Simmer Down

Naomi that I’d be right back and made my way through the crowd to grab a drink. The unseasonably warm weather, combined with a steady crowd and Josh’s butane stove, had heated up the gallery. The only relief came from a welcome draft of cool air in back of our tables. Someone, I realized, must have propped open the back door to cool down the room. I made my way past the sculptured egg and through the crowd, grabbed two bottled waters from the bar, and worked my way back to Josh’s tables, where he had just refilled platters with beautiful focaccia crisps and was searing the thinly sliced beef in the skillet. Considering how popular his table seemed to be, I was surprised to see him looking stressed. He usually loved being the center of attention.
    “Is something wrong?” I asked as I handed him a bottle of water.
    “Mishti Patil is here.” He frowned.
    “Get out! That’s excellent!” Mishti Patil was the restaurant reviewer in Boston. She wrote a weekly newspaper review and also did guest reviews for local magazines and online publications.
    Josh shook his head and whispered to me. “No, it’s not excellent. I don’t want her here eating food I’m cooking off of a goddamn cafeteria table. Whatever. The beef is fine, but it’s not the first dish of mine I want her to taste. And when she came over here, she told me Gavin had invited her to opening night. I mean, opening night! Can you believe that?”
    “What’s wrong with that?”
    “Chloe, opening night is going to be crazy, and I don’t want a reviewer there! It’ll be the first night the whole staff has been on. Nobody will know what they’re doing. It’s going to be a mess. Opening nights always are. We should’ve just opened the restaurant quietly, worked out all the kinks, and then had an official opening where we invited people like Mishti. Now, she’ll show up on New Year’s and see chaos. This is ridiculous,” he fumed while placing beef slices on focaccia. “I mean, Jesus, the kitchen isn’t even ready to cook in yet. Don’t get me wrong, I’m psyched that he gutted the place and that he’s putting in all the new equipment and everything, but we haven’t even had a real run-through. I still have to finish teaching my cooks how to make and plate all the dishes.”
    I hadn’t realized how unready Josh felt for the opening. “Well,” I said hopefully, “did she seem to like your food tonight?”
    He sighed deeply. “I have no idea. ”
    We were interrupted by Naomi. “Oh, it looks beautiful, Josh. Could I have one without the red meat, though?”
    Josh managed not to roll his eyes and graciously made a plate of focaccia crisps and dressing for Naomi. Eliot appeared, looking more bug-eyed and frizzy-haired as the evening kicked into gear.
    “Guess what? Randolph Schmitt, who’s the organizer of this entire event, is going to give a toast here sometime tonight! I’ve heard he’s going to do three or four toasts at different galleries tonight, but this will be his first stop.” Eliot looked as if he intended to jump up and clap his feet together in a celebratory jig, but he just reached out and clutched Naomi’s hands in his, evidently because she was the only one who appeared as excited as he was.
    I’d invited my parents, together with my sister, Heather, and her husband, Ben, and spotted them in the big front room of the gallery. Heather and Ben looked relaxed and relieved to have a night out without their two children. I stood on tiptoe to wave to them. I caught Heather’s eye, and she waved back excitedly as she pointed next to her.
    What has she done?
    My ex-boyfriend, Sean Blackett, was standing right beside my sister.
    I am going to kill her! First, I am going to take back the expensive sweater from Ann Taylor Loft that I gave her for Christmas, and then I am going to kill her! What in God’s name was Sean doing here? As far as I knew, he had no interest in art. I looked around in the hope of seeing that he’d come with friends but saw him surrounded only by my family members.
    Mental note: Add to Naomi’s list.

    6. Having ex-boyfriend (brought by dumb sister) appear at new boyfriend’s event.

    “Crap, crap, crap,” I muttered.
    “What?” Josh asked.
    Oh, God. Josh. There was no way I could avoid some dreadful introduction here. I mean, the gallery was only so big, and Sean might actually want to eat something at a food event, meaning that he’d end up right in front of Josh and me.
    “It appears