by Laura Dave
“You’re talking about a new show?”
She nodded. “I think there’s an opportunity to put you out there again. But to do it right. To do it honestly.”
She pulled her iPad out of her bag, pulled up an image.
Cooking from Scratch, in pretty blue lettering, over a picture of me photoshopped into a shabby-chic kitchen. The ocean in the distance.
“It’s rough, I just had Violet throw it together. It’s a catchy name, though, right? Even Louis thought it was a catchy name. We’ll shoot it on the beach. Do lots of clambakes and fun-in-the-sun-type pieces. Very down to earth. Include your actual childhood stories. Go to the local places you went to growing up. The fish shop, the general store. Local girl makes good.”
She smiled, clearly a little proud of herself.
“What do you think?”
I smiled, trying not to look too thrilled. This was what I had been hoping for—why I had been putting up with Chef Z’s abuse. A new show, a new chance to do it right.
I felt like it wasn’t really happening, which may be why I realized there were still several reasons that it might not.
“So, that’s all pretty great,” I said. “But there are things that make it complicated.”
“Okay. Like what?”
“I’m having a baby.”
Her eyes went wide, and she smiled. Totally sincere. “Congratulations!”
“Thank you.”
She waved me off. “And that’s not complicated. Everyone loves a baby,” she said. “So you’re reconciling with your husband?”
I shook my head. “No.”
She nodded, not pressing it. “Still. It’s going to be great. And I know it’s scary to put yourself out there again, but people loved you. And they’ll want to see you doing well again. I mean, you’ve learned to cook, right?”
“Not really.”
“So we’ll get someone to teach you. Don’t worry, they’ll be the easiest recipes known to man. That’s what people want these days.” She paused, considering. “Maybe we even teach you how to cook on the show! I love that idea. It’s a good thing you’ve learned nothing.”
I laughed. I wasn’t sure she was right about that, but I did like what she was saying. I liked the idea of not pretending, of doing something legitimately. With the child on the way, I liked the idea of having a real way to support her. Or him. But I was getting stuck on what she was saying. Why would people invest in me again? Why, if everything I’d said before was a lie, would they have faith in me now?
Julie shook her head. “People have a very short memory. Look at Paula Deen. She came back from a lot worse.”
“I don’t know.”
“I do. And I promise, we can figure out all the details. Anyone can follow a recipe. But you have that thing.”
That stopped me. It sounded like what Danny was talking about too. A thing. An idea. That’s what makes us us, isn’t it? But what if we give it away? Distort it? Hand it over to other people and let them tell us what to do with it.
Except Julie wasn’t asking me to distort anything. She was asking me to figure out a way to let people in, but honestly this time. If that was even possible—it had to be, right?
She stood up. “Think about it,” she said. “After all, what’s the alternative? Working as a line cook here?”
“I’m not. I’m on trash.”
“Gross,” she said.
Then she winked, squeezed my shoulder, and walked away.
46
Sometimes, just when you least expect it, everything lines up right again.
I couldn’t hide my smile as I went through the courses that night, trying to concentrate on the squash risotto, the conversation with Julie running through my head. Thankfully, every plate was a success, so there were no patterns in the trash to report to Chef Z.
Still, when Chef Z walked over after the first dinner service was completed, he seemed annoyed.
“What’s with the joy?” he said.
I shrugged. “Everyone either loves everything tonight or they’re very hungry.”
“Well, which is it?”
I shook my head, forgetting for a minute he had no sense of humor. “I was just being silly. Everyone has loved everything this evening.”
“Fine,” he said, not a smile on his face. “No need to get so celebratory. That’s the way it’s supposed to go.”
I still had a stupid grin on my face. Who cared? Let him fire me. Let him show me the door.
He pointed at his own turned-down lips. “This is what I mean when I say stop celebrating.”
“Chef, I’m just happy to be here,” I said.
“Be happy quieter,” he said.
“Cooking from Scratch, huh?” Ethan said. “That’s not bad.”
I’d been way too excited to go home—especially when that home happened to no longer be mine—so I drove over to Ethan’s after work.
We went out to the docks, put our toes into the water. It was one of the perks of living in Montauk. That late-night peace. The moon crawling down over the horizon, everything a gorgeous shade of blue. The sailboats resting in the harbor, the docks quiet and serene.
Ethan reached into his cooler, pulled out another beer, handed it over. “Non-alcoholic,” he said.
I clinked the bottle against his. “Thank you,” I said, taking a long sip.
“So you’re going to do it, right?” he said.
“I think so,” I said. “It would be pretty crazy to turn it down.”
Ethan paused, hearing something in my voice. “Are you asking me or telling me?”
“Telling,” I said. “And maybe asking.”
“Why? What does it matter what I think?”
I shrugged. “It’s just a little hard to trust yourself when you’ve made such terrible decisions in the past.”
He took a long sip, considered. “Does it make you happy? To think about doing it?” he said.
“Well, I’m at war with my husband, and my sister hates me. And I’ve been squatting in your girlfriend’s house for the last couple of nights. So you know, happiness is a bit of a lofty goal.”
He laughed. “That’s really the only goal.”
“How do you figure that?”
Ethan moved closer. “The issue with what you did before isn’t that you hurt anyone else. It’s that you were so unhappy. I mean, that’s no way to live, embarrassed by who you are,” he said. “Though I guess we’re all doing that a little.”
I smiled. “I’m not sure why I’m asking you for permission to say yes,” I said.
He took a sip of his beer. “Well, it’s yours, if you need it. I think it could be a good thing.”
I met Ethan’s eyes. “You’re a surprising guy, you know that?” I said.
“Why do you say that?”
“I don’t know. Of all the places I thought I might find comfort during all this, I wouldn’t have put you high up there.”
He put his arm around me. “I’m very comfortable.”
I laughed. “If you do say so yourself?”
He laughed too. Then he leaned in.
Ethan leaned in and tried to kiss me. I was alone and pregnant and surprisingly hornier than I’d ever been.
But I pushed him away. “I can’t.”
“Why? Your husband coming back?”
“I’m guessing no . . . probably never.”
“Well, you’re already pregnant, so, you can’t be worried about my super sperm. And it can’t be that you don’t find me attractive.”
I smiled. I wanted to tell him that I found him unbelievably attractive, but that felt like its own form of betrayal—a line I could cross but shouldn’t. And I was sticking to it. The right side of shouldn’t.
“So the lady doesn’t find me attractive. All right, then,” he said. “What does it say about me that my lukewarm attraction to you just grew by leaps and bounds knowing that?”
I laughed. “Everything.”
I put out my hand. How easy would
it be to slip into this new life? How nice in so many ways. A clean slate, a new me. But that was how I had ended up here, and I wasn’t going to do that again.
“What’s this?”
“You’re still the only friend I’ve got. And I really don’t want to lose you.”
Ethan sat back, and I could see it flicker across his face. My honesty had touched him.
“Then I guess I won’t let you,” he said.
And he took my outstretched hand. But instead of shaking it, he just held on.
47
I took a risk doing it, but there was one other person I needed to discuss this with.
So, the next afternoon, I stopped by her camp.
I arrived in time for afternoon snack, Sammy generously offering to share her applesauce and pita chips. I sat cross-legged with her on the floor and took a few grateful nibbles, making sure she ate most of it herself.
“You’re never going to guess what I was just doing,” she said. “Guess.”
“Let’s see. Were you learning to tap-dance?”
She laughed. “That’s a terrible guess. This is science camp.”
I smiled. “So you better just tell me.”
“Our group went down to the pond and we dissected frogs! Or, the counselor did, but we got to watch.”
“For fun?”
She dug into the applesauce. “No, for science.”
I put the spoon down, officially done eating. Maybe done with applesauce for the rest of the pregnancy, its creaminess now wrapped up for me with Sammy’s frogs.
“It was awesome,” she said. “I got to see the heart.”
I interrupted her, fighting back the vomit. “That’s great, Sammy,” I said. “I’m so glad you had a good time.”
She motioned in the direction of her classroom. “Do you want to come see the frogs?”
“Definitely not,” I said. “I did want to talk to you, though.”
“About what?”
“That school you were telling me about.”
She looked up, and I could see it wash over her face. Excitement. And then the opposite.
“Okay,” she said.
“I’ve been wondering about something. If there was a way to make it work, would you like to go there?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
I met her eyes, waited.
“I would like to,” she said. “Why?”
“There’s a job I could take. It would make it possible to help pay for it. Get you and your mom a place to live nearby there.”
“My mother won’t want that.”
“Probably not, but . . . I think it’s a good thing to know what you want. If you do, you have a chance of getting it. If you don’t, you have a chance of getting only what someone else wants you to have.”
She wiped her hands. “I think I’d like for you to take me home.”
48
It started raining on the way back to the house—a summer shower—though by the time we pulled down the driveway, the shower had turned into a downpour. And we had to make a run for it, to not get soaked on the way inside.
When we walked in, Thomas was standing by the stove and making dinner. Or, more accurately, Thomas was hobbling on crutches by the stove, attempting to make dinner. It looked like a lasagna, rich and meaty, with about a pound of cheese on top. And totally burnt. The smell rose off of it, gnarly and intense.
Sammy pinched her nose as Thomas turned and saw us in the doorway.
“I thought we were ordering pizza tonight,” she said.
He looked back and forth between us. “We are now,” he said.
Then he pushed the lasagna away, dramatically for effect.
Sammy laughed. “Great,” she said. “Call up when it gets here.”
She disappeared up into her loft, leaving us in the kitchen alone. I watched her go, trying to will her downstairs.
I looked back at Thomas. I tried not to stare at this guy who had been my sister’s partner for the last several years. He was tall, if a little gangly, with a mop of blond hair on top of his head that made him look younger than he was. This was the first time we were really meeting, except for the brief exchange the morning I’d stumbled home from seeing Danny.
Thomas wiped his hand on a dishtowel. “I’m normally a pretty great cook,” he said. “Rain will tell you. But moving around is a little less than ideal at the moment.”
He hobbled to the fridge and took out a beer.
“Do you want anything?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I’m good, thanks,” I said.
He tossed over a bottle of water anyway—a small indicator that Rain had told him I was pregnant. She had probably told him as a way of explaining why she couldn’t seem to kick me off her couch.
He motioned toward the kitchen table. “Normally I wouldn’t have any problem standing around awkwardly, but would you mind if we sit awkwardly instead?”
I smiled. “No, that’s fine.”
He headed to the table, pulling out the seat closest to him. I walked over and took the seat across from him.
“It’s a little weird to meet you,” he said.
I wasn’t sure how to read that. But then he smiled—a bright and warm smile, which lit up his whole face and made him look more welcoming than I’m sure he felt.
“I mean, I hear such different things,” he said.
For a second, I thought he meant he was hearing different things from Rain herself. And I took solace in thinking she was at least conflicted about me. That she was at least talking enough about me to suggest she was conflicted. But then I realized he was talking about the things he was hearing from Rain. And from Ethan.
“You’ve made quite an impression on Ethan,” he said. “He says you’ve become pretty good friends.”
I smiled. “He’s a really great guy.”
“Is that what he is?”
I could see his protectiveness. These were two people he cared deeply about.
“Look, Thomas, I understand that you probably don’t want me here . . .”
He shook his head. “I didn’t say that.”
“Well, I’ve been trying to make other arrangements.”
He motioned toward the front door. “Like sleeping next door?”
“I wouldn’t say I was doing a great job.”
He took another swig of beer. “Well. Who is?”
Then he elevated his leg, pulling it up on the chair next to him, rubbing his knee.
“It hurts a lot?” I said.
“Ah, I’ll be all right.” He shrugged. “I’m just a little bummed. I had this whole thing planned for Rain and my anniversary next weekend and it’s going to be tough.”
“What were you planning to do?”
“I was going to take her out to the North Fork, spend the weekend going on a long ride. That’s probably out.”
“You guys could go anyway.”
He considered. “We could. I got my friend Gena to commit to watching Sammy and everything.”
The elusive Gena. “If she bails for any reason, I’ll do it.”
“Yeah? That would be awesome. Gena does bail sometimes.”
“I’d love to, if Rain would allow it.”
Thomas smiled. “That would be great,” he said. “ ’Cause, you know, I was going to propose.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “Really,” he said. “I mean, the getting down on one knee thing might be out.”
Then he reached into his back pocket and pulled out the ring, like proof.
It was an emerald stone, surrounded by diamonds. It was elegant and simple, a classic design.
I looked up at him, trying not to show my confusion. Why was he showing me the ring? Why was he telling me about the proposal at all? He certainly didn’t need my approval. But he wanted to need my approval. It was the kindest way I could think of for him to tell me that he was hoping we would work it out. My sister and me. He was hoping we’d be okay.
I
t reminded me of Danny. He had done the same thing before proposing. My father had died, not too long before, but he had driven out to Montauk to talk to Rain, to tell her he was going to ask. He told me later that they had gone to the lighthouse with coffees, and he’d told her he would take care of me. He wouldn’t tell me what she had said, and I imagined at the time it was probably something snarky about how it wasn’t her permission to give. But he had won her over that day all the same. In the gesture. In the fact that he’d acknowledged how much we mattered to each other, even if we couldn’t.
“What do you think?” Thomas said.
“It’s stunning,” I said.
He smiled. “Thanks . . . happy you think so.”
I handed him the ring, trying to fight back tears.
“Are you going to cry?”
I shook my head, the tears already starting to fall. “Definitely not.”
“That’s convincing.”
“I think it’s the pregnancy,” I said. “I keep crying at everything.”
“I won’t tell,” he said.
Which was when the front door swung open, and Rain ran in. She was completely drenched.
“Holy crap, it’s terrible out!” she said.
Then she realized that I was there.
“Oh . . .” She looked back and forth between us. “What’s going on here?”
Thomas quickly pushed the ring back into his pocket as I wiped the tears from my eyes. “Nothing,” he said. “Is it raining?”
She reached for a small kitchen towel and tried to dry herself off. “You’re funny,” she said.
She walked over to the table and stood behind Thomas, putting her hand on his shoulder, and nuzzled into his neck.
“Ah, so wet!” he said.
She leaned down and kissed him. “Deal with it,” she said.
And he did, holding her face to his, the water from her hair splattering across his chest. She smiled and, for a second, my sister looked like my sister.
She looked up, nodded. “Hi there,” she said.
I waved at her. “Hi.”
Thomas took Rain’s hand, held it to his chest. “She dropped Sammy off. We were just having a little chat.”
Rain forced a smile. “Is that right?” she said.
I pointed toward the door. “I can go.”
