“How reassuring,” she replied, waving at Darwin and Lucie as they beckoned her to come over.
“Act however you want,” said Nathan. “But it looks like we’re going to be kissing cousins, of a variety. And I’d hate to have to tell Marco a few details, hmmm?” He drained his glass and set it down loudly.
“You know, Marco is wonderful,” hissed Catherine. “He understands everything. My past. My present. Which means we have no secrets, Nathan.”
“Certainly not,” he said.
“Push me,” said Catherine. “I could shout out anything. Right here. Right now. It’s not going to affect my relationship.”
She indicated Rhea with a tilt of her head, hoping he wouldn’t call her bluff. She wasn’t about to embarrass Anita, upset her daughter-in-law, or devastate her grandchildren. She’d already mucked around in their life quite enough last summer. Still. Nathan didn’t need to know that. She threw him a hard look.
“How nice for you,” Nathan replied, glancing quickly in the direction of his wife, who caught his eye and flashed him a stunning, happy smile. Almost imperceptibly, Catherine could sense Nathan relax and then stiffen as he turned back to her.
“You wouldn’t . . .” he said.
“I’m just saying,” said Catherine. “I’m sure you’ll agree that this double wedding is going to be problem free. Come January, both Anita and I better be newlyweds.”
She took the bottle of wine from Marco’s vineyard right out of his hands.
“Excuse me,” she said with confidence. “But I’m pretty sure this belongs to me.”
christmas
Somewhere, under the flurry of tearing gift wrap and devouring of chocolate bells, is a day about family and connection and thoughtfulness. Just as every hand-stitched item—every knit, every purl—encodes a secret message about devotion. Knitting is simply an expression of love.
chapter nine
“Nothing is stopping you from making the trip to Scotland. Everything—work, school, the shop—will all be here when you get back.” That’s what her father had said last night, making his case as she arrived late from the final club meeting of the season, and James’s simple statement continued to ring in Dakota’s ears. Everyone else who celebrated Christmas was gearing up to spend time with family, Dakota knew, and she’d spent all night listening to their plans and brushing off their insistence that she reconsider and go to Scotland.
“The world is filled with kitchens, Dakota,” Darwin had said. “But there’s only one Gran. Your mother adored her.”
“I do, too,” said Dakota, feeling ever more uncertain. Be tough, she told herself. Do what is best.
Darwin was off to Seattle, Lucie to her brother’s house with Rosie and Ginger in tow, Catherine caught up in the idea of her first Christmas in which she would be responsible for filling the stockings, and even Peri, with the shop closed on Christmas and the day after, was scheming for a now-you-see-her-now-you-don’t mad dash to see her parents in Chicago.
“Just long enough to eat some chocolate, hand out some presents, and leave before my mother and I start arguing,” she explained.
Only Dakota was bravely sticking to her goal of interning in the V hotel kitchen.
“Because it teaches skills, responsibility, and the value of hard work,” she told her mirror as she dressed carefully in a black suit and red pumps. Conservative was one thing, but no need to go boring, she decided. She wanted to impress general manager Sandra Stonehouse, let her know she was serious about becoming a pastry chef. Who knows? Maybe this gig would lead to other internships, perhaps even a job after graduation. Then again, she didn’t have the luxury to dither around, what with Peri’s job offer floating ominously on the horizon. Her mind swirled constantly with the potential challenges. She absolutely had to sharpen her skills and open the café. Her only other choice, in order to keep her mother’s shop going, was to give up her passion altogether and leave school to run the shop full-time, and try to sneak in college somehow over the years. Not, she knew with absolute certainty, what her mother ever intended. And she’d fought so hard to make her father support her culinary dreams. She wasn’t ready to give up now. Not yet.
She spritzed on a perfume, applied some lip gloss, and put on her mother’s gold hoop earrings.
“Wow,” said James, upon seeing the newly outfitted Dakota. “You look just like your mother did when she worked at Churchill Publishing. Sharp and professional.”
He was upset that she wasn’t coming to Scotland, it was true, but although he’d made his feelings known, he hadn’t made things too tense around the house. Although she had found her plane ticket in various locations—tacked to the fridge, on the coffee table, where she often studied. Just enough to remind her of the options. She imagined James and Bess awkwardly making small talk over coffee as Gran insisted on making good Scottish oatmeal and Tom and Donny surveyed the garden, discussed trimming hedges and if the place was getting to be too much. She imagined microwaving the holiday plate she’d tucked away in the freezer after Thanksgiving, heating it up late on Christmas night after a day on her feet in the kitchen. Er, make that an actual restaurant kitchen. Dakota twirled around.
“I’m going to see the general manager at the V,” she told her dad now.
“What?” said James. He seemed startled.
“It’s standard practice,” Dakota explained, toasting a slice of wheat bread. “The chef chooses the interns, but the general manager interviews everyone who comes to the hotel. You should know that, you worked there long enough.”
“Uh, yeah,” said James, slurping up his last sip of coffee. “Guess I just forgot. So, when’s your interview with her?”
“Ten,” said Dakota, wiping toast crumbs off her suit jacket as she munched. “Any tips?”
“Be yourself and sit up straight,” said James, placing his dishes in the sink. “And don’t forget your grandparents and your uncle are coming over. We fly tonight. Your ticket’s still good.”
“Daaad,” sighed Dakota. “Sometimes I just gotta cut the cord, you know?”
“You don’t,” he said. “That’s just a rumor about adulthood. But most of us still rely on our mentors, and for some of us, our mentors are our parents. Spend some time in Scotland. You might learn something you never knew.”
“Okay, I’ll use that in my interview,” said Dakota, rummaging through the knitting bag she took everywhere, part habit, part security blanket. She wished her mother’s red journal held explicit instructions on what to do when faced with two amazing choices.
“I left a stack of little presents on your bed. Can you pack them, please? A little something for everyone. Do you think Grandma Bess likes potpourri? And these. I just finished a pair of new slippers for Gran.”
“Of course,” said James. “She can add them to her one-a-day collection.”
Spontaneously, Dakota leaned in to her father and gave him a hug. “I wish I could go, but I just can’t,” she said. “But you’re still my favorite guy in the world.”
“Yeah, tell that general manager how impressed you are with your old dad,” said James, proud of himself for not meddling as he watched his daughter stroll out the door for an interview with the woman he’d been secretly dating for months.
“You came highly recommended,” Sandra Stonehouse said, as she glanced at Dakota’s résumé, one hand on her lime-green reading glasses as she read. A dark-skinned athletic-looking woman in a navy pantsuit and tiny gold earrings, nothing on her person—or on her desk, with its row of stapler, tape, and pencil holder—seemed out of place: Ms. Stonehouse exuded professionalism. And yet, Dakota wondered if those glasses meant there was more to her. She certainly seemed like an interesting woman to know.
“That’s unusual for someone of your age,” she continued. Her neutral expression was difficult to read, thought Dakota, who had never before been in this type of meeting. Except at school, she was typically in on the decision-making. Another reason, she realized, why it was pretty
amazing to inherit a family business. Even if it did cause headaches!
“I hung out with the chef at the chain’s hotel in Rome a summer ago. He’s been very encouraging,” said Dakota, before opting for full disclosure. “My father used to be the chief architect of this hotel chain. James Foster.”
“Yes, I do know that,” said Ms. Stonehouse, without looking up. “I once worked with your father in Paris, though I didn’t know him well then.”
“He’s a good guy,” said Dakota. Ms. Stonehouse raised her head briefly, a tiny half-smile on her lips. “And now he’s started his own business. It’s extraordinarily successful. Turning clients away right and left.”
“Impressive,” said Ms. Stonehouse, who knew that James, like many entrepreneurs, had experienced a few hiccups getting going. “The hotel industry’s been suffering, too. So there’s a lot to be said for marketing and just trying to ride things out. But let’s talk more about you, Dakota. What’s your background?”
Dakota filled in the details of the knitting shop as it was, and how she hoped it to be, with the café and all that. “And that’s why I need some real-life experience,” she concluded. “I’m good, well, more like I’m not bad. I want to learn.”
Ms. Stonehouse nodded. “You’re a very serious young woman,” she said. She wanted to say that she was tremendously curious about Dakota, had heard James boast and complain about her, and had spent a fair amount of time imagining this first meeting. She hadn’t expected it to be at the hotel, hadn’t realized until she looked at her day’s agenda that Dakota would be coming through the door. Had freaked out, in fact, even considered having her assistant do the interview. But ultimately, she put the needs of the hotel above her own. And at the V, this general manager always had a personal meeting with every new employee.
“Not always serious,” said Dakota. “But I’m figuring it out. I’m figuring life out.”
After being silent for what seemed like ages, Ms. Stonehouse stood up and came around her desk.
“It’s a big deal to work through the holidays,” she said. James had broached the trip to Scotland with Sandra months ago to ensure that she was comfortable with him being gone over Christmas. Later, he mentioned that Dakota was going to work over Christmas and that he wasn’t pleased about it. Not once, however, did he say Dakota was coming to the V. She had to admire his restraint. If it had been her, she’d have called in the favor and gotten Dakota’s job canceled. The least she could do, she decided, was give the most important man in her life the gift he most wanted this Christmas: time with his little girl. All the same, if the romance with James continued, she didn’t want Dakota to accuse her later of manipulation. They didn’t prepare her for this at Cornell, she thought. Interviewing your lover’s child.
“I’m going to be straight with you,” she continued. “Most of our staff are fighting to earn days off. And we do have an opening for an intern after the New Year. You could help out on weekends and prepare for Sunday brunch. It’s one of the hotel’s highlights.”
Dakota nodded very slowly. Think, think, think, she told herself. She was pretty sure she recognized this type of trick question from that book on being an engaging interviewee.
“I’m ready to accept the challenge,” she said now. “I may miss my family, but I know how to work hard and believe I have valuable skills to offer the V.”
“Such as?”
“Such as . . . a willingness to work on Christmas?” said Dakota weakly. She attempted a bright smile, showing lots of teeth.
“Okay, Dakota Walker,” said Ms. Stonehouse. “You’re in.” In truth, the kitchen staff could use the extra help. But she hoped to God she wasn’t out when it came to James.
Catherine was beaming as she sat inside the city’s least swanky coffee spot, Marty’s Deli, waiting for Anita and Dakota.
“You look stunning,” said Marty, finishing up his morning stint behind the counter. He intended to work until the deli was transformed into the knitting café, which meant that he had a few years left until retirement. He brought a plate of cookies over to Catherine, who gobbled two chocolate chippers immediately.
“I am freakin’ starved all of a sudden,” she said. “Ever since the proposal, I am damn hungry.”
“Maybe you’ve got a case of nerves,” said Marty. “Anita’s been cool as a cucumber since this turned into a double wedding. Now that you’re involved, she can stand up to Nathan because she’s fighting for you. It’s not about her anymore.”
“What’s he doing now?” Catherine contemplated another cookie.
“Oh, the usual,” said Marty, taking one himself. “Jabbering on in long, rambling speeches about the meaning of family. Claiming he won’t attend. Throwing tantrums, in a manner of speaking.”
“And his wife?” asked Catherine.
“She lets him rant,” said Marty. “Then again, they hit a bad patch a while back. So, maybe this is a good sign.”
“So, will I technically be related in some way to Nathan now?” mused Catherine. “Will I have to see him regularly now?”
“Your mother-in-law-to-be is his aunt,” said Marty, considering. “And your stepkids are his cousins. But don’t worry. Marrying into this family is A-okay. Only Nathan is loco.”
“I actually think he’s just a troubled guy,” said Catherine. “Needy, acting out. He acts the jerk, but he has more potential.”
“Sounds like the description of a teenager,” said Marty, standing up as Anita entered the shop, her arm around Dakota, their breath surrounding them as they exited the chilled winter air.
“Guess who got her first real job today!” announced Anita, her eyes crinkling.
“It’s the internship,” explained Dakota.
“So, you’re really not going to Scotland then?” asked Catherine. “I mean, are you sure?”
“Of course she’s sure,” Anita said swiftly. “Otherwise she’d turn it down and go with the family. This isn’t just any restaurant, you know. Besides, the holidays come every year.” She settled into her chair as Marty went off to get drinks for all.
“You’re just revved up because it’s your first Christmas with your new family,” said Dakota, piling up her winter outerwear on a nearby chair.
“Right,” agreed Anita. “All the other holidays over the years will pale in comparison.”
“Like getting the entire family together in Italy sometime,” said Catherine, finally synching with Anita. “That might be fun, but Roberto would probably have something better to do. I’m sure Marco would just get over it.”
“Such as an internship,” said Anita. “Family is important, but an internship is much more crucial.”
“Could never get another one of those,” said Catherine. “But a ninety-seven-year-old grandmother? Better to make her wait until you can fit her into your schedule.”
“All right, all right, you tricked me,” exclaimed Dakota, as she took the mocha that Marty offered. “I thought you were actually excited for me.”
“Dakota, I am truly proud of you,” said Anita. “But what will make you happier when you look back? That you spent a memorable Christmas at your Gran’s with all the Walkers and your father, or that you finally learned how to keep your soufflé from falling?”
“I already know how to do that,” said Dakota.
“See what she means,” said Catherine. “Holidays may come every year, but each year is once in a lifetime.”
“Don’t invite regret where you don’t have to,” said Anita. “We all make our own choices. Your internship might lead to wonderful opportunities—or you might just learn a thing or two and move on. But you’ll never stop wishing you had made this trip.”
“I wasn’t expecting to be in this position,” Dakota said finally. Honestly. “I feel inundated by dilemmas.”
Anita, sensing her fatigue, changed the subject to the upcoming New Year weddings. Dakota finished her mocha, grateful to lose herself for several minutes listening to myriad descriptions of Catherine’s
dream wedding dress, and was sorry she didn’t have the freedom in her schedule to help her select it. But Anita was more than prepared to return Catherine’s favor and become her pseudo wedding planner, offering suggestions and ideas to color-coordinate.
How funny to think back to Catherine, as superficial and difficult as she once had been, and to know that now this caring, confident woman was soon marrying into Anita’s family, thought Dakota. Strange, also, because once she and Georgia had been the closest thing to family Anita had when Stan was gone and her sons were so far away. And now the family was bigger, and more complicated, and interconnected in ways none of them ever would have dreamed.
Dakota thought of her mother’s dreams for the shop, and for Dakota’s future. And how quickly everything could fall apart. One autumn afternoon they sat around, all the club, her mother recuperating, and mere days later they held a memorial service. Circumstances could change swiftly. Perhaps, she wondered, she was letting her head run over her heart. She might have trouble keeping the shop going without Peri, without the café being ready—this she understood and feared—but she might also get to next Christmas and discover she’d missed the best chance to spend a holiday with Gran. Too much could happen.
She looked at Anita and Catherine, planning their weddings, and thought about her grandparents and uncle arriving at her father’s apartment, with tidy rolling suitcases they’d probably purchased just for the trip.
“Life changes,” piped up Dakota. “Families change.” And that’s when she knew the choice she wanted most: She didn’t want to miss out on whatever shifts might be going on with her Walkers. Not this Christmas. Because that’s all she had right now, this one holiday. This one moment. And she wanted to be part of that dynamic. Not separate. Not ever.
Dakota grabbed her coat, pecked Catherine and Anita and Marty, and ran to the door, looking back quickly. “I’m going to see Gran,” she shouted. She ran up to the store to touch base with Peri, loaded up on some yarn for the flight, and then, on her way to pick up some dry cleaning, she called Gran.