A Table by the Window: A Novel of Family Secrets and Heirloom Recipes (Two Blue Doors) by Hillary Manton Lodge Read Free Book Online Page B

her clothes tailored anyway.
    And if I hadn’t already figured out that my mother was different, once or twice a month, she would excuse herself, sit out on the patio, and have long phone conversations in French with her cousin Sandrine, while smoking a single cigarette.
    After the loss of Grand-mère, though, shadows had appeared beneath her eyes. The phone calls to Sandrine—recently sans the cigarette—had increased.
    That Tuesday we met in front of LeLa’s Bistro. “You are so sweet,
ma biche
,” Maman said when she saw me. “You know how I love Vietnamese.”
    Maman ordered the pork meatball
bánh mì
, and I ordered the lemongrass chicken bánh mì, with an order of shrimp salad rolls to share.
    “People forget about the French and the Vietnamese, sometimes,” she told me as we waited. “The French brought their baguettes, and the Vietnamese used them to make bánh mì sandwiches. And then the French came home with a love for Vietnamese chicken soup deep in their souls.”
    “There are perks to imperialism,” I noted. “How are things with Grand-mère’s estate these days?”
    Maman peered at me. “Are you worrying about me?”
    I gave a small smile. “Maybe a little.”
    “You must stop that, you know. I am fine. I will die one day. Prepare yourself. I didn’t, and look where it got me.”
    “I think grieving is normal,” I said, dunking my salad roll into peanut sauce.
    Maman lifted a shoulder. “I think I may visit a
psychologue
, just for a little while. But until then, everything is fine. Her estate was very neatly prepared. I sent some jewelry last week to your
tante
Margueritte. She sent me a nice note back.” Maman gave an approving nod. “She was brought up well. And as forthe patisserie,
je ne sais pas
. I hate to leave it there, but I hate to sell it or lease it to strangers.”
    My ears perked up. “Oh?”
    “I hate to leave it empty, but it is difficult to clean out.
C’est la vie
. I cannot have it all.”
    “I’m happy to help with the cleaning.”
    We both leaned back as our sandwiches arrived. “
Ah, bon
. You are such a good girl,” she said. “And these? These are very good sandwiches. We should give them our full attention.” Maman patted my hand. “Death is a part of life,
ma fille
. Let us not worry overmuch.”

    A part of me had hoped that Marti would forget about my new column. But when I returned from lunch with my mother to find a half-dozen e-mails from her on the subject, I knew it wasn’t meant to be. Marti’s mind had set to work, and now she wanted my input.
    From: Marti, [email protected]
    To: Juliette, [email protected]
    Subject: Column
    Thinking about your new column. What do you think for your first entry? Upscale southwestern cuisine? Or pull more from your French/Italian roots?
    Discuss?
    From: Marti, [email protected]
    To: Juliette, [email protected]
    Subject: Column
    Some updated French might be nice, especially in light of the renewed interest in Julia Child. Just a thought. Maybe a lighter, northwest take on French fare?
    From: Marti, [email protected]
    To: Juliette, [email protected]
    Subject: Column
    Or is Julia Child too much of a cliché at this point? I’m going with yes.
    From: Marti, [email protected]
    To: Juliette, [email protected]
    Subject: Column
    Waffling on the Julia issue. She did write an enduring cookbook, which is more than can be said of the “celebrity chefs” who populate the Food Network. I hate the Food Network.
    I resisted the urge to smack my forehead against my monitor.
    From: Marti, [email protected]
    To: Juliette, [email protected]
    Subject: Column
    Except Bobby Flay. He is kind of cute.
    After reading the last e-mail, I took two minutes to breathe deeply and then hit the Reply button.
    From: Juliette, [email protected]
    To: Marti, [email protected]
    Subject: Re: Column
    How about family comfort food? I found a collection of my