“You’re a friend?” I ask, mentally crossing my fingers that it’s not an ex-girlfriend. Although the woman’s got a wedding ring, and she doesn’t look to be Andrew’s type. She’s got a soft friendliness about her, and I can’t help but think Andrew would just cut her to shreds with his glare. Plus she looks to be older than him by several years.
“I’m Pam Mulroney,” she says. “Andrew’s sister-in-law. The guys down at the front desk have my name on the approval list, so they sent me up….”
“Oh!” I say. Okay, well, I can’t leave family standing out in the hall. “Come on in. He should be back any minute.”
Pam smiles as she steps inside.
“Can I take your coat?” I ask, just as a cellphone begins to ring.
“Oh, I wonder if that’s him,” she says, digging through her purse and coming up with an iPhone that’s a couple of generations old.
“Hi, Andrew,” she says, her widening smile telling me that they must have at least a somewhat decent relationship. “No, it’s no problem! I don’t mind waiting—and actually, a very nice girl let me into your apartment.”
I beam. I am very nice. I can practically hear Andrew’s eye roll through the phone.
I move into the kitchen to give Pam a bit more privacy, but she hangs up a second later.
“He said he’ll be here in ten minutes or so—he got held up with a client phone call,” Pam says, her eyes scanning the kitchen.
I suddenly realize my error. I meant to surprise him with a home-cooked meal when he got home, but it didn’t even occur to me that just as I also want to maintain my former life, he still has other commitments in his. Things I know nothing about.
“I’m so sorry to intrude,” I say, starting to clean up. “I meant to surprise him. I didn’t know he had plans—”
Pam interrupts. “Saltimbocca?”
I glance down at the mess on the cutting board. “Trying to be.”
She points at my glass. “Pour me one of those.”
I do as she asks, and when I turn around, she’s taken my place behind the cutting board. It’s obvious from the confidence of her movements that she’s better in the kitchen than I am.
“You really don’t have to save me,” I say. “I can clean it up—he’ll never know about the massacre.”
Her hands never stop moving as she pulls out a piece of plastic wrap, placing it over the chicken so she can pound it out a bit more, but she watches me the entire time. “Never known him to have a woman cook for him.”
I give a tiny shrug, feeling self-conscious and out of place knowing that thi
s is a member of his family and I’m his…I don’t know what. Girlfriend, I guess. That thought makes me happy.
“Sit,” she says, nodding at the bar stool.
I do as instructed, while she beats the crap out of the chicken.
“It needs to be thinner so you have more surface area to work with,” she says, holding up the now very flat piece of chicken. “Easier to roll, see?”
She does indeed make it look easy, and I watch and learn, even as my mind races, considering what question to ask first.
I really should leave and let Andrew tell me about himself in his own time, but that will probably take centuries, so…
“You’re married to Andrew’s brother?” I ask.
She nods. “Peter. We live in New Jersey.”
“Do you two make it into the city often?” I ask, sort of asking why his brother didn’t tag along without actually asking it.
“Not so much. Peter hates Manhattan. The honking, the sirens, the people…”
“But you don’t mind it?”