On the way home from the restaurant, I stopped at a pay phone off of Montauk Highway to call Danny. I knew he wouldn’t pick up if I called from my phone, so I had to try a different way. It felt wrong to have a night like I’d just had and not tell him about it—not hear him laugh about how scary Chef Z was—and how scary Douglas was. He would probably say Douglas was scarier. And it felt wrong not to tell him that I had scored a first victory on the way to getting a life back.
We’d had a tradition when one of us had a big day—something at school or work, something worth reporting—of bringing home some super-unhealthy takeout, dealer’s choice. It had started in the first apartment, the garden apartment, when we were so broke that any takeout was a treat. And we had stayed with it.
The night that A Little Sunshine was picked up to series, we hadn’t gone to some fancy restaurant. And of course, I didn’t cook. I had ordered spicy chicken and extra egg rolls, and we ate on the couch while imagining what we were going to do with the (small) influx of money. It was enough to put a dent in the down payment on the town house. But I hesitated.
Ryan had already signed a lease on the studio in Chelsea. He wanted Danny and me to get a place not so far from there.
As hip as Red Hook was, Ryan decided that my living in Manhattan was more relatable—especially to people unfamiliar with New York. That was the dream people aspired to, as opposed to our dream of living off the beaten path. It wouldn’t appeal to viewers in the same way to engage with someone who was living miles from the nearest subway station.
They wanted what they’d seen on television—what they thought New York was supposed to be—lively streets crowded with sexy people and late-night bars. Fancy restaurants. And a dream apartment in spitting distance of the action—where they could dream they would have a chance to live too.
Danny was holding his ground on staying in Red Hook—not ready to give up our dream just yet. But, as I enjoyed my greasy takeout, I was already happily envisioning the East Village apartment that Ryan thought could be perfect. It was right by Astor Place, shiny and new, with a shower that was larger than our current bathroom. I told Danny that we would figure it out together, but I think I already decided that was the way I wanted to go. Takeout and dreams be damned. I was already willing to sell us out.
As I dialed Danny’s number, I remembered the night of the surprise party. Danny had offered me the takeout option. Sushi and a terrible movie. Why hadn’t I taken it? Maybe if we had been home when those tweets came through, I would have handled it better. I would have convinced him it didn’t define us. Which, of course, it didn’t.
Right now, there was no chance of takeout. The most I could hope for was just to hear his voice. And, at 1:45 A.M., that was unlikely too.
Still, my heart dropped when he didn’t pick up. The phone went right to voice mail, and all I heard was the machine-operated version of him, saying he’d give a ring back.
I knew he wouldn’t.
So instead of leaving a message, I held the phone out so he could hear what I was hearing. The late night breeze, the ocean kicking up, and somewhere on the beach in the distance, someone laughing at something I couldn’t see.
25
I tiptoed into the guesthouse a little after 2 A.M., and turned on the kitchen light.
“I thought you disappeared on me!”
My sister was sitting on the living room couch, arms folded across her chest.
I jumped back. “Holy shit! You scared me.”
She was pissed. “I scared you? I thought you just took off.”
“And left all my things?”
“It’s what you did last time.”
I looked at her, not saying anything. I had to catch my breath from finding her sitting there. It was like I was suddenly fifteen again, and walking into the house late. My father didn’t give us a curfew. But if I arrived home even a second after ten, Rain would have a million questions about where I’d been. It wasn’t that she was actually worried about me. She was worried about my father. She didn’t want him to be woken up or to manage what that would mean for him the next day. And for her.
She stood up. “Where were you?” she said. “I wanted to go to the hospital and see Thomas. Isn’t that why you’re here? You get a place to stay and you help me with Sammy? What the hell were you doing?”
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.”