In My Rear View Mirror
I love tarragon. I love the smell. I love the taste. I love to find recipes in which I can add it and let others savor its joy. It’s like a bit of heaven, a scented, tasteful beautiful heaven.
In the kitchen, I don’t express my love of tarragon. Who’d understand?
Ewan? He’s too busy being Mister Nice Guy. My Sous Chef who checks his cell as often as he checks the dish he’s working on? He’s an oregano guy.
No, my love of tarragon is like the love of the child, the love child, I’ll never have.
For brunch I’m preparing Tarragon-Caper Egg Salad Sandwiches with Smoked Salmon. A mouthful certainly to say and hopefully a delightful one to eat.
Ewan keeps trying to catch my eye. It’s tiresome. I’m done with him. Is that awful?
Maybe I have a few guilt moments over throwing his red beans and rice out the other night. It wasn’t awful. Patrons would have loved it. So, yeah, I was peeved. I’m peeved a lot. Especially lately. I’m not loving Cilantro and Sage as much as I thought I would. It feels like an anchor. A bad commitment.
I stare at the sandwich before me. Crap. It’s a sandwich. It will be served with a mimosa or a bloody mary to some dilettante who will be discussing politics or some other crap. They will only understand half of what they’re talking about. But, hell, they’ll be steadfast and fervent. Freaking. God, how have I gotten to this?
I throw down the knife I’m holding.
“I’m so done.”
The kitchen silences. They stare at me, my back as I leave. I don’t care. I’m done with them all.
Taos, New Mexico. I hear it’s nice.
I sit in my car, my newly purchased Mercedes. I’ve never felt so alive and so alone.
I push speed-dial. “Hey, Mom, it’s Kate. I’m New Mexico bound. Love ya.”
And, yeah, so a part of me thinks it’s okay to play Willie Nelson singing, “On the Road Again.” I should feel guilty. Leaving Ewan, leaving Cilantro and Sage, and yet, why do I feel other? Free?
God, I feel free.
I’m so freaking free!
For the first time in my life I feel free. Can I hear a Hallelujah?