By JoeAnn Hart
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Additional resources for Addled
Butternut squash for the soft curve of her back. Parsley for the short, curly hairs. Ripe figs for her. . Now she had no man and no dream, and was living with her mother on the top floor of a Roxbury triple-decker. “Get job where you wear smart suit, have briefcase, meet nice businessman, not some potato peddler,” her mother continued to wail. ” Her mother was still not over the fact that after graduating from Wellesley, Vita had chosen the Culinary Institute instead of an office, which was, in her mother’s eyes, the pinnacle of American success.
Gerard automatically glanced at Barry’s shoes to see if they were clean before motioning him to come in. But Barry, wearing a pained expression on his freckled face, shook his head. ” Now what? Gerard thought. He turned to take a quick look in the Chippendale mirror behind him, straightening the collar of the black ERCC polo shirt under his plum linen jacket. Not bad. At twenty-nine he was considered young for his position, but he felt his studied manner and professional calm gave him the authority needed to do the job.
She didn’t have to work that night—they’d had a late brunch buffet at the Club instead of Sunday dinner—but she just couldn’t bear the thought of sitting in that apartment with her mother armed with a fresh batch of photos from the cousins. All those babies, and none of them hers. How could Vita tell her that it was okay, that this was where she wanted to be, in the kitchen, where she could begin again, day after day, with every new meal? How could a baby ever compare with that? She wanted to stay in her kitchen alone, in peace, and play with some oxheart tomatoes, perfecting her chutney.
Addled by JoeAnn Hart