Fresh watermelon margaritas
Guacamole and chips
Black Bean Soup with Crème Fraiche and Corn Tortillas
Watermelon, Ricotta Salata and Mint Salad
Strawberry Sorbet and Madeleine Cookies
“I’m so bloated,” says Kimberly over the phone. “And my boobs are killing me.”
“I bet you’re pregnant!” I exclaim.
“No, I’m always late.”
“You never know….”
“Enough,” she says. “Stop trying to get me knocked up. I’ve only been dating the trainer for a few months. Besides, I’m 41, I live in a tiny apartment––and let’s face it, one high-needs pit bull is enough for me.” For three years now, I have been trying to talk Kimberly into having a baby. I think she would make an incredible mom. Plus, children bring so much to a life--they genuinely make you a better person in a very drastic, but necessary way. Kimberly has always seemed to me, someone open and available for that kind of commitment, man or no man.
I am a firm believer that you don’t really need a husband to have a baby. I know plenty of women who have to do it all, married or not. These women make money, clean and take care of the emotional health of the family. Yeah, yeah, there are a ton of great dads out there too. But still, I’d say there is a 50/50 ratio––guys who contribute equally and guys who are just dead weight. Luckily, my husband is part of the former, not the latter.
Anyways, after two weeks of being late, feeling big and perhaps a bit emotional, Kimberly rang me again from her office in Soho, where she works in the beauty industry as a writer.
“I think I’d better bring a pregnancy test when I come over for dinner Saturday night.”
And so my next dinner party, which was on Cinco de Mayo, began with me sending Steve and the boys to the park, while I made margaritas and Kimberly went to the bathroom to pee on a stick.
When the two minutes that the test requires to do its magic were up, I jumped up to get it. Kimberly looked at me strangely. Of course, I let her check it, even though it took everything in my willpower not to run into my urine-scented bathroom (ah the joys of toilet training little boys) and take a peek.
I took a gulp of margarita. She took another test.
Two tests in a row stated what I had hoped: Positive.
The boys came home. We all cheered. Steve and I drank to her happiness. Kimberly looked shell-shocked. The dinner was fantastic. Afterwards, we put the boys to sleep and Steve, Kimberly and I did something we rarely do. We watched TV. Nothing like five back-to-back episodes of Entourage, curled up on your best friends sofa, under the weight of an antique quilt and sipping herbal tea to take your mind off things for a while. Perhaps Kimberly was comforted.
Recipe for Watermelon Salad
Two cups of watermelon cut into bite-sized chunks
1/2 cup Ricotta Salata crumbled
1/2 bunch of mint leaves, torn
Place all ingredients into a bowl and toss.
Two cups of cut watermelon
1/2 cup tequila
1/2 cup lime juice
1/4 simple syrup
Handful of ice
Place all ingredients but mint into the blender. Serve immediately with mint garnish.
Makes 4 margaritas