“You’re so good at what you do, Gwyn. I admire you finding your passion right out of school and you’re insanely well paid to do what you love every single day.”
“You’ll get there, Ali.” She drops the knife she’s holding and focuses her attention on me.
“Yeah, I hope so.” I know I’m feeling sorry for myself, but how can I not be a little self-conscious that my best friend has the perfect life while mine is marred with bad ex-boyfriends, uncertainty and change?
“Do you have a cooking class tonight?”
“No, thank God. I’m way too tired. My teacher had to attend a wedding in Milwaukee and he won’t be back until Saturday. I’ll have class next week.”
“Are you enjoying the lessons?” Gwyn places the pasta in the oven and walks to the sink to wash her hands.
“Are you kidding me? It’s the best gift you and Gaven could have given me.”
My best friend and her boyfriend were afraid I was going to end up moping around their home at the end of my day, so they enrolled me in a cooking class at Bonne Bouche Culinary Institute’s recreational cooking school. The institute is a Godsend because it allows people who love cooking, like myself, to take our skills to the next level even though our end goal isn’t to become the next bigshot chef. Since I’ve been talking of making money with my passion, Gwyn suggested I combine my love of food and photography to try to find a new path in life. I jumped at the opportunity. I used to prepare elaborate meals for Clark, but I’m self-taught. It’s incredible what an indecent number of hours watching Food TV and months reading food blogs can do. I’ve considered taking classes, but money was always short since Clark’s trading courses cost an arm and a leg. Since his prospects for an extraordinarily high-paying job were better than mine, we decided to focus on his education. Bad move on my part.
“The stuffed shells are going to take about forty minutes to cook. Do you want some appetizers?” She’s already rummaging inside her fridge before I’m able to answer.
“You prepared appetizers? I thought you said we were having a simple meal.”
“I didn’t need to fuss much. It’s only a plate of Italian cured meats and some Italian cheese and olives I bought earlier. I got us fresh Calabrese bread and it should hold us off until the meal is cooked.”
“Sign me up,” I say, looking forward to this impromptu midweek feast.
“We can’t have appetizers without wine.” Gwyn smiles, pulling her head from the fridge. She places the plate of meats on the counter in front of me before walking back to the cupboard to pull out two glasses. She tucks a bottle of wine under her armpit and comes to sit on the stool next me. “Since we’re having Italian, I think we should keep it all Italian. That’s why I selected a bold Chianti for tonight,” she says, pouring wine in our glasses.
She’s such a wine fanatic.
“I love the way you think.”
We lift our glasses and nod. “Cheers,” we both chime in at the same time before dipping into the nectar of the gods.
Gwyn puts her glass down on the granite counter and narrows her blue eyes. “When is your last cooking class?”
“I finish in two weeks. I’ve already been looking at the midsummer semester. I’ve been saving some money and I think I’ll continue learning. I’m enjoying myself and it’s done wonders for my self-confidence.”
“I’m happy to hear that, Ali, but I think you might have to put your plans on hold.”
“What do you mean?”
“You might not be in New York during the next semester.”
“Huh? What are you talking about? Of course I’ll be in New York. Where else would I be?”
She’s not making sense right now. It can’t possibly be because of the wine, since we just started drinking.
She scoots her little butt to the edge of her seat before grabbing my hands in hers. “Do you remember the contest you entered three months ago?”
“Contest?” I ask, trying to jolt my memory. “Honestly, Gwyn, there’s so much that’s happened in my life… I’m sorry, I don’t remember.”
“Let me help.” Gwyn looks very serious and my heart sinks. I truly can’t take another blow. “Do you remember how you spent the weekend here when Clark was away at a conference and you had so much fun you considered—although briefly—dumping Clark’s sorry ass and moving in with us?”