Perfect Little World(53)
She wished this was how it worked for adults. She thought again about Asean, that kiss, the sight of the other couples in the corners. Why the hell had they all moved to the corners of the room like they were being punished? For a brief second, just long enough that it made sense, she thought of running out of the complex, driving as far as she could get. She wondered how long it would take before anyone noticed that she was gone. But she knew her absence would be noticed immediately, the way she was connected to them. What troubled her, the fantasy already turning into something dangerous, was how long it would take before they got over her, how quickly they would move on, would simply keep going as if she had never been there.
The reporter noticed Izzy and whispered something to Dr. Grind, who nodded and then smiled. As Izzy turned to flee back into the kitchen, the reporter came alongside her and said, “So you’re the youngest person here?”
“Except for the kids,” Izzy replied, wanting to shake him before she returned to the food.
“And you’re the only single parent?” he asked.
“Well,” Izzy said, feeling slightly irritated, “that’s the whole point of the project. I’m not alone. It’s why I’m here, so that I have a group of people to help me.”
“And there’s nothing about this that seems strange to you?” he asked.
“I can’t really answer that,” Izzy replied, thinking of last night, how strange it had been. “It doesn’t feel strange to me because it’s my life. It’s my family.”
“But surely you can—” the man said, but Izzy cut him off. “It’s unique, not strange,” she said. “That’s why we’re all here, to try something new, to have access to things that we wouldn’t have otherwise.”
“Are you dating anyone?” he asked and she immediately blushed.
“No,” she said.
“If you did start dating someone, how would you explain this place to them?”
“I’m not dating anyone, so I don’t have to worry about that,” she said, and she walked back into Main 1, swiping her key card and then pulling the door shut before he could follow her.
Izzy was now in her second semester at the university, taking courses in literature and history, bored out of her freaking mind. The work wasn’t especially difficult, though it did take up a necessary part of her brain, but it did little to excite her. The problem, she had determined, was that she had taken such a liking to her work with Chef Nicole. After talking so much about theoretical ideas, metaphors, and themes, there was something wonderful about taking a slab of salmon, the flesh so pink it looked like something in a children’s fantasy novel, and poaching it until the wine and dill infused the flesh of the fish and, when served, everyone thought you’d conjured up the flavor by incantation. She liked prep work, cutting all the vegetables to Chef Nicole’s exacting standards. After working with the cleavers to pound barbecue into irregular chunks, she loved how quickly she could now turn a bowl of onions into something precise and perfect with the deft movements of her knife.
Chef Nicole was strict and not very chatty in the kitchen, but she pushed Izzy into a million different methods with an assured manner that made Izzy want to please her. It helped that Chef Nicole thought nothing of making a simple dish of mashed avocados for the babies’ breakfast but then whipped up a delicate foam of strawberries and cream to top it, the flavors perfectly balanced. The babies, however, simply ate whatever was placed in front of them, no matter how outlandish, and it became an experiment in the kitchen to see what they could get away with, what they could sneak past the babies’ palates.
Now back in the kitchen, Izzy pulled the muffins out of the oven and then quickly cooked the collard greens in batches until the leaves just barely wilted, the bacon fat leaving a perfect gloss on the dish. She broke the candied bacon into tiny pieces and sprinkled it over the purpled deviled eggs, so many of them it felt like a White House Easter egg hunt. She and Chef Nicole placed these and the other side dishes into the wheeled food transporter and took it down to the courtyard, where the casters bounced unevenly along the ground, the sound producing a reaction in the parents like children hearing the jingle of an ice-cream truck.
While Chef Nicole set out the children’s meal, Izzy let Asean and Link distribute the side dishes on the picnic tables and then she returned to the smoker, where she asked Jeremy to help her place the finished pig on the chopping block. Some of the parents lifted the children up and let them observe the now steaming carcass, its skin the most perfect color of fine leather. The children’s eyes were wide, and Izzy felt embarrassed when she shoved her gloved hands into the pig and began to tear it apart, deconstruction at its finest, the children engrossed in the act. In less than ten minutes, she had separated and then chopped up a fair portion of the pork and the parents now filled their plates with the meat. The reporter came over to the chopping block and took a chunk of pork and placed it in his mouth, a look of instant surprise forming on his face. “This is incredible,” he said. Izzy looked down at the meat, unable to return his gaze. “Thank you,” she said, and she was once again grateful for this project that she’d lucked into, the opportunity, over and over again, to do something that someone, anyone, would notice, to have people think she was special.
Praise for Izzy’s pork came from every member of the family, each person more enthusiastic than the last. Paul proclaimed, after his third helping, that it was the best thing he’d ever eaten. The photographer hovered over the remains of the pig, snapping photo after photo as if it were a crime scene. Even with the awkwardness, the surreal experience of being watched by outsiders, the party was a great success, the food disappearing from the tables, everyone happy. The children particularly loved the deviled eggs, the pretty color and the softness of the whipped egg yolks. All of their fingertips were stained the faintest shade of purple and their faces were smeared with the mashed yolk mixture. Izzy herself, so nauseous from the night before, did not eat and not one person noticed.