39: R&N: Beef in the Wellington
11:10 am, Vera Manor, Kitchen
"It's not a matter of belonging in my world, love—" Abigael whispered against Mel's cheek. "It's a matter of merging ours together."
7 pm, Friday Night, New York Luxury Apartment
Mel heard a knock at the door but was unable to answer, as she had her head in the oven at that very moment, preoccupied with the roasted almonds. All of which had stuck to the oven pan. Why did I forget to add olive oil? Mel silently berated herself. And of all days, too.
"Don't worry, I'll get it," Abigael called out as she smoothly glided to the door in her Japanese silk slippers. Mel continued to chip away at the almonds, wondering if the skills gleaned in this effort could be transferable to a bricklayer's or roofer's occupational career path. She heard the door swing open, coupled with the pattering of elegantly-treading footsteps on the Siberian oak floor, as she used a metal ladle to scoop the nuts into a nearby ceramic bowl.
"Snow?" Mel heard Rani murmur.
"Red…" Abigael's voice could now be heard. "It's been simply ages. Why don't you two settle down at the Ashford table? Mel will bring a snack for us shortly." And so the guests strode toward the table, making themselves comfortable.
From feet away in the kitchen, Mel lifted the delicate cup of roast nuts and headed for the table, shaking hands with Rani, who wore white gloves that matched her platinum hairdo. "Mel, it's a pleasure to meet you," she said softly. "I'd also like you to meet my girlfriend—Nico, do stand up, won't you?" The figure stood up next to Rani and looked Mel squarely in the eyes. Holy…
Mel turned pale as a ghost, dropping the ceramic bowl which shattered into smithereens at her feet, the almonds scattering in a million different directions. It was Nico.
7:10 pm, New York Luxury Apartment
If it hadn't been for Abigael poking her not-so-subtly in the ribs, there would have been a lot more explaining to do. As it were, Mel was awakened from her abject shock and moved quickly to freeze time.
"You two know each other?" Abigael had asked, seeing the reaction Mel had exhibited.
"Know her—Abigael, we dated for quite some time!" Mel exclaimed furiously. "What's Rani playing at?"
"Rani? I have no earthly idea what you're talking about—Nico's been Rani's girlfriend for quite awhile," Abigael replied. "And if we're getting our apartment back in one peace, we really must do better at our hospitality skills, no?"
"Nico was my girlfriend," Mel uttered in a low voice as she searched under the coffee table, the lounge chairs, and other areas of the floor, picking up almonds and other stray debris. "Why didn't you warn me?" Mel whirled around and stared at Abigael, who was now sweeping shards of pottery into a dustpan.
"Warn you?" Abigael laughed mirthlessly. "What's there to warn about? Besides—" Abigael paused to carry the full dustbin to the kitchen, emptying the contents into a dark garbage bag. "Isn't 'Nico' a common name? Like—" She searched for a few words, "'Katie?' 'Marie?' 'Krista?'"
"No," replied Mel, gritting her teeth, shaking her head all the while. "'Nico' is a very unusual nickname for 'Nicole'…I would know, since I came up with it. Her real name is Niko, with a k, but we texted using aliases because she was in the police academy."
"Honestly, I had no idea," said Abigael, growing increasingly impatient. "Look. Nico's a very private person—she's not even allowed to be photographed in the tabloids due to her job—"
"You've kept up with her?" Mel shrieked. "I thought we weren't supposed to have ANY secrets!"
"Any secrets as in, pertains to you directly and affects your safety and overall well-being, you mean," clarified Abigael. "If I were to delve into my current leadership duties and describe them to you in full detail, I'd be going on till the end of time, and your head would in all likelihood explode. Literally."
Mel thought over what Abigael said for a few minutes. "Ok, fine. But…how long have you known Nico?"
"I met her in passing at an Art Basel show in Miami Beach some years ago, long before you and I became an item, Cricket. And if I may ask, if you're so attached to Nico, why aren't you with her now?"
Having been caught off-guard, Mel stammered, "—b-because of magic. Her memory was wiped. She doesn't remember anything of our history." She blinked hard and stared up at the expansive ceiling's sconces, trying to will away her tears. "She doesn't remember me at all, and it's my fault."
7:10 pm, New York Luxury Apartment
Mel looked down at her watch. She could've sworn half an hour had passed, but the timepiece still read "7:10." Abigael had brought her a cup of Earl Grey tea to calm her nerves, and the two sat talking on the living room couch. "We weren't even supposed to be together," Mel began, between slow sips of piping hot tea. "She and Greta were engaged, but Nico and I took one look at each other—"
"—And you knew," Abigael finished her partner's sentence. Mel nodded, unable to continue, for fear of yet another emotional outburst.
"I remember feeling something similar like that the night I met Rani," Abigael murmured, staring through the expansive window to the sunset, paused over the city horizon.
"So you get it then—" interjected Mel. Abigael didn't answer, instead sipping her own cup of tea, which might or might not have had a tablespoon of brandy stirred in for good measure.
"The loss of a story cut too short, the 'what-if's?' the untold tales?" Abigael spoke. "More than you could possibly understand."
7:10 pm, New York Luxury Apartment
"How do you heal, though?" Mel asked in a slightly wavering voice. "How do you stop the pain from piercing your consciousness? How do you bury your feelings, once and for all? How do you forget?"
"You don't," Abigael replied simply. "Sure, concoctions make it possible, but then the emotions come in a torrent once more, crushing your spirit like none other. In British terms, 'you adopt a stiff upper lip,' my Cricket," she said, stroking Mel's hair as they continued to stare far below to the dots that were cars on the distant streets, the glowing marquees, the looming skyscrapers still filled with hedge fund managers pulling all-nighters, the bars—lurid or luxurious as they could be—full of hopeful men and women, men and men, women and their female acquaintances, and everyone in between, transgender and cisgender alike, hoping to find their true love amidst life's daily struggles.
Silently, Mel reached out to clasp Abigael's hand as they finished their tea.
7:10 pm, New York Luxury Apartment
"And if I'm being honest," Abigael piped up, "if I hadn't had those countless struggles, those terrible heartbreaks, those sordid histories in the dregs of midnight—I wouldn't have become the adult I am today—and I wouldn't have met you."
Hearing those words, Mel smiled. "Same."
"So…how about we give this evening a do-over?" Abigael proposed. She stood up and Mel did the same, proceeding to the kitchen to drop their now-empty mugs in the sink.
"Sounds like a plan," Mel replied, now pulling out another bowl (plastic, this time) to place the remaining almonds that came directly from the now-cooled pan.
"Lovely. I'll warm the Beef Wellington in the oven, and we'll be right as rain," and the two kissed.
7:10 pm, New York Luxury Apartment
The Beef Wellington, a sumptuously ornate dish, was set on a tile hot plate in the middle of the Ashford table. The delectable tenderloin had been baked to perfection by Abigael herself, with diced sautéed mushrooms surrounding the meat, all wrapped in prosciutto and layered over with delicate puff pastry.
Mel added utensils, plates, and wineglasses in front of each person's seated area. In addition to the bowl of roasted almonds, she added a side dish of broccoli that Abigael had hastily sautéed in olive oil. With her culinary skills and my time-stopping abilities, we could conquer the free world, Mel thought to herself, now grinning.
Abigael's arm draped over Mel's shoulder, her red apron slightly askew. "Ready?"
"Ready." And with that, Mel unfroze time.
7:12 pm, New York Luxury Apartment
"Wow, Abigael, you've certainly outdone yourself," Rani proclaimed, between delicate bites of meat she had cubed with the Mother-of-Pearl knife set she always carried with her.
Nico agreed. "I don't think I'll ever look at British food the same way again."
A bittersweet expression flickered across Mel's face, as she swallowed a sip of wine. "So, Nico. Tell me more about yourself."