops.
“Smith’s family has been going there for years for the holidays.” She rests her head on his shoulder. “Since I wasn’t able to meet his sister here, we’re going to spend Christmas with her in Dubai. I’ve never been before, but Smith says the beaches are brilliant.”
“They are,” I say so softly that only Martin can hear me.
If there is any place that Sarah would ever be completely within her rights to describe as magical, it’s Dubai. Dubai was my magic place, and now just like my old engagement ring, it’s going to be hers.
Chapter 19
Thanksgiving 2011:
The One with Fruit Salad
This year is different.
This year I’m eight thousand miles away from Marie’s Thanksgiving buffet, Nana Rosie’s famous pies, and my parents’ infamous judgment. This year it’s not even really Thanksgiving at all because this year my husband and I are in Dubai with his family, which is now my family. Our family. This year, we’re with our family, and I’ve never been happier.
Fiona peels the leathery rind from a mango and begins to slice it into chunks. She lets the mango fall from its seed into a glass bowl filled with pineapple, oranges, and other vibrant fruits. It’s become part of our morning tradition over the past few weeks. Fiona and I wake up early before Smith, Jasper, and Mo. We do our morning meditation and yoga on the beach, followed by tea on the balcony. Then we make a fruit salad with a spicy ginger-lemon dressing for breakfast before everyone wakes.
This little ritual of ours is my favorite part of the day. It’s the first time I’ve ever had a morning ritual that didn’t involve three alarms, rush hour traffic, and four hundred caffeine-deprived customers telling me how to make their perfect cup of coffee before six a.m. This—the routine, Dubai, and Fiona—all of it makes me feel alive. I’ve written more words in the past three weeks than I wrote all of last year, and I think I’ve finally figured out why.
“This fruit salad is magic,” I say between mouthfuls. “If I wasn’t the one making it, I’d swear you were lacing it with psychedelics or hallucinogenics. Is there a difference between the two?”