by Laura Dave
I sat on the edge of the couch, my feet throbbing. “See? Why do you have to ask like that?”
“Because I know how you work,” she said. “And I know when you’re up to something.”
“I got a job at a restaurant.”
She laughed. “Where?”
“28.”
“28 hired you for two weeks?”
“I didn’t tell them it was just for two weeks.”
She shook her head. “Of course not.”
I motioned for her to go away. “As fun as this girl talk is, I’m exhausted, so if you’d please . . .”
She ignored me. “Did anyone there recognize you?”
“A couple of people, but it doesn’t seem like they’re going to say anything.” I paused. “Until it benefits them to do so.”
“So how did it happen? The job? Ethan pull some strings?”
“What kind of strings? He’s a fisherman.”
“No, he’s the fisherman. Look him up. Ethan Nash. He’s very impressive.”
I put my legs out in front of me, ready to fall asleep in that position—lights on, clothes on—as soon as she stopped her lecture.
“He takes the ferry to New Haven every week to teach a class at Yale on climate change and oceanography. Generating a safe food supply.”
She paused, as if waiting for me to jump out of my seat, impressed.
“There is a thirty-restaurant wait list to even get his fish. Le Bernardin uses them, Per Se . . . Chef Z won’t serve fish from anyone else. A national restaurant group offered him a million-dollar contract if he would ensure that his fishermen worked with them exclusively this season.”
“And he didn’t take it?”
“That’s not why he’s doing this. Not that you’d understand that . . .” She headed toward her bedroom. “Well, congrats on the job. I can’t believe that you made it through a shift. Bet you’re gone by the end of the week.”
“Thanks for the faith,” I said.
“So I guess this means I’m on my own with Sammy again.”
“No, I’m only working nights. I’ll still take her for the day tomorrow.”
She looked surprised. “Thank you.”
I didn’t add that the restaurant was actually closed for the Fourth—it seemed better to just take the credit. Especially when I knew I was about to press my luck.
“If you want, I can get her ready for camp in the mornings this week, so you can go and see Thomas before work. And I can drop her at the Maidstone on my way to the restaurant at night.”
She tilted her head and considered. “I guess that’ll work. For this week, at least.”
I nodded, pretending to look pleased. Had it really come to negotiating with Rain in order to stake a claim to her lousy couch?
Rain paused, tapping on the bedroom doorframe. “So why did you take the job?” she said. “What’s your play?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? Bullshit.”
I looked away, irritated that she was calling me out, even if she was right.
“Not everyone is gaming everyone, you know,” I said.
She smiled. “No, not everyone. But you definitely are.”
“You know . . . you looked kind of sad that I might have been gone,” I said.
She stopped smiling. “I can promise you it wasn’t for the reason you think,” she said.
Then she disappeared into her bedroom.
26
You can easily get complacent.
When I was younger, I never did. I was vigilant. Consider it a side effect of growing up in my father’s home. His shifting rules made anything close to complacency an impossibility. We never knew what would be required of us, based on what he thought was required of him. There were some rules that we could count on lasting, like his pancakes, and others that shifted entirely on a dime, like forbidden hours. It taught me a good lesson, though. Complacency was dangerous.
So why was it that I kept forgetting such a basic tenet?
I woke up on the uncomfortable couch, rain pouring down outside, and I actually had the thought: Amber’s hack was in the past. I was onto the redemption plan. Step one: getting my career back on track. Chef Z knew me. Chef Z would soon love me. Step two: starting to deal with my personal life. I sat down to send Danny an email. A long email explaining a little better how I thought we’d gotten here. It would be useful, I decided, not to let him completely off the hook. I would strike the perfect tone between sensitive and strong. I wouldn’t overly apologize. He, after all, had things to apologize for now too. His haste in the aftermath, selling our apartment. I wouldn’t castigate him, but I’d allude to it.
I would also fit in that I was driving my niece to camp every day. If he thought I was trying to heal my family, he’d be impressed. And he would remember that was the woman he loved. One night in fourteen years hadn’t changed that.
Except, when I opened my computer, I saw the new hack.
An email from Aintnosunshine.
Checking in. Happy being yesterday’s news?
And there was a link to my YouTube channel, A Little Sunshine. I clicked on the link, and instead of a new video from me, there was Toast of the Town written in large letters and a link to Amber Rucci’s YouTube channel. I stared at the screen in disbelief. Was Amber actually that shameless? Sending people from my channel to hers?
Reluctantly, I clicked on the link and saw Amber sitting in her Upper West Side apartment, curled into her couch in a comfy sweater and jeans (and full makeup), announcing her cookbook release and saying she had exciting news to share.
“I’m hitting the small screen!” Amber said. Then she clicked on her TV, which was tuned to the Food Network. “Stay tuned! Literally.”
My Food Network hosting gig. It was now her Food Network hosting gig. She was the ideal replacement. A marketing executive was ordering new billboards. A producer was happily convincing the higher-ups that Amber was better for the job anyway.
I hit pause, trying to control my anger.
On Amber’s checklist to steal my career, she had checked another box. An important one.
Publishing contract. TV show.
I looked at Amber’s smug face, so pleased with herself for stealing my life. So pleased with herself that she was getting everything she thought she deserved.
I couldn’t help it. I hit play again.
“A perfect toast to enjoy the premiere episode with?” Amber said, springing into cheery action. “I vote for . . . grilled pineapple and hazelnut chocolate on dark pumpernickel bread. For the win!”
She held the toast up, the chocolate dripping off the rich pumpernickel bread, the pineapple bright and luscious.
She took a large, crunchy bite and smirked right at me.
I felt faint. I actually felt faint.
So I turned off my laptop, complete with its crack.
And then I threw it against the wall.
“Wow, that’s loud!”
I turned to Sammy, standing there, watching. “Sorry, Sammy.”
She shrugged. “It wasn’t my laptop,” she said.
I almost laughed.
Sammy walked over to the window, looked at the rain. “I’d like to watch movies today,” she said. “Considering the weather.”
I bent down to pick up my laptop, still thinking about Amber. “Good decision,” I said, only half listening.
She plopped down on the couch, wrapping my blanket around her. “You’ll watch with me?” she said, more of a command than a request.
“As long as it’s not a horror film,” I said.
“Not allowed,” she said.
I thought of Amber and her pineapple, my fury bubbling up again. “Or about food.”
“Not interested,” she said.
I sat back down on the couch, the laptop in my hands.
She motioned toward it. “Why did you throw that, anyway?” she said.
“It was stupid. I was mad at this woman, who did a mean thing.”
Sammy looked confused. “Is it her computer?”
“No.”
Sammy reached for the television remote. “Then that was pretty stupid,” she said.
27
A weird thing happens when someone tries to blatantly take you down: You let cruelty win or you let it fuel you.
I chose fuel.
I knew that the first step was to win Chef Z over quickly, and that meant taking big swings.
For my swing that Monday morning, I would head to 28’s local farm in Amagansett. In Z’s one and only botany interview, he’d said he tended to his vegetables at 10 A.M. daily in order to prep the menu for that night. I sussed out that the sous-chefs arrived a little before he did. I was going to befriend one of them, and convince them to walk me through the gardens (show me the springing mushrooms and tomatoes and herbs). I would “happen” to be there when Chef Z arrived. So he would see my eagerness to understand another aspect of how he did what he did. How many members of his kitchen staff did that? How many people in charge of the trash?
My plan was to take Sammy to camp and then head to the farm. Except, just as we arrived, Sammy hesitated before getting out of the car.
“I won an award at camp,” she said.
I was reviewing my knowledge about summer fruit, thinking of something interesting to say to Z. So I didn’t respond at first—and then Sammy continued.
“I made a contraption that waters the plants at night,” she said. “While we sleep. It’s pretty great.”
My eyes ticked to the clock on the dashboard. “That’s great, Sammy. Good for you.”
“They’re having assembly today to show the inventions.”
“Did you tell your mom? She definitely would want to be there.”
“I know she has to be at work, so . . .”
I knew what she was asking. I knew what I was supposed to say. What she wanted.
Sammy shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”
I closed my eyes, doing the math. If the ceremony took less than an hour, I’d probably be okay.
“So how about if I come?”
She turned and looked at me, and I guiltily hoped she’d argue. “All right,” she said.
She didn’t look out the window. She looked right at me, as if calling my bluff.
My heart dropped, and I almost rescinded the offer. Six or not, she was getting in my way. Amber’s irritating vlog was playing on repeat in my head, and I knew the only way to get rid of her was to get rid of her. To beat her at her own game. In order to do that, I needed to get to the farm and intercept Z. And I desperately wanted to stop for a coffee before I did. The thermos I’d brought from the house was making me incredibly nauseated. Normally I could drink any drudge, which seemed like further proof that I was allergic to Montauk.
And now there was a little girl, making a little girl face—which was hard to resist. If I were stronger, I would have resisted it. Or maybe that would have been proof that I wasn’t strong enough.
I put my hands back on the wheel. “Show me where to park.”
28
The assembly lasted for five hours.
At least, it felt that long.
All these little kids did their demonstrations—sometimes in groups of twos and threes. And it seemed like Sammy was never going to be up. Sammy hadn’t mentioned that she was getting her award last—the finale to the entire assembly. Sammy was given her award last because, as Sammy hadn’t made clear, it was the most important award.
She headed to the front of the auditorium to do her demonstration, and the head counselor, a woman named Kathleen, stood proudly behind her. Kathleen was pretty in a librarian kind of way. She had porcelain skin, and long red hair, which she wore in a low ponytail. Her adoration for Sammy was obvious. After each part of Sammy’s demonstration, she cued up the audience to applaud, which we did.
When Sammy was done, the counselor put her hand on Sammy’s shoulder. “Was that fantastic or what?” she said.
From my seat in the second row, I tried not to laugh as Sammy did everything in her power not to physically remove that hand.
“Sammy Stephens has proven herself to be quite a star,” Kathleen said. “The fact that she is already designing a self-sustaining irrigation system, when we are only touching on water during geology . . . well, I just want to say, H2U. Here’s to you!”
Everyone started laughing. Water humor, really? I had clearly stumbled into the nerdiest camp in America.
Kathleen handed Sammy a ribbon—they still gave out ribbons?—and I saw a smile break out on Sammy’s face. It stopped me. What was I feeling? There was no denying it. Pride.
As everyone started to exit, Sammy ran up to me, holding up her ribbon.
“Did you watch?” she said.
“I sure did. Congratulations!” I said.
“Thanks,” she said.
“I’ve really got to run, but let’s get ice cream when I pick you up later.”
Her face fell. “There’s cake, though. For the parents. Now.”
Seriously? Were there no points earned? “I’m sorry, Sammy. Next time, okay?”
“It’s really good cake,” she said under her breath.
How many times was I going to make her ask me? Was I that freaking selfish? “Next time,” I said.
I patted her awkwardly on the shoulder, already searching for the nearest exit.
Then I heard someone call my name. “Sunshine?”
I turned and saw Kathleen walking toward us, her long hair now loose. She waved excitedly.
I forced a smile. I was never leaving this place.
“Hi, there,” she said, picking up speed as she neared. “Kathleen Teague.”
“Hi, Kathleen,” I said.
She held out her hand. “Great to meet you. Sammy mentioned that her cool aunt was going to be joining us today.”
I looked down at Sammy, wondering if cool had been her word. Whatever she’d said, it was probably nice, or Kathleen wouldn’t be so friendly now. Which made one person in the world who didn’t loathe me. Even if she was only six.
Kathleen leaned in and whispered in my ear. “And, FYI, I don’t believe what I read in the papers.”
I pulled away. “I’ve really got to run.”
“Before you do, would you let Rain know that I’ve left her a few messages?”
“Sure,” I said.
But then she reached for my arm. “I need her to give me a call back,” she said.
I looked at Sammy, who was focused on her ribbon. “Is everything okay?”
“Oh, yes! Sammy is wonderful. It’s more than okay. She is having a great time at camp. And I’m so happy with how the summer is going for her.”
She put her hand on Sammy’s shoulder again, Sammy squirming away. Was this woman oblivious?
“I understand why Rain’s avoiding my phone call,” she said. “Sometimes it can be just as scary to hear that something is right with your kid as something is wrong with her.”
“I’m guessing she’s just slammed at work.”
“Perhaps,” she said. “Do remind her though. And please feel free to come anytime. Our doors are always open to Sammy’s family.”
She gave Sammy a smile and headed away.
Sammy looked up at me. “She’s the head of the camp,” she said. “I kind of like her.”
“She seems nice,” I said.
“She talks a lot, though.”
I nodded. “That’s all right.”
“But you’re late,” Sammy said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you to come.”
Sammy played with her ribbon, eyes down. And I regretted my previous tone immediately—I regretted everything I’d done that made her feel badly that she’d wanted somebody to be there for her.
I bent down so we were eye to eye. “No,” I said. “I’m happy you did.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I am.” I took a deep breath in, almost in disbelief at what I was about to do. “And I can’t believe
I was going to let an errand get in the way of cake. That was really crazy talk.”
She smiled. “Really?”
She looked up at me like she was trying to figure out if I was truly happy I’d come. Apparently, she decided it didn’t matter.
We started walking toward the cake reception, and Sammy took my hand. Intertwining our fingers. Little fingers circling big ones. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I looked down at our hands, trying not to make a big deal, holding on to hers a little tighter.
Maybe I had been lying earlier when I said I was happy to be there. But it felt like the truth now.
29
After I left Sammy at the Maidstone, I barely made it to work on time. I ran to my station and put on my glasses when I heard a voice behind me.
“Of all the gin joints.”
I turned to see Ethan, dressed in a hoodie and jeans, holding a cooler. His hair was freshly washed, his scruff gone. He looked nice, for him at least, though the smell of fish, maybe from the cooler, still seeped out of his edges.
He smiled. “What are you doing?”
“Setting up my station.”
He laughed, literally out loud. “Z did not give you a job cooking here,” he said.
“No, I’m more in a quality control role.”
He tilted his head, and considered. “So you’re the new Taylor?”
“You know Taylor?”
“I know trash overhaul is a long way from quality control,” he said. “That’s what I know.”
I looked at him, my face turning red. “It’s part of a larger plan.”
“I don’t doubt it,” he said. “Those glasses mean business.”
“And I tried to save his job.”
“There’s no saving anyone from Chef Z,” he said. “But it was nice of you to try.”
I thought of my day with Sammy and I started to say that it was possible I was turning over a new leaf, but it occurred to me that turning over a new leaf probably involved saying it less and doing it more.
“What?” he said.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but the smell of you truly makes me sick.”
