Page 46 of The Spirit of Love
“That’s cheating, Todd!” I scoff. “The massage?”
“Last Christmas,” Edie says to me, “when you were breaking up with Eric because you were convinced he was a conspiracy theorist on 4chan, you made the whole Feast of the Seven Fishes.”
“I still think about that cioppino,” Todd says, rising from the breakfast table and bouncing the sleeping baby. “I’m simply observing a pattern in which you come over here before sunrise, reduce tropical fruits into syrups, let Edie supportively fuel your rage-fire, and then drive off, tires screeching, on a warpath.”
“What,” I demand, “is so threatening to men about a little feminine rage?” I turn to Teddy. “You’re not scared of it, are you?”
“I like it!” my nephew says, raising his plate to his face to lick it.
“I agree,” Todd says, “I wasn’t being critical. Your problems deserve a Michelin star.”
“Mommy needs more problems,” Frank says, and Todd, laughing, puts a finger to the boy’s lips.
“Mommy’s cooking is perfect, got it?”
I lift Frank in my arms. “Maybe you should start learning to make dinner. See, cooking is like directing a TV show. You ever directed a TV show, Frank?”
“I don’t think so,” Franks says, grabbing the whisk from my hands.
“Yeah, me neither, but it’s all about the vision. You’ve got to know where you want to go, while keeping your eye out for the secret paths that take you there. You want pancakes with crispy, salty exteriors and fluffy, sweet interiors?”
“Yes!”
“That’s your vision. Be ready to do a thousand takes before you get there.”
“I’m tired,” Frank says with a yawn.
“Yeah. That’s okay. You’ll build up stamina,” I say, setting him down to go with Todd to gather his things for school.
When I straighten up, Edie and I are suddenly alone in the kitchen, and she’s watching me with those fifteen-months-older sister eyes.
“What?” I ask, not sure I want to know.
“I found him online.”
“Sam?!”
“SJD.”
“JDS,” I correct her. “You’re on TV, and you have no idea about anyone who works in the industry.”
“Three kids under three, beyatch,” Edie says. “You’re lucky I brushed my teeth.”
“Anyway, I will puke if you mention Martin Scorsese. And don’t you dare utter the wordgenius.”
“So you’ve already googled him.” Edie’s fingers are flying. A second later she cocks her head. “Oh. This is interesting.”
“Not to me,” I warn her, even though I am curious.
“This is from an interview he did withGQlast year—”
I plug my ears, but she just talks louder.
“ ‘Every film generates a world.’ ”
“What the hell? That’s whatIthink! Have you not heard me say that?!”
“I have, many times!” Edie laughs. “Seems like you two have a lot in common. Maybe you could learn something from this experience?”
