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It is a detached brand of frantic that I’m channelling as I watch the eggs poach. I fiddle with the gas, poke at one with a slotted spoon and furrow my brow. Ariel’s sister comes in the kitchen and hands me a champagne cocktail and I distractedly thank her. I begin to lift the eggs out of the poaching liquid and glance at the hollondaise that is sitting nearby in a warm water bath.

I do a double take. My creamy, rich emulsion is distinctly separated. The butter floating on top and the rest settling in blotchy mess at the bottom of the bowl. My heart doesn’t really sink until my frantic whisking has no effect.

“The hollondaise broke.”

A few ears perk up. Jay has no idea what it could possibly mean for a sauce to break. Michael has some but no idea how to fix it. Frazzled, I decide to start another sauce and curse myself for breazily agreeing to attempt Eggs Benedict.

With some assistance in clarifying the butter, the second sauce comes together quickly. And just as soon as it is luscious and gorgeous, it, too is a mess. I get clever and decide to add some cream to bring it back together. Then I get desperate and decide to add a corn-starch slurry. Nothing works.

Tears are stinging my eyes and I feel my face flushed. I wonder if I’ve ever had a moment before when I was this embarassed. I dejectedly announce that there will be no hollondaise unless someone else makes it. I can’t breath very well and I feel tiny and incompetent and I wander to the back of the house where Michael is in the bedroom.

He sees the utterly stricken look on my face and tells me to lay down on the bed.

“I broke the sauce again and I tried to fix it. I failed.”

I know how dramatic I am making this seem but this feels like a real tragedy to me. I wanted to desperately to please everyone and have everything be perfect. I wanted to make them all love me. But, instead of generating this perfect emulsion, a culinary feat, I’ve destroyed an entire pound of butter and have a runny mess to show for it.

Michael is running his hands through my hair while I babble about my failure. He places a palm on my chest, covering my heart. This is a move that Barbara Carellas taught me and that I taught him and it doesn’t matter where it comes from, it makes my entire body relax. I breath deeply and listen to him speak.

“You know that Ariel’s sister doesn’t care if there is no hollondaise. And she already adores you. I know this because you make Ariel so happy and that is all she wants to see. Someone that makes her sister happy.”

I listen to his words, ones I already knew to be true but that bear repeating. The warmth from his hand is radiating through me now and I feel calm again. He kisses me on the forehead and asks if I’m ready to face the world again.

I am.