The idea that Olive was trying to reach her now, however, propelled Ginny to rush around in search of her phone. She darted from room to room, retracing her steps with urgency. Perhaps this day was savable after all.
At last, she located it on the bathroom vanity. As she reached for it, the illuminated screen darkened. Two missed calls.
Snatching it up, she read the incoming numbers. Seeing that neither call was from Olive, her optimism evaporated. One was from a vendor she knew. The other, earlier caller, she also recognized.
The identity of the first caller unsettled her. Two attempts from Julia over the past twenty-four hours. What could she possibly want?
Tucking the phone into her back pocket, she sighed. She and her sister hadn’t parted on the best of terms, and their last encounter had been messy.
Her fingers froze with indecision over whether or not to call back. She pondered the various possibilities while staring at her distraught reflection in the bathroom mirror. A worry took hold. The lines around her almond-shaped eyes sank inward. She let her shoulders fall forward.
How had she become this person? This woman with worry lines and hardened edges? She once was so unflinchingly close to the important people in her life, but she had drifted so depressingly far away. Had it been all her fault?
The sudden thudding of the front door, followed by footsteps, stole her focus from the mirror and directed it down the hallway. She only hoped this signaled the arrival of Olive.
“Hello?” a young female voice called out.
Finally!
Ginny rushed toward the entryway, wiping her palms down the length of her sides with a mixture of disapproval and relief flooding her chest. She was familiar with this reaction to Olive’s impromptu comings and goings in her life. It was a maddening merry-go-round of hope and angst that Ginny very much wanted to exit. Yet she simply couldn’t let go.
“Oh, thank god!” she said, planting her hands on her hips in the entryway. “You’re finally here. What took so long? I didn’t read about a flight delay. I was expecting you back hours ago! Don’t you realize how much there is to do?”
The young woman standing in front of her in a long skirt and cropped top released an army-green duffel bag from her delicate shoulder and scowled. “Hello to you, too, Mother. I’m fine; thanks for asking.”
The sharp response cut into Ginny like a wound. A familiar shame rose up and enflamed her face. This twenty-one-year-old daughter of hers had a distinct manner of swooping in and making her feel like a failure. Every time.
Ginny knew responding to her daughter with anger was what normally got her tangled up in an ugly exchange, yet she couldn’t help herself. Olive had left her high and dry once again. Plus, her emotions ran hot when it came to her only child. This was the kid she’d cared for even when her ex, the absentee parent, had bowed out at the height of their family troubles. He’d chosen himself over everything else. Despite this, Olive still—maddeningly—ran to her father whenever she managed to scrounge up enough time and money.
It was the one act of defiance that hurt Ginny the most.
There had been other things Olive undoubtedly did to get a rise out of her mother: the tattoos, the nose ring, the monthlong stint of blue hair that she very well knew would put off the uptight, rich, conservative clientele to whom Ginny catered. Whenever Ginny protested, Olive complained about all the injustices she faced. And each argument ended with a final twist of a dagger, the barbed comment that her dad thought it was “cool.”
Will, or “Wild Wild Will,” as their circle of friends had jokingly referred to Ginny’s ex-boyfriend, was nothing more than a failed writer who refused to grow up and accept what it meant to be a partner and a father. Of course he would think Olive’s little acts of rebellion were cool. His whole life centered on that very concept.
When he left, there’d been no explanation, just a mailbox full of overdue bills and a teenage girl who’d blamed the fractured family unit on the one adult who’d chosen to stick around: Ginny.
Ginny had worked her fingers to the bone. But none of it seemed to matter. Olive’s empathy had swung in another direction. Since the breakup, their mother-daughter relationship had been turbulent.
“Olive, you’re really late. I was worried about you.” Ginny stepped forward hesitantly. She wanted to reach out and run a hand over Olive’s bare arm. A faint whiff of lavender oil could be detected. How Ginny wanted to pull her daughter in just once, like old times, and feel the weight of the girl in her arms.
Olive sidestepped her. She didn’t like to be hugged, at least not by her mother.
“Olive—”
Her daughter’s tanned face scrunched, the soft freckles caving in around her eyes. Olive flipped her newly highlighted, waist-length hair behind the frame of her slender back. “I’m fine,” she responded in an acrid tone. “But you weren’t really worried about me. Let’s be honest. You were worried about tonight’s service.”
This time, it was Ginny who winced.
Olive parted two chapped lips and sighed. “It’s fine, Mom. I’ve lived with you long enough to know the drill. I said I’d be back in time to work tonight’s shift and here I am. Reporting for duty. Dad says hello, by the way. In case you cared.”
Ginny was still burning when Olive picked up her bag and brushed past her toward the back rooms.
Emotions always got the best of Ginny, especially anger. And, as always, she regretted her quick mouth. But Olive left her no choice. The girl knew how to push every single one of her buttons. She’d been doing it for years.
Bringing up Will, who the girl believed could do no wrong, was a usual tactic for Olive. Her daughter thought the man had hung the moon, with his weird poetry and existential novel ideas. Ginny’s ex could have fallen into depression because his literary work wasn’t resonating with an audience. He hadn’t yet been able to obtain the career he’d wanted. But Will’s inflated ego always prevented him from accepting a “layman’s job” to make a living. Nevertheless, Olive still adored and admired him. Ginny supposed this was because her daughter, being more like her creative father, always felt understood by Will in ways that Ginny often dismissed.
“Dad gets what it means to be free,” she’d once said. “He works to live. Not lives to work, like other people I know.”
The statement had broken Ginny’s heart. If only her daughter knew the sacrifices Ginny had made. How the scales of responsibility had been tipped so unevenly. How, for so many years, Ginny had been the breadwinner because her partner simply couldn’t be bothered. Ginny had been forced to set aside her thriving career to attend to family obligations. There’d been years of pain because of it. But she’d remained quiet and soldiered on.
She prayed Olive would one day come to her senses and realize Will wasn’t as amazing and free as she believed him to be. The reality was that the New York publishing scene had wanted no part of his experimental literature once he veered off the path of relatable essays and short stories and into the self-righteous and obscure. At the first signs of failure, Will had slunk away with his tail between his legs and left a damaged family in his wake. Ginny was just glad they’d never gotten married. They’d lived together for years before they’d broken up, but she’d be forever tied to him because of Olive.
“Thanks for coming back,” Ginny mumbled as she watched her daughter saunter away.
“Uh-huh. Don’t I always?” A door slammed and Ginny deflated.
Olive had returned for now. Ginny had a sinking feeling, however, that if things continued to deteriorate between the two of them, it might be the last time.
CHAPTER SIX
JULIA
Maneuvering out of town later that afternoon went surprisingly swiftly. It dawned on Julia just how easily it all came together. The packing, booking the ticket, the ride to the airport. In the absence of extra time, she didn’t have a chance to second-guess her decision.
Before she left her apartment, she sent an email to Peter with t
he scant details surrounding her side of the story. She needed him to know that she hadn’t just pulled the Rossetti story from thin air. Not entirely, at least. The whole fiasco was born from overhearing what she believed to be a legitimate source gossiping about someone in public office committing a crime. What she didn’t tell Peter was that the act of scooping a secret conversation (while she hid behind a bathroom door, no less) kept her from reaching out to that source now that the damage was done. In the aftermath, she found she didn’t have the courage to ring up the state attorney’s office and admit that she was desperate.
She also made a point to phone James. Naturally he didn’t pick up, which she expected. While he always had his phone on him, James wasn’t one to return personal calls during business hours. He’d explained to her once before that his days were so overloaded with meetings and client lunches that he didn’t have time for pleasantries. It was bad form to talk to his girlfriend while trying to close a deal. She supposed she understood.
Despite knowing this, Julia had hoped to connect, to hear her partner’s voice before committing to leaving. A small part of her thought that if she just caught the calm, confident tone of his voice, then maybe she wouldn’t follow through on her wild plan. If James picked up, it might be a sign she shouldn’t go.
But he didn’t.
“James,” she breathed softly into the receiver, leaning against the stone-colored wall of their shared bedroom. She closed her eyes and pictured his caring face from earlier that morning. Leaving the comfort of his steadfast security wasn’t easy, but something stronger pulled at her core. “It’s me. I was hoping to reach you before I go. I’m . . . I’m sorry. I just need some time to figure things out. Away from the city. This thing with work is making me crazy. I wish you could come with me, but maybe it’s best you don’t. It might be good for me to sort this mess out on my own. At least for a couple of days. I’m headed to my sister’s. I’ll call once I get there. I love you. Bye.” With a swift motion, she hit “End” and turned her phone off.
No use going back now that she’d said it out loud. She really wasn’t sure how James would take the news. She only hoped he would understand.
Ginny, however, had not been forewarned with any such message. After considering whether or not to call her sister for a third time and give her a heads-up, Julia decided against it. What if Ginny wouldn’t see her? They hadn’t spoken in so long that it was possible Ginny wouldn’t open the door to her. If that was the case, then where would Julia hide out? Sure, she could check into some obscure hotel somewhere and lick her wounds with the help of a minibar and a movie channel. But being alone wasn’t particularly her strong suit. Julia didn’t like to be isolated.
She wanted to be left alone, not lonely.
There was a big difference between the two. The latter frightened Julia more than she cared to admit. Maybe it was because her childhood, and even early adulthood, had always included the constant company of Ginny and her protective older friends.
Maybe it was because when, many years earlier, Julia had moved to New York and landed her first job in broadcasting, she’d suddenly found herself surrounded by more activity than she’d ever experienced growing up in the Southwest. At work there was always a cameraman or assistant producer in tow. Nights were filled with drinks around large, loud tables of colleagues swapping work-related woes.
And then there were the back rooms of Ginny’s Manhattan restaurants, the steaming kitchens buzzing with frenetic energy, the beating pulse of nightlife. Ginny could always be counted on to invite Julia through the back door of whichever restaurant she worked for and plate her something heavenly and rich.
But that was a long time ago.
A female ticketing agent at the airport smiled and scanned the boarding pass on Julia’s phone before ushering her through the gate. The departure terminal was busy that time of day, and bodies were pressed together with the frenzied energy that only harried travelers possessed. Everything smelled of a cloying mix of stale air, fast-food grease, and body odor. There was little room for personal space, let alone concealing one’s identity.
Julia thought the woman behind the ticket desk threw her a double glance, a pair of pink frosted lips parting ever so slightly with recognition. A flash of heat rose to her cheeks. Hastily, Julia dropped her head and focused on the mottled carpeting as she continued past the woman and down the ramp. A pit developed low in her gut. Maybe she should open her purse and retrieve her dark sunglasses.
She had the last seat in first class, up against the window. Small miracles. At least it wasn’t the aisle. With any luck the person next to her wouldn’t show up. Relieved to find a landing spot, she flung her jacket down and slumped in her chair. Quickly, she fumbled through her purse and slipped on her metallic aviators. The remainder of the passengers filed past, some casting half-interested glances her way, others too harried to notice. When the door finally latched and the seat next to her remained open, Julia let out a shaky breath.
Thank you, she said silently. And in no time, they were airborne.
Five and a half hours later, Julia was jolted awake by the captain’s scratchy announcements echoing through the cabin. She had just fallen asleep and now gingerly uncoiled herself from her bent-over position. She squinted at the golden light pouring through her small window and ran a lazy hand through her hair. Flight attendants scurried by, collecting trash and instructing everyone to put their seat backs and tray tables into the upright position. But Julia couldn’t help but stare outside.
She’d forgotten about the time difference. Of course the sun had yet to set over the Arizona desert. It was two whole hours behind East Coast time. Somewhere down there, Ginny was likely just sitting down to dinner. And oblivious to the fact that her estranged sister was dropping by for a visit.
How would she explain herself? Julia wondered. And how would Ginny respond?
While her brain tried to fast-forward and imagine all the possibilities, she couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the fantastic sight below. It had been too long, but the familiar scene now flooded her memory. Pinks and browns and vivid patches of greens caught her eye, nearly taking her breath away. The expanse of the desert captivated her. In the absence of buildings were low mountains and jagged rocks, colorful houses and muted landscape. It was a curious yet startlingly familiar sight, and one so opposite of the city.
This wasn’t going to be easy, to face her present demons in the shadow of her past.
Ready or not, big sister, she thought, here I come.
CHAPTER SEVEN
GINNY
Friday nights were always busy, and this one was no exception. There would be two dinner shifts: one table of eight at six o’clock and one table of ten at eight o’clock. She’d assumed with the holidays behind them, she and Olive would be down to only one serving per evening, back to the simple Friday-, Saturday-, and Sunday-night meals that the slower season usually entailed, leaving the weekdays for prep work and free time. However, it appeared the Arizona snowbirds had largely remained in town and were seeking entertainment.
It was times like these, when her patience ran thin and Olive’s support even thinner, that Ginny toyed with the idea of opening a legitimate space in a real restaurant, one with a long, silvery bank of reliable commercial-grade equipment, a professionally trained waitstaff, and an eager team of dishwashers and sous chefs grateful for their jobs. Like the old days, only smaller. Much smaller.
But that was not how her vision was playing out here in the desert. When she’d arrived, she’d never imagined she would remain, let alone buy a house and start a business.
Ginny’s trajectory in New York had been on the rise. The awards and accolades were beginning to collect. Her status as a celebrity chef was growing. Other restaurants were attempting to poach her because of her winning reputation.
But then, in the midst of it all, her parents died.
Suddenly there were multiple fires to put out back home in Arizona, such as selli
ng off her parents’ belongings and outdated house. There were bank accounts to close, burials to arrange, and debts to pay down. All of which required a heavy commitment on her end. And then there was the agonizing weight of grieving that quickly settled in.
Julia, who had all too easily shed her Arizona roots in search of greener pastures, was too wrapped up in her skyrocketing news career to help. Her sister was hungry for the limelight, and once she got a taste, there was no looking back. Arizona, Julia claimed, had nothing more to offer her. With no other siblings or close family to call on, the burden fell on Ginny, the firstborn, to pack up her daughter and life in New York City and head out west. No matter the cost.
In one fell swoop, Ginny was forced to make a serious pivot from her culinary career in Manhattan. There was simply too much to handle for her to return to her job. Handling the affairs associated with her parents’ deaths took over for far longer than she’d ever expected. Her circumstances also put considerable strain on her relationship with Will, and in the end, he didn’t care enough to stick around and wait.
Thus, Ginny’s homecoming visit turned into a permanent stay.
Since then, she had done a lot of research and profound soul-searching to figure out the best way to utilize her talents. There were the tight parameters of having to work within her means as well. It was at that point that everything changed.
So there she was, in a quieter location with quieter clientele. Ginny had launched a boutique business. A larger operation would have required more start-up capital than she could comfortably dole out; she also needed to keep a low profile so that reservations didn’t hit a critical mass. Through trial and error, she’d finally figured out how to stay connected to her cooking roots, be her own boss, and also earn some sort of income.
The Second Chance Supper Club Page 4
