When George casually asked Darcy McDermott to report on his happiness experiment, Darcy smiled—first at George, and then at Madeline, whom he knew would be worried. And she did look nervous, her blue eyes wide and wary. And was she holding her breath? He gave her a reassuring nod. To Madeline’s knowledge Darcy’s only happiness experiment was the one he shared with Alex—the trip to Oklahoma to reunite George’s parents with their estranged son, something that was still on the Mums-the-word list. But Madeline did not know the whole story. Neither did Alex, or anyone at the table.
“George, I’d be glad to report, but I’d like to be last, if that’s okay. I mean, Madeline can go first and then I’ll tell mine.”
Madeline looked taken aback by all this secrecy, but smiled. “That works for me. You see–”
“But why doesn’t George have to report?” interrupted Andrea. Except I guess he’s just the help, not a real member of the group.”
Darcy was about to retort, but Elena beat him to it.
“How can you say that, Andrea?” said Elena, her beautiful dark eyes flashing with indignation, a new side to the woman Darcy could not get out of his mind. Was this Strong Elena a result of standing up to her unfaithful cellist boyfriend? Whatever it was, Darcy liked it.
“Yeah,” joined in Lucy, “I mean, come on. The help? What—”
But Elena wasn’t finished. “Not a real member of our group?” She threw up her hands in an exaggerated gesture of disbelief, as if she’d had enough of Andrea for the day. Insulting the entire table with Rescue-the-unattractive! make up samples was one thing, but this seemed too much for Elena and Lucy, who continued to exchange words with a defensive Andrea. George, meanwhile, looked like he was enjoying a tennis match, snapping his head back and forth between them.
Geraldine chimed in with a few remarks about how she was at a loss to account for the lack of manners these days. "Back in my day . . ."
It was somewhere in that exchange, in Elena’s gesturing, that Darcy noticed her ring finger—an empty ring finger. He suddenly forgot all about George and the insensitive Andrea. His mouth began to feel like sand paper and he gulped a couple of times. So, he thought. So. For two weeks there had been utter silence between them, as Elena had finally given up her attempt to get his advice. Should she forgive Rob or break it off? Darcy’s heart sank each time she texted, knowing that he could not be objective. She would have to figure it out for herself. Finally the texts had stopped. But not his prayers.
Her engagement to “Vibrato Rob”—was it really off? But why would she keep this news secret? Was she angry at him for not helping her to decide? Emotions and doubts collided until he was aware that his mouth was hanging open. He promptly shut it and tried to regain composure.
After a few minutes of chaos, Madeline’s hands went up in a HOLD EVERTHING gesture. “This is not how I pictured our meeting today,” she said with both authority and volume. “Andrea,”—she paused, turned her head, and looked squarely at Andrea—“George is an important member of the group . . . just like you are.” (She said this last with less conviction, thought Darcy.) “But George has already reported his happiness experiment,” she said. “But we didn’t call it that because it was the first one. He’s the one who gave me the idea that we should all try it. His generous actions—”
“I know,” said Andrea. “Tim’s shoes.”
TOMs shoes,” retorted George.
Madeline’s hand went up again, this time turning her stern look toward George. “What is this? A meeting of Fat Soul Fridays or Lucy’s fifth grade class? Now . . . may I continue?”
Everyone at the table fell back into a sheepish repose, except for Alex, who sat straight as an arrow, looking at his wife from across the long table with mirth in his eyes and a curl at the edges of lips. Once again, Darcy envied the couple—so in love. It was as if he were silently saying, This isn’t important, all this. After having a heart attack, nearly dying, I know this is not important in the scheme of things. And God, how I love you.
“I’ll be brief,” said Madeline in a more even tone, “since it’s getting late. I chose something that fits my own ideals about community and justice. It’s a passion of mine—that every person has a right to have their basic needs met. Like food.” She gestured at their empty plates of scones. “I’m not talking about scones and tea, but about getting down to basics. Basics that people, in these hard economic times, can’t take for granted. Like a hot meal. A nutritious meal.”
Darcy’s mind, cluttered with personal thoughts, suddenly cleared. What was she saying?
“So Darcy, your church kitchen, the one with the fixed plumbing, but the hideous stove—well, something had to be done about it. I took a tour of the church kitchen when you were gone, and the stove looks like a reject from my girl-scout camp-out days.”
Darcy felt his face disappear into a smile he could not control. “So, you’re donating a stove from the shop?”
“No,” she said. “Not one of ours. I can’t spare one from here. No, I bought I brand new one. A commercial six burner, gas, and it’s being installed tomorrow. I’ve been in contact with the president of your congregation and she’s handling the logistics.”
“Oh, Madeline,” said Darcy. “That’s incredible! My dream of serving meals—vegetarian, of course—to the homeless has been put on hold so long, that I’ve almost given up the idea.”
“And don’t forget the vegetarian cooking classes you had in mind,” said Madeline. “I think I could use a few lessons myself.”
“Me, too!” said Elena. “I’ve been wanting to go vegetarian, but don’t know where to start.”
Geraldine said, “My doctor says my arthritis would benefit from a vegetarian diet. Count me in.”
Lucy said, “Well, you know my thoughts on it. It’s proven to help your heart.” She looked at Alex, as if as if he were her new health-nut project.
Andrea said (in her usual wet blanket style), “But what about carbs! There are, like, totally too many carbs in a vegetarian diet."
Madeline, blithely ignoring Andrea's comment, smiled and said, “Needless to say, I believe my happiness experiment will create more happiness in the world—or at least, a few less hungry people—and it has certainly added to my own sense of well-being to be part of it. Of course it’s not just a material gift. I’ll also be on hand to help cook, serve, and clean up when the church approves the program. But let’s not dwell on my project.” She glanced at a still radiant Darcy.
Darcy took it as his cue. “Okay, I’m ready to tell mine.” He turned to look at George. “George, my happiness experiment involves you.”
“No way!” said George, flashing his boyish smile.
The sound of clattering china distracted the group. Madeline’s teacup had turned over, tepid tea spilling onto the glass top. “Sorry,” she said.
Darcy glanced around the table with a playful grin. “Can you guys hang on? I need to make a call.” He waved a hand. “No, this is part of my report, trust me. Just hang on.”
Silence ensued. Not so much as an ill-timed remark from Andrea filled the silence.
“Hello, Felipe?” said Darcy, smiling into his phone. “Yeah, it’s time.” Darcy handed his cell to a wide-eyed George. “Felipe wants to say something.”
George, puzzled, took the cell phone. “Hey,” said George into the phone, focusing hard on what Felipe was saying. "What?" Finally his eyes gleamed understanding. “No way! Cool . . . That is so rad. . . . Okay. . . . Love you, too. Bye.”
He ended the call and handed back the phone to Darcy, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you would do this for us.”
“Do what!” interjected Lucy. “Come on, you guys. Talk to us!”
Darcy said, “Well, it’s something Felipe and I cooked up. As you all know the same-sex marriage legalities are all tied up in in Sacramento, appeals from the right, etcetera, etcetera . . . and there is nothing we can do about that right now. As Madeline said earlier, some things are out of our control, but we still have room to be creative. Felipe and George have wanted to have a real marriage ceremony for . . how long, George?”
“Ever since we got our domestic partnership papers. And that was great and everything, but so cold. No ceremony, no friends. Just a piece of paper and brochure called Your Future Together. I think it’s in the back of some drawer in the kitchen.”
“So,” continued Darcy, making eye-contact around the table, a couple of weeks ago, I had coffee with Felipe and threw out an idea. ‘Why wait?’ I told him, ‘I mean, why wait to celebrate your life commitment?’ Felipe and I talked about this, about the importance of making their life commitment public, inviting friends and . . . co-workers and all.” Darcy coughed, realizing he almost said Friends and family. “So, we thought, why not plan a ceremony and worry about the legal license later? If two ceremonies are necessary, so what? Lots of people do it—have a religious ceremony with a minister and a separate civil ceremony. It’s very European,” he laughed. “So Felipe and I have been secretly planning a commitment ceremony for the two of them.”
“When? . . . and where?” said an exuberant Madeline.
“Two weeks from tomorrow. Heisler park—overlooking the ocean. We could do it at my church, but we agreed the park this time of year is so beautiful. The invitations are ready to go out tomorrow—that is, if George accepts the offer.”
“Do I accept the offer?” George said, looking on the verge of tears. “Of course I do. This is so rad,” said George fighting tears. “Totally rad.”
* * *
After the meeting broke up with hugs and thank-yous, Elena drew Darcy aside. “Can I talk to you? Are you in a hurry?”
“No. What’s going on?” He tried to look innocent, as if he had not noticed her ring-less hand.
“Lucy.” She smiled at her friend who was in rapt conversation with Alex about the evils of saturated fat. “She’s got a date.”
Darcy’s shoulders sagged (along with his spirits). “Okay,” he said.
“It’s like this,” she said conspiratorially. “She met someone on Match.com. They’ve decided to have dinner and meet, you know, in person. So they’re having dinner tonight at Las Brisas.”
“Good place,” Darcy said, wondering where this was headed.
“But Lucy wants me to go with her.”
“On the date?” Darcy laughed.
“No! I mean, I would sit across the room at another table, and well, size him up. She wants my opinion, you know, from my own objective observations.”
“You mean you’re going to be a spy?” said Darcy.
She didn’t answer but stifled a smile. Her eyes seemed to light up with a wild sparkle of pure mischief—another fascinating side to Elena that he’d never noticed. It was a like a painting of a beautiful woman had come to life. She was stepping out of it and, much to Darcy’s amazement, the animated, sometimes angry, and a little mischevious Elena was much better than the painting.
“I want you to come with me,” she said. “Please, Darcy. I can’t eat at Las Brisas alone. It would look funny.”
“So I’m a prop?” he asked, still amused.
She laughed. “I didn’t mean that. I just mean I’d love to have your company. I need a guy’s perspective, too. Please, Darcy, would you have dinner with me?”
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