Through Thick and Thin Read Online Free PDF Page B

any.”
    “Thanks,” Meredith says, and then, trying to move on from the topic that isn’t going anywhere, at least not right now, she asks Stephanie, “Are you guys doing anything?”
    “Oh, you know, I don’t know,” Stephanie says, and she says it so quickly that Meredith wonders for a second if it’s coy—dare she say smug. Though, more likely, it’s probably more protective than anything else, more, Meres, love, don’t trouble yourself with thinking about my Valentine’s Day with my cute, sporty, outdoorsy husband whom everyone loves, even those not so outdoorsy. You have to think less, like I just told you. Maybe, most likely, that’s what it is. But the thing is, and this is what bothers her, is that she just can’t be sure.

four
    trouble sleeping
    The evening’s special menu is made from pink handmade paper, with marbled lines of white running across it, speckled with dried and flattened flower stems. Valentine’s Day Menu is printed across the top, without flourish, in what could even be Times New Roman, twelve-point font.
    “You know what we should do?” Josh asks, looking up from his menu.
    Yes, I know! Meredith thinks. We should perhaps start by acknowledging the fact that this is actually a date, and a big-deal date at that, it being Valentine’s Day and all? Let’s, let’s do that. Let’s not call today “Tuesday, the fourteenth” anymore. Let’s call it a Valentine’s Day Date. A rekindling of a long-ago and quite effectively doused fire. Let’s call it what it is, a date at Bouley, on Valentine’s Day because you are, as it turns out in the end, sorry that you left me, and because you see now, so clearly, that it’s all been a big mistake ?
    “No, what’s that?” she says, in lieu.
    “We should go, section by section, through the menu and make sure that we don’t order any of the same dishes. For example,” he says, angling his menu so she can see it, even though, clearly, she is in possession of her own menu. “Well, the first is just Chef’s Canape, so we’ll both have that obviously,” he explains, actually pointing to that line with his index finger. “But here, look,” he continues, index finger following suit, “for the first course, why don’t I get the Phyllo Crusted Florida Shrimp, Cape Cod Baby Squid, Scuba Dived Sea Scallop, Sweet Maryland Crabmeat in an Ocean Herbal Broth, and you get the Sashimi Quality Tuna, Nantucket Bay Scallops and Osetra Caviar Tartar with Organic Micro Greens and Lavender Olive Sea Salt?”
    Josh nods his head authoritatively, right after sea salt , beaming as if it was he who gathered every ingredient on the entire menu and presented it in such an appetizing fashion. It feels like waking up from a strange and confusing dream, as she remembers, hazily, a bit fuzzily, Josh’s disinclination toward shorthand or summary. With menus. With some other things, too. It would, she now recalls, be quite impossible for him to say, I could get the first thing, and you could get the second. She’d forgotten that.
    “And then . . .” he continues, continuing also to beam with what Meredith can only still identify as pride, “I could get the Cape Cod Monkfish Stuffed with Asparagus with Jerusalem Artichoke Puree and Garlic Coconut Cloud, and you could get—”
    “The salmon?”
    “Yes”—he nods—“with the Coulis of Roasted Tomatoes and Raspberry Vinegar Dressing.” He pauses, perhaps for a gulp of air and also to take a sip from his glass of water. Meredith sits politely in her chair and listens to him read to her from the menu in a festival of emphasis, “Swiss Chard Leaves, Squid Ink Tagliatelle.” She listens to the very long version of the Seared Foie Gras with its accompaniments, Rosemary Apple Puree and Armagnac Sauce, and onward to the Maine Day Boat Lobster with the White Asparagus and Sweet Peas. And she tries (really she does) to look patient, and interested. And as she listens, at one point she’s even able to hear